Forever Changed (6 page)
But Bulldog wasn’t thinking about that. He didn’t have time for Moby today. Not when he had to think about what he was heading into. It wasn’t home anymore, and if it wasn’t for his niece, Annabeth, he would have tried harder to stay on base. The guilt didn’t sit well most days, but it was worse when he was back in Fort Wayne.
“Nothing. Gotta jet.” Bulldog waved Moby off and headed toward his Jeep.
That didn’t dissuade Moby—oh no. Moby walked backwards and talked to Bulldog like he didn’t have a care in the world. Bulldog shouldn’t have expected any different. He’d known Moby for a couple of years now, and
he
should have been the one with the nickname Bulldog because once he got something stuck in his craw, he didn’t let go until he had what he wanted.
“Jet? But we just got back. The guys are headed to the bar. I mean, what did LT want? How bad could it be to not go out first?” Moby wiggled his eyebrows and grinned before turning around and walking beside Bulldog.
He sighed and pinched his nose. It was best to just tell Moby so he could get this trip over with, bury his mom and come back to his real family.
“Mom died. Headed home.” He didn’t even turn to look at Moby. Bulldog didn’t want to see the sympathy in his eyes. God this sucked and he couldn’t even cry. Or feel sad. All he had in him was guilt for not being there.
The LT had told him his mom had been murdered. Bulldog kept meaning to go home during some downtime, but he had always put it off. Maybe he could have done something if he’d been there.
“Hey, wait. Stop.”
“Moby, I don’t have time for this.”
“Bulldog—Pete, come on.” Moby clamped a hand on his shoulder and Bulldog couldn’t move.
Moby was a strong-ass man and had about fifty pounds on Bulldog—an unstoppable force as he showed time and time again on the field. Bulldog might have a couple of inches on Moby, but it didn’t make up for Moby’s muscle mass. He wondered how it would feel—shit, he wasn’t going there.
“I’m serious, Moby. I have to get out of here and get a ride back to Indiana. The sooner I get there, the sooner I can get back.”
“Fuck, man, your mom died.” Moby squeezed Bulldog’s shoulder.
He cringed and Moby loosened his hold, but not enough for Bulldog to get out of the grip.
“I’m well aware.” He glared, but it didn’t work.
“You know what I mean. Take a second here. Talk to me.” Moby was pleading with him.
Bulldog closed his eyes. “I don’t know anything yet,” he admitted and felt even more like a shit. “I’ll find out more when I get there.” Bulldog shook his arm and Moby finally let go.
“Do you need anything?” He patted the arm he’d had such a tight grip on seconds before.
Bulldog knew he’d bruise, damn it. The guy was too strong for his own good. “Only to get this over with,” Bulldog sighed. The day was becoming endless—both emotionally and physically.
“Pete, I can help.”
He knew it was bad when Moby started using his first name. Everyone called him Bulldog. He couldn’t even remember how the nickname got started.
“I appreciate it, but no. You should go enjoy your downtime. Didn’t you say the guys were going to the bar?”
“That can wait.”
“That’s all well and good, but I can’t.”
Moby jerked his head and did an about-face, striding away in the opposite direction.
It shouldn’t have made Bulldog sad, but it did. Moby wasn’t his, would never be his. It was better this way. He’d go home and pack. Focus on Annabeth. She had to be a mess right now and he had no idea where she was. Last he’d heard, his deadbeat brother had dropped her off at their mom’s. God, he hoped someone had Annabeth situated.
Moby walked away. It was all he could do not to hug Pete. The more he felt for the man, the harder it got to think of him as Bulldog. He didn’t know why, but it was what it was. He wanted so bad to help, his skin was itching. Pete had to be out of his mind with worry. They all knew about his niece and her shit of an excuse for parents. The mom was locked away for drugs and who knew about the dad?
Moby was going to help come hell or high water. He knocked on LT’s door.
“Enter.”
LT looked up when he walked in and nodded for him to speak. Moby looked over LT’s head and stared at the wall behind him. He had to ask this right or he’d be shot down—he knew it. Pete might have said he didn’t need him, but Moby was going to be there. It was his downtime and he’d use it how he wanted to—even if that meant helping a stubborn friend who wouldn’t ask for it.
“Sir, I’d like permission to take an extended leave.”
