Chief's Mess Read online

  Riptide Publishing

  PO Box 1537

  Burnsville, NC 28714

  www.riptidepublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All person(s) depicted on the cover are model(s) used for illustrative purposes only.

  Chief’s Mess

  Copyright © 2017 by L.A. Witt

  Cover art: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com/design.htm

  Editor: May Peterson

  Layout: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com/design.htm

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Riptide Publishing at the mailing address above, at Riptidepublishing.com, or at [email protected].

  ISBN: 978-1-62649-603-3

  First edition

  June, 2017

  Also available in paperback:

  ISBN: 978-1-62649-604-0

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  Anthony Talbot is in Anchor Point to visit family, but after two days of strife, he needs a break. A local gay bar is calling his name.

  When Chief Noah Jackson sees that red head stroll into the club, he immediately wants him. They’re perfectly matched, and before long, they’re burning up the sheets. Noah can’t get enough. Anthony can’t stay in Oregon for long, but as soon as he leaves, he’s counting down the days until he can fly back for more. And between his increasingly frequent visits, there’s always phone sex, sexting, webcams . . . anything they can get.

  But Noah’s got a carefully crafted façade, and Anthony can’t help noticing the slowly forming cracks. The scent of alcohol in the middle of the day. The extra drinks at dinner. The hint of red in his eyes. Anthony knows what it means. He doesn’t want to believe it, but he’s seen this before, and there’s no denying it. If Noah doesn’t get his downward spiral under control, he’s going to lose both his career and the first man he’s ever really loved.

  About Chief’s Mess

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  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

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Also by L.A. Witt

  About the Author

  More like this

  One more minute in the presence of my ex-brother-in-law, and I was going to lose my shit.

  My sister and I were two days into a ten-day trip, and I was done. I’d been in a constant state of irritation from the moment we’d parked in front of Clint’s house. Or Travis’s, I guess. Apparently Clint had moved in with him. I didn’t care enough to ask for details.

  To be fair, Clint wasn’t doing anything to piss me off. Breathing, maybe. Smiling and acting like nobody in the room remembered anything he’d done. Mandy had made peace with it, but all this baby brother saw was the man who’d hurt my big sister and her kids. That shit didn’t go away overnight.

  I was happy for Mandy and especially for the kids, though. The separation from their father had been a huge and relentless source of stress for the past few years, and the tension between my sister and Clint had been driving her insane. So it was good to see things improving on all fronts.

  None of that changed the fact that I wanted to choke the ever-loving fuck out of him.

  But he was apparently getting serious with Travis, his new boyfriend, and Mandy wanted to introduce the kids and get them used to the idea of staying here with the happy couple, and I’d promised to come along for moral support, so . . . I was fucking stuck. Two days down. Seven to go. Ironically, I kind of wanted a drink, but that would only make me feel worse. And quite possibly make Mandy think I was trying to taunt him and prove he was less “recovering” and more “alcoholic.”

  So no drink for me. Not even as I sat on one end of the couch, separated from Clint by Travis, trying not to grind my teeth to dust. Everyone—Mandy, Clint, Travis, and Travis’s daughter, Kimber—were chatting about something, but I wasn’t paying attention. I kept my gaze fixed on Mandy’s kids, who were kicking a soccer ball around in the backyard.

  The room was suddenly quiet, and as I looked around, I realized everyone was watching me. Self-consciously, I sat up. “What?”

  Mandy gestured at Clint. “He was asking how work is going.”

  I glanced at Clint. Really? You think I want to chat with you about my job? Why don’t we talk about how much you stomped on my sister’s heart? Goddamn, I really needed that beer. If nothing else so I had a bottle to snap off on the edge of the coffee table and—

  I cleared my throat. “Fine. Work’s fine.” I scooted to the edge of the sofa. “I’m, uh, going to go keep an eye on the kids.”

  Nobody said a word or tried to stop me.

  The kids were fine on their own. The yard was fenced in, and the three of them weren’t prone to fighting, so they could play without someone watching their every move. Mostly, I wanted to be alone for a while, and catch my breath. After all, I’d been grinding my teeth for two solid days. Today, my hackles had been up since lunch, when Clint had mentioned that he and Travis were talking about getting married. That shouldn’t have been a surprise. They were obviously in love, and they’d apparently been shacking up for a while now, so why the hell not? Why be annoyed over him finding happiness and stability?

  Because you don’t deserve any of this, Clint.

  To be fair, I was glad to see that he’d sobered up, and he did seem much calmer and more relaxed than he’d been during that horrible period when he’d destroyed everything. With time, I might be more charitable toward him. If Mandy could forgive him enough to be sitting there in the living room, chatting happily while the kids played in the backyard, then I was probably the asshole in this situation. But, damn, it was hard to look at him without seeing the slurring, snarling, red-eyed fucker who’d been the reason my sister had called me in tears almost every night for several months.

  Ex
cept he hasn’t had a drink the whole time we’ve been here.

  It wasn’t that hard to be sober for a couple of days, though. And it wasn’t like this was a dry household. There was beer in the fridge. Some bottles of wine on the counter. Aside from Clint, every adult had had one or two since Mandy and I had been here.

  He didn’t seem stressed about it. I’d scrutinized the shit out of him the first night, watching for a longing look at a glass or a bottle, but he’d barely seemed to notice anyone was drinking at all. He’d even held Travis’s beer bottle for a moment last night while Travis had lit a cigarette, and there hadn’t been so much as a flicker of wanting in his eyes. And I’d looked for it too.

