Read Online Remember Me (Defiant MC) by Cora Brent - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Cora Brent
Ads: Link
He wasn’t Jensen. Maddox vaguely recalled Priest mentioning that Jensen was reduced to pure desk work since the line of duty gunshot wound which led to a knee replacement.
As he coasted to the edge of town where his father’s house sat, Maddox passed Jerry’s, a local drug and convenience store. It was an unremarkable place and shouldn’t have caused the jolt of agony in his chest. Except it was where he had met her for the first time.
He had been guilty of committing yet another beer run with his pals. Indeed, he’d almost bowled her over with a case of Budweiser in his arms while his friends yelled at him to hurry the fuck up. By that time his brother, Jensen, had forgotten boyish pranks and was aiming for the police force. He saw right away that she was pretty; dark-haired and petite, obviously Hispanic. Maddox liked girls and they unanimously liked him back. But this one took one look at him and sniffed with a disapproval which was tantalizing. She’d rolled her eyes and let him pass on his way as if he were nothing but a traffic sign to pause over and then forget. And yet it was only a few hours later he’d kissed her for the first time.
“Stop it, stop it, fucking stop it,” he grumbled out loud as he turned onto his father’s rural street. The memories wouldn’t get to him. Nothing would.
The house was as he remembered. It only seemed smaller. The brick red exterior had faded into the color of Sonoran desert sand. A Nissan Versa was parked in the driveway. There was no flicker of curtains in the house windows or any other sign his approach was heard although to him the bike sounded loud as thunder. Inside that house was his father. His dying father.
Maddox sighed painfully and dismounted. He’d known Priest was ill. He shouldn’t have waited this long, dammit.
It felt odd knocking on the door of his childhood home. It felt even odder to see the face of his brother again after a long decade.
“Maddox,” said Jensen, opening the door.
“Hey,” said Mad awkwardly, stepping over the threshold. He’d thought it would be difficult to contain his ferocity if he was ever confronted with Jensen again. But surprisingly he felt nothing but a vague sense of weariness.
Jensen stood back a moment then reached out a hand, which Mad accepted with reluctance.
His brother smiled. “You look good, man.”
Maddox managed to smile back. “You look like hell, Jen.”
Jensen’s grin turned rueful and he ran a hand through his thinning dark hair. He wasn’t quite thirty, still a young man, but the years weren’t wearing well on him. He’d been athletic in his youth but had grown slightly overweight and ambled toward the living room with a pronounced limp. Maddox could smell the rank haze of booze this early. Jensen had been hitting the bottle. Hitting it hard.
The two men stared at one another for a long, uncomfortable moment. They were brothers. They shared blood and their own unique history. And yet, Maddox mused, they were virtual strangers. He didn’t know this man. For the first time he felt a twinge of regret about that.
Jensen was shifting his weight awkwardly and glancing down the hall. “He’s been waiting for you.”
“You told him I was coming?”
“Yes.” Jensen frowned at him. “Even though I wasn’t sure you would.”
“Fuck you, I said I would. He’s my father too.”
Jensen shook his head and stared down at the cracked tile floor. “Shit, Mad. I don’t want to fight. Whatever there was to fight over no longer exists.”
Maddox closed his eyes. When he opened them he saw a framed picture on the wood paneled wall of the living room. It had been hanging on the same wall for a good eighteen years. He’d been ten years old and Jensen was twelve. Priest McLeod was still healthy and robust. Each of his large hands rested on the shoulders of his wife,
As he coasted to the edge of town where his father’s house sat, Maddox passed Jerry’s, a local drug and convenience store. It was an unremarkable place and shouldn’t have caused the jolt of agony in his chest. Except it was where he had met her for the first time.
He had been guilty of committing yet another beer run with his pals. Indeed, he’d almost bowled her over with a case of Budweiser in his arms while his friends yelled at him to hurry the fuck up. By that time his brother, Jensen, had forgotten boyish pranks and was aiming for the police force. He saw right away that she was pretty; dark-haired and petite, obviously Hispanic. Maddox liked girls and they unanimously liked him back. But this one took one look at him and sniffed with a disapproval which was tantalizing. She’d rolled her eyes and let him pass on his way as if he were nothing but a traffic sign to pause over and then forget. And yet it was only a few hours later he’d kissed her for the first time.
“Stop it, stop it, fucking stop it,” he grumbled out loud as he turned onto his father’s rural street. The memories wouldn’t get to him. Nothing would.
The house was as he remembered. It only seemed smaller. The brick red exterior had faded into the color of Sonoran desert sand. A Nissan Versa was parked in the driveway. There was no flicker of curtains in the house windows or any other sign his approach was heard although to him the bike sounded loud as thunder. Inside that house was his father. His dying father.
Maddox sighed painfully and dismounted. He’d known Priest was ill. He shouldn’t have waited this long, dammit.
It felt odd knocking on the door of his childhood home. It felt even odder to see the face of his brother again after a long decade.
“Maddox,” said Jensen, opening the door.
“Hey,” said Mad awkwardly, stepping over the threshold. He’d thought it would be difficult to contain his ferocity if he was ever confronted with Jensen again. But surprisingly he felt nothing but a vague sense of weariness.
Jensen stood back a moment then reached out a hand, which Mad accepted with reluctance.
His brother smiled. “You look good, man.”
Maddox managed to smile back. “You look like hell, Jen.”
Jensen’s grin turned rueful and he ran a hand through his thinning dark hair. He wasn’t quite thirty, still a young man, but the years weren’t wearing well on him. He’d been athletic in his youth but had grown slightly overweight and ambled toward the living room with a pronounced limp. Maddox could smell the rank haze of booze this early. Jensen had been hitting the bottle. Hitting it hard.
The two men stared at one another for a long, uncomfortable moment. They were brothers. They shared blood and their own unique history. And yet, Maddox mused, they were virtual strangers. He didn’t know this man. For the first time he felt a twinge of regret about that.
Jensen was shifting his weight awkwardly and glancing down the hall. “He’s been waiting for you.”
“You told him I was coming?”
“Yes.” Jensen frowned at him. “Even though I wasn’t sure you would.”
“Fuck you, I said I would. He’s my father too.”
Jensen shook his head and stared down at the cracked tile floor. “Shit, Mad. I don’t want to fight. Whatever there was to fight over no longer exists.”
Maddox closed his eyes. When he opened them he saw a framed picture on the wood paneled wall of the living room. It had been hanging on the same wall for a good eighteen years. He’d been ten years old and Jensen was twelve. Priest McLeod was still healthy and robust. Each of his large hands rested on the shoulders of his wife,
Similar Books
