June jess story spearhea.., p.1
June: Jess' Story (Spearhead Lake Book 3), page 1
Copyright © 2024 by Elizabeth Stevens
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover design by Okay Creations
TRIGGER WARNINGS
loss of a spouse
loss of a child
betrayal
cheating
recount of child abuse
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
While this book can be read as a standalone novel, I would strongly advise reading book one and two first. (georgia and constantine)
A side note:
There are people who will just never get over it.
And then there are people that say they could never get over it, but then find a way to forgive.
Both of those viewpoints are valid.
For Debra June,
for fostering my life long love of books.
Thank you.
CONTENTS
Then
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Now
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by E.L. Stevens
THEN
ONE
Alex
September 22, 2010
ETA: Approximately 22 minutes. Palms get damp. My heart rate increases. Then, right on cue, there’s a burn in my chest.
This isn’t something that happens to everybody, but it happens to me.
Some guys practically sprint home. But not me. I drag. I methodically and slowly move through the compound, taking time to tie up any and all loose ends. Anyone need a debrief? Need a buddy to go see the medic? The psych? Need a ride? Everyone knows that I’m the one to come to.
They probably think I do it in the name of brotherhood. And maybe I do, a bit. But mostly, I do it to avoid what’s waiting for me. At home.
I avoid home. Not that I’d call the condo home. That’s just a place I sometimes sleep. Sometimes. If I can avoid it, I will.
“So, you ever gonna answer me?” Blanks is staring at me like I’m an idiot. He’s been waxing poetic about cryptocurrency the entire drive. Mentally, I’d tuned him out at mile marker 52.
“Sure.” I stare back at the road. As each landmark we pass grows in familiarity, so does my blood pressure.
“Sure is your answer? Or sure, you’re gonna answer me?” If I give in, maybe he’ll stop talking about this. It’ll buy me 16 minutes of silence, I hope.
“Sure is my answer. There’s 500 euros in my rucksack. It’s yours…if you can shut the fuck up the rest of the drive.” Blanks breaks out in a huge grin and doesn’t say a word. Frankly, I would’ve given him a 1000 for ten minutes of silence, but he doesn’t need to know that.
Six more exits, eight and a half minutes approximately. The silence inside the cab of my truck is deafening now. No music while we drive. That’s a rule, everyone knows it. Blanks still asks on occasion, but my answer never changes. I need to be able to hear. Stay alert. Stay alive.
It’s a simple mantra, but one I swear by. It’s one that’s gotten me this far…
Blanks lives two condos over in the small North Carolina town we’re currently stationed at, so there’s almost never a time he drives himself to and from the compound. I don’t mind it because he’s a lingerer, too.
His reasons are different from mine, though. He’s got no one at home to go to. No one to call. No one to see. If he’s not at the unit, he’s alone. Doesn’t date either, doesn’t try, doesn’t want to. He’s a bit like a younger me, except happier. He’s me, with a smile.
Turning off our exit, we pass the Waffle House and just like clockwork, just like every time we pass the dilapidated restaurant, my body knows and my stomach turns. A small sweat breaks out on the back of my neck. My jaw tightens. My thumb starts thumping against the steering wheel nervously.
I’ve got less than three minutes now. Approximately two and a quarter minutes if I averaged it. And I have.
Blanks sees the shift. He always does, but today he doesn’t say shit. He wants that 500 euros.
I pull into my assigned parking space, kill the engine, then stare straight ahead at the brown and beige condos where they’re probably waiting for me. With smiles and cheer. Because they always are. And I always ruin it. Every damn time.
The sound of Banks slamming the door shut pulls me out of the void I slip into whenever I come home. Again, it’s not home. Never home. Whenever I come back — that’s more appropriate.
Swallowing the guilt and anxiety I step out of the truck, grabbing the euros still hidden in a discreet pocket, then pass them off to Blanks.
“What should we call it?” he asks, a smile on his face. He’s not oblivious to what I’m going through, but this is how he copes. He makes plans for the future. When things get hard, when shit hits the fan, like it did in this last mission, Blanks doesn’t get down. Instead he focuses on tomorrow. Making plans, manifesting that he’ll be around to do…it. Whatever it is.
“Whatever you want it to be.” Couldn’t care less. I’m probably flushing $650 down the drain. Bitcoin, or whatever the fuck he talks about incessantly is probably just a fad that’ll be dead in a year and a half, but it bought me 16 minutes of silence. Silence I desperately needed.
Blanks slams a hand down on my shoulder, giving me a good look in the eyes. There’s a lot that passes between us without a single word being said. Aside from Damian, he’s probably the only person that gets me.
His brows furrow: One, I’m sorry about Corey. Two, I’m sorry you’re about to go in there and be miserable. Three, stop being miserable, you fucking twat. You have a wife and a little girl in there that love the fuck out of you.
