What I Need

Jake is sitting at the kitchen counter with a glass in front of him, digging Fritos out of a small chip bag and popping them into his mouth. And CJ is standing across from him at the sink, arms pulled across his chest, smiling, looking happy as anything to be watching his brother chow down like a starving man. They’re not talking anymore so I don’t feel like I’m interrupting anything when I walk into the room. But I do gain both of their attentions.

“Come here, darlin’,” CJ says, motioning with his head for me to join him while giving me the smile he was just putting on Jake.

I hurry over and tuck under the arm he’s holding out, getting that draped around my shoulders. My hand curls around his waist, and I give him a squeeze, smiling up at him.

“Riley, this is my brother, Jake.” CJ lifts his head and looks across the counter, and I follow his eyes while his arm around me tightens and draws me closer to his body. “Jake, you rude motherfucker, meet my girl.”

Jake snorts.

I do not snort. I inhale a sharp breath as bliss warms me all over.

His girl.

God, I love the way that sounds.

I uncurl my arm from around CJ and extend my hand to Jake over the sink. “It’s nice to meet you, Jake. Now that I’m dressed . . .”

Jake smiles, looking from his brother back to me, then he wipes his hand off on his shirt and takes a hold of mine, shaking it.

Even though he’s younger than CJ, Jake has this tired look about him, as if he’s lived more years than his age. Shadows circle his dull blue eyes. He looks like he could sleep for months. He isn’t smiling at me the way CJ does. He’s being friendly, yes, but it almost feels forced, like he doesn’t have the energy but he knows it’s the polite thing to do.

I amp up my smile, appreciating the effort. I’m sure he is tired. He just got home after God knows how long.

“Complicated, huh?” Jake directs at CJ after releasing my hand. “The fuck happened to that?”

“What?” I ask. I turn to CJ, watching him glare at Jake and shake his head.

“Nothing,” he mutters. “He’s being a dumbass.”

Jake laughs under his breath.

“Would you like me to make you something to eat?” I ask, watching Jake hit crumbs in his bag, tip his head back and knock the last remaining Fritos into his mouth. “I made taco lasagna last night. I could heat you up a plate. It’s . . . well, it’s exactly how it sounds. Tacos in the form of lasagna.”

He crushes up the empty bag in his hand, shrugging. “Sure. Yeah, that sounds good. Thanks.”

“No problem.” I look up at CJ, meeting his eyes. I wonder how long he’s been looking at me? “Are you hungry? Do you want some?”

“Yeah. Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

CJ kisses the top of my head, murmuring his appreciation, then releases me so I can go about fixing him and his brother a plate.

As I’m scooping out their servings and heating them up, I listen to their conversation.

They talk about Afghanistan, but only briefly, and I get the impression from Jake’s short, to the point answers that this topic isn’t something he wants to elaborate on. His voice is tight by the time he changes the subject, putting the focus on CJ’s injury and getting the details of that night and his recovery so far. I carry the plates over to the counter and distribute them, along with forks and napkins. The guys are sitting beside each other, neither one of them looking up or breaking conversation when I walk over. I don’t mind. I know they need this. I’m sure they missed each other a lot. You can tell CJ is the older brother out of the two. He slaps Jake on the back and roughs up his hair, and Jake lets him. He doesn’t gripe at all. It’s sweet.

I linger there, watching their reunion until CJ briefly glances at me before admitting to his leg still bothering him a good bit, and then I turn around and busy myself with dishes.

I scrub a pan with vigor, getting the hardened egg off the bottom. My mouth set into a frown.

I can’t help but feel a little sad. I know CJ isn’t supposed to be healed up completely yet, but I hate hearing about how much pain he's still in. I want him healed.

I swear though, I think he’s bringing some of it on himself. I’ve caught him several times forgetting about his boot.

“Babe!”

I jump and whip my head around, keeping my hands under the water. “Yeah?”

Shoot. Has he been calling me?

CJ laughs at me through closed lips, his fork hovering in the air with a bite. “Jake was just saying how good your food is,” he shares, tipping his head at his brother and looking all kinds of proud of me.

I turn to Jake. My brows raise. “Do you like it? It’s good, right?”

He nods, chewing up his bite.

I smile, wanting to do a little dance in celebration. I’m getting the family approval already. This is awesome!

I dry my hands on the towel that’s hanging off the stove, then spin around to face the two of them. “Did CJ tell you about the fireworks tonight?” I ask. “There’s a parade and everything in town. It’s really fun.”

“Yeah. I can’t go, though,” Jake replies. “People drink a lot at shit like that. I can’t be around it.”

My smile fades as Jake looks down at his plate and forks more of his food.

Crap. What is wrong with me? I know about Jake’s history with drugs and the way alcohol brings that urge on for him. CJ told me he was a recovering addict. He said Jake struggled with it for years, and still does. And people drink a ton while watching the fireworks. It’s like a big party in the middle of a field. I know this! ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">