“How extended?” LT didn’t have any expression on his face.
“I’m not sure, sir.” Moby didn’t even blink—he was holding steady and keeping his military bearing. This was too important to fuck up. His usual clowning around wouldn’t accomplish anything. He had to get this done.
“You have to give me more than that to fill out the paperwork, Edward.”
“I’m going to Indiana to help First Sergeant out.” He hoped to God his poker face was intact. Most people could read him like a book and the LT was one of them.
“Did he ask you for help?” LT’s voice was calm, which could be a good thing or a bad thing. That was one of the things with LT, you just never knew—the man had the best poker face around. He never showed emotions. Ever. At least not when Moby had been around.
“Permission to speak freely?”
LT waved his hand, giving him silent permission.
“He needs help. We both know he won’t ask for it and this is his mom. She’s gone, and he’s going to need a friendly there.”
“Did he tell you what happened to his mom?” LT steepled his fingers and tapped them to his chin, watching Moby with those too-keen eyes.
“Just that she died and he didn’t know much more.”
“She was murdered.”
“Fuck. Um… Sorry, LT.” Moby had lost it just for a second. Pete was going into a hostile situation with no back-up. All the more reason he
had
to go.
“I’m going to grant your leave. We don’t know how bad it is and I don’t want him to go off the deep end. I also don’t want to read a headline in the Indiana papers saying a member of the Army Special Forces killed a civilian. Keep him in check. I expect to hear from you when you land and keep me up to date when he can’t. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Get out of here.” LT’s expression cracked for just a second. It was gone so fast, he had to have imagined that smile gracing his commander’s face.
Moby didn’t waste time. He left the office and raced to his apartment just off base, wondering if he could get on the same flight. Pete was going to be pissed off, but he’d get over it.
Luckily he didn’t live far from base. None of them did because they could get called out at a moment’s notice. That was the way of things. He should live on base to make it even easier, but he was done with the frat style living that went on there. It got old—fast. Or maybe that was just him.
Naw.
He rushed around his place looking for his duffle. He really didn’t need much, just a couple of pairs of jeans and some shirts. Shit—the funeral. Should he have something for that? His uniform might do, but his good one was at the cleaners. He’d forgotten to pick the damn thing up and it wasn’t like he owned a suit. He’d have to pick something up there.
In minutes, he was back out the door and headed for the airport. He’d pick up his ticket there. He had to have a plan. If Pete saw him at the airport, all bets would be off. Moby was going to have to keep low and not be detected until the plane had taken off.
Easier said than done because it wasn’t like Pete wasn’t observant, but Moby had to hope his First Sergeant’s grief would keep him preoccupied enough not to spot Moby.
Keeping a sharp lookout, he headed to the first kiosk and booked a flight. It might not be the only airline going to Fort Wayne so maybe he could luck out. Of course when he got there he’d have to contact Pete because he had no idea where he was going. He should have figured that out before leaving LT’s office, but sometimes he didn’t think things through—one of his biggest downfalls if you asked a few of the members of their team. But, hell, what did they know?
Moby’s flight wouldn’t take off for about an hour so he had time to spare, which translated into time to get caught. He’d use the time to call the LT and get an address.
He wasn’t scared of Pete, but he also didn’t want to cause him any more grief. He was going to help, damn it. Pete would just have to live with it. Moby moved so his back was to a wall, letting him search the crowds. His arms crossed over his chest, he leaned against the wall and waited.
About the Author
Jambrea wanted to be the youngest romance author published, but life impeded the dreams. She put her writing aside and went to college briefly, then enlisted in the Air Force. After serving in the military, she returned home to Indiana to start her family. A few years later, she discovered yahoo groups and book reviews. There was no turning back. She was bit by the writing bug.
She enjoys spending time with her son when not writing and loves to receive reader feedback. She’s addicted to the internet so feel free to email her anytime.
Email:
[email protected]
Jambrea loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at
http://www.totallybound.com
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Also by Jambrea Jo Jones
Saddle Up N Ride: A Fistful of Emmett
Stealing My Heart: Stealing Michael
Unconventional at Best: Operation: Get Spencer
Unconventional in Atlanta: Where Tomorrow Shines
Stand to Attention: On the Home Front
Totally Bound Publishing