His eyes say all that, and I give a brief nod.
Pulling my ball cap down a little further, I block out his knowing eyes, and he releases me to grab my rucksack and kit.
Hoisting his own bag over his shoulder, he turns and leaves. No other words needed, and no goodbyes. I don’t do goodbyes. At least not well.
He walks two doors down, unlocks his front door, then disappears into his solitary world.
Seven paces. Five or six seconds. That’s the distance from my parking spot to my front door. That’s all that separates me from my family. But that’s just what literally separates us. There’s a lot more to it than that. There’s worlds and lifetimes between us. Fuck, a whole other universe because I live…on a different plane than most people.
Most people live in the “normal” world. That’s where Amy does her living, on the normal plane. I liked that about her at first. Gave her a certain innocence.
Me, though? I live on my own plane of existence. No one else there but me. Sometimes I can slip into her world with her, or maybe it’s just that our existences intersect briefly. Two planes intersecting at a point for the briefest of moments in time before veering off in opposite directions.
Those times are fleeting and rare, but that’s what Amy stays for – the rare times I slip into her world of existence and act like I’m free.
I can count the number of times it’s happened on one hand.
It’s four.
And fuck, if it wasn’t bliss each time. But just like a demon escaping hell, you gotta go back eventually, and I always do. I slip away from her and slide back into my singular existence.
We might have been a mistake. Hell, my whole life feels like a mistake sometimes.
Staring at the brown painted front door, I try to get myself right, for them, but fuck if I don’t hate coming back.
Nothing is as bad as the first day. I mean, it never really gets “better,” but this, the first day, is always the worst. The first “hey.” The first hug. From there it just spirals. Or maybe I spiral because after the first apprehensive hello, I’ll remember that neither of us ever really knew each other in the first place. And I’ll realize it wasn’t just the distance of the latest rotation, it’s just who we both are. And now we know each other even less, because I’m out there, doing, living, working, fighting. And Amy is just — at home. Being a mom. And doesn’t that just make me the asshole? Is that all I think she is? That’s all she does?
I’m sure she’s busy living life — her own life — but I don’t care most days to know what she does. So now that makes me the asshole and a shitty fucking husband. Not that that comes as any surprise considering where I came from.
And that’s not even including Tally. What about her?
I’m surprised by the front door swinging open revealing Amy, stari
“Hey,” I say, tentatively.
She looks away, avoiding eye contact. That’s supposed to be my M.O., not hers. It’s pretty fucking telling, though. And it’s not because I know her so intimately either. It’s because reading people is essential to my work. ‘Stay alert, stay alive’ doesn’t just refer to your surroundings.
So when she tucks her bottom lip in and fights a tremble, trying to hide it by adjusting Tally in her arms, I start to get a little nervous. Not as nervous as I probably should be, though…
When she doesn’t say anything a second later, I step towards her. “Amy?” I bring myself closer to her physically, but there’s still a barrier there. On my side. But for the first time, I feel it on her end as well.
“We’re leaving, Alex.” She’s quiet, but there’s a strength to her voice. It surprises me, and I’m almost…proud?
“Where are you headed?” I ask like she might be going to the grocery store, but I know that’s not the case. First thing I noticed when the front door opened was Amy’s sad eyes, second thing I noticed was Tally’s shoes were on, third thing I noticed was the suitcases and Pack ‘n Play lined up against the wall.
“To my mom’s.” She raises her eyes back to me. Same sad look, yet she’s resolved about this. It’s the most life I’ve seen in her in a year and a half. Not since I left Amy with a 6-week-old infant in a new town for three months, where I came back to find her slightly lifeless. A bit subdued. I know. It was fucked up. I know it.
“For how long?” Again, I’m asking when I already know.
“Indefinitely.” Good for her. I just nod.
“What about Tally?” I see the fear flash across her eyes, and then it’s there in her voice.
“Tallulah is coming with me.” No surprise there. I’m rarely here, but that’s when the faintest hint of pain starts cropping up. Tally is still my girl.
She’s being sweet right now, no clue her little world is crumbling on the threshold of this brown condo. She’s tucked against Amy’s side, tugging gently at her mother’s hair, making smiley faces at me. But she doesn’t reach out for me. I notice that. I know it’s my fault. Never around enough.
“Why’d you wait?” She knew I’d be home today. It’s a Sunday. Would’ve made more sense to leave on a Friday, avoid traffic and a confrontation entirely. Honestly, a letter would have sufficed.
This time it’s anger that flashes across her face. It’s pointed at me, and I have to admit it’s well deserved. That was a dick thing to say.
“I wasn’t going to just leave you without saying anything…a-and I thought you’d want to say goodbye to Tally. At least…” Her tone is…unkind. Or maybe it’s wrecked. Fuck, maybe it’s both.
I don’t want to say goodbye to Tally. Not because I don’t do goodbyes, but now that the likelihood of them leaving is hitting, I don’t want Tally to go. I know, I didn’t say Amy, but they’re a package deal.
Amy holds out our daughter for me, so I drop my bags just inside the front door, right next to hers, and take Tally in my arms. I hold her tight, pressing my forehead against hers. She’s a lot like me. Quiet for a baby. Technically a toddler, but she’ll always be my baby. Her hair is a golden blonde, short with a few curls at the ends. She actually looks like my little sister Britain did at this age.
“Tally, you’re gonna go with mom today, okay?” I ask her, she nods. Doesn’t talk much, again, like me. “I love you, Tallulah June,” I whisper against her soft hair, swaying with her slightly. Her little hands grip my biceps. And we do what we always do, her and I. We speak without words.
I pull her against my body a bit tighter. I love you so much, Tally. And she reaches up a hand to run her small fingers against my stubbled jaw. I love you too, Daddy. I let time fall away because what else is there to do?
Amy leaving with Tally is probably the right thing. She deserves better than me not existing with her — just around her. That’s shitty. For everyone. Especially for Tally.
Amy gently clears her throat from where she’s been watching us. Probably with some regret and guilt, if I know her. But she shouldn’t feel guilty, I should. I could have tried harder, been better. But instead of saying that to her, letting there be some closure or helpful words, she reaches out for Tallulah and I pass our daughter to her.
“Can you help me load up?” she asks quietly, politely, the same way you’d ask a stranger. A stranger. I nod. Not exactly happy to help, but something akin to that.
A light drizzle starts so I grab multiple suitcases at once to speed up the process while Amy buckles Tally into her carseat.
I check the weather app as the drops of water hitting the brim of my hat grow in size. There’s a storm pushing through this afternoon.
“Amy, I don’t think you should go.” I stop her with a hand on her forearm as she walks to the driver’s door. She looks up at me, surprised, hopeful even. “There’s a storm coming through. You should wait till tomorrow.” And just like a storm showing up and moving through quickly, the storm dormant inside Amy breaks loose. She scoffs at me, pulling her arm free of my grip.
“No, Alex, I’m leaving now. I’m done waiting, and hoping, and praying for different. I-I thought you’d at least fight for me to stay for Tallulah’s sake, but you couldn’t even do that,” she looks away from me before finishing, “could you?” And then the tears begin to stream down her face. It’s the most emotion Amy’s shown me aside from the day Tally was born. I think about reaching out for her, but if I was Amy, would I want a stranger to hug me right now? No. I would want the easiest goodbye possible, no stringing her along. I’ve got to let her get on the road. She has a solid 5-hour drive ahead of her.
I get a pang of worry in my gut about it, a sour feeling, but what do you expect me to do? I can’t solve three years of hurting her while we stand next to her loaded-down car in the rain.
She’s staring at me now, willing me for something…anything…but…fuck! I don’t know what she wants me to do. I just came home and she’s springing this on me. She knows the first day is the worst. I’m not acclimated. My mind is somewhere else, fighting some other battle. But I just can’t muster the strength to give her the one she wants. I’m the fucking worst.
She sees the resignation on me, and nods. Accepting our fates. Accepting that I’m me. I’m broken, and she’s going to save herself from this broken life once and for all.
“Goodbye, Alex,” she says, somehow managing to fill the words with love and hope. She’s a good person at the end of the day. Far better than me, that’s for sure.
I try to swallow and push away whatever this feeling is welling up inside of me. It’s shitty. I can’t put a name to it, but it’s shit, I know that.
I watch my wife buckle up, close her door, and reverse out of her parking spot. Her small red SUV pulls out onto the main road, all while I just stand there, frozen.
I’m thinking about some of the other guys in the unit, how they’d handle what just happened. I think at least one or two would act the same as me. More in shock than anything else, but most would have lost it.
Migo would have begged, fallen to his knees, cried – done whatever was needed to keep his wife and kids. He would have bartered his soul to the devil.
Sacks would lose his shit, albeit a bit differently. He’d think there was someone else. Still, he’d try and get Meg to stay.
And then Blanks…I don’t know what Blanks would do.
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, MAN?” Speak of the devil. He walks up to me, in what is now a heavy downpour and shoves me. “Get in your fucking car, man!” His words are venomous.
“WAKE UP, ALEX!” he yells at me again when I don’t move. Wake up, Alex. I hear it in a different voice. It’s no longer Blanks’ deep tone, it’s my mother’s. It’s Georgia’s voice. Wake up, Alex.
Like getting hit by a bus, every emotion and thought and feeling I should have had catch up to me. “FUCK!” I yell, heading for my truck. Blanks does, too. He’s a good brother, won’t let me do this alone.