  He’d been bleary-eyed today, like he hadn’t slept well. Which, now that I thought about it, he’d looked like that since I’d been here. It was just more noticeable today, like last night had been exceptionally bad. And Mandy had told me Clint was struggling pretty hard with some PTSD. So maybe that was why he looked so tired. Or like he’d aged a decade since the last time I’d seen him.

  Behind me, the sliding glass door opened. My hackles went up again, but settled back down when the slightly uneven footsteps told me who it was. Travis walked with a slight limp. I didn’t know the full story behind it—I was surprised he was still on active duty with a visible injury like that—and didn’t ask. I did feel kind of like a jerk for assuming at first that he was sore from something he and Clint had done in the bedroom—and I’d been pissed, thinking they were rubbing it in Mandy’s face that they were together—but the longer I was around him, the more I thought this was something chronic. At one point, Travis had gone to get up from the couch, but winced, and Clint had instantly turned to him with genuine concern written all over his face. They’d exchanged “Are you okay?”/ “Yeah, I’m fine” looks, but Clint had still helped Travis stand, and Travis hadn’t objected.

  So yeah. I was an asshole. Immediately assuming the worst at every turn.

  Travis stopped by the railing and took out a pack of cigarettes. “Mind if I smoke?”

  “It’s your house.”

  “Yeah, but not everyone likes it.” He stepped around to my other side, and I realized as he lit the cigarette, he’d put himself downwind of me.

  “It’s fine,” I muttered. “My roommate smokes. It’s . . .” I waved a hand. “No big deal.”

  He gave a subtle nod as he took a drag off the cigarette.

  I hated awkward silences, so I cleared my throat. “You, uh, used to be a pilot, right?”

  Something tightened in his expression, and he exhaled some smoke. “Yeah. Used to be.” His tone didn’t invite any more conversation on the subject. “What do you do?”

  “Engineer.” I gazed out at the kids as they passed the soccer ball back and forth on the damp grass. “My company makes pneumatic tools.”

  “Oh. Interesting work?”

  “If you think staring at schematics all day long is interesting, yeah.”

  He chuckled, bringing his cigarette back to his lips. “Can’t be much more boring than running an admin department.”

  “Ugh.” I made a face. “No, thank you.”

  He pulled in some more smoke, blew it out, and tapped the ashes in a glass tray on the railing. “So are you in Nevada with Mandy?”

  I shook my head. “Denver. I’d never last in the desert.”

  “You and me both. I don’t know how Clint handled it when he was stationed out there.”

  We both tensed. I bit down on a comment about the abundant liquor stores helping him through that terrible time. Maybe if I’d been talking to Clint, I’d have let it fly, but Travis seemed nice enough. I didn’t need to be an asshole to him.

  I drummed my fingers on the railing. He smoked. I didn’t. The kids played. Clint and Mandy were probably talking in the living room. Meanwhile, we stood here with this awkward silence.

  I stopped drumming and rested my hand on the railing. “You been here in Anchor Point for very long?”

  “Couple of years.” He crushed the spent cigarette in the ashtray. “I’ll probably end up retiring here.”

  “Yeah? You like it that much?”

  “It’s nice. And, besides, Clint’s not retiring for a while, so there’s not much point in moving unless he gets transferred.”

  “Right. Makes . . . makes sense.”

  And more awkward silence set in. I understood why he mentioned Clint every other breath. The fact that I couldn’t stand the guy didn’t change the fact that he was a huge part of Travis’s life. There was no discussing jobs and future plans and living spaces without mentioning Clint, just like Mandy couldn’t be expected to discuss her kids without their father’s name coming up.

  After a couple more attempts at small talk, Travis bowed out politely and went back inside. I watched as he sat down beside Clint again, draping his arm around him and pressing a kiss to Clint’s shoulder.

  Muttering a curse, I looked out at the kids again because I couldn’t stand watching Clint and Travis. The mere sight of those two set my teeth on edge. It shouldn’t, but it did. It pissed me off to see Clint blissfully in love with his new man. How the hell did he get to be happy after he’d been such a dick, especially since Mandy was still single? And while I was still miserable and alone years after I’d—I thought—tactfully divorced my ex-wife? Okay, so neither of us had been happy about the end of our marriage, but the fact was, I was gay. Maybe this was karma for keeping myself in the closet and her in the dark for so long. We were still friends, though, so that counted for something, right?

  Which was why it wasn’t fair that Clint could drink himself into violent rages until Mandy kicked him out, and just a few years later, he was with Travis. Travis, who was perfect. So right now, I kind of hated them both. I’d stopped liking Clint the first time Mandy had told me he’d put a fist through the wall, and I was bitter that Travis was making him happy now.

  On some level, I got it that Clint had been consumed by PTSD and alcohol at the time, and that he’d gotten his shit together since then, but I wasn’t as forgiving as Mandy was. Or as quick to assume he’d stay on the rails. I didn’t like the idea of my niece and nephews coming to stay with him without me or Mandy nearby.

  “Cut him some slack,” she’d said at the airport on the way here. “He’s really come a long way.”

  Yeah. I’d believe it when I saw it.

  Or maybe I wouldn’t. He’d been his old sober self since we’d been here, and I still wasn’t buying it.

  Whatever. I was here for moral support for Mandy and the kids. Liking Clint wasn’t a requirement.

  The door opened again, and I clenched my jaw. If it was him, I was going to blow a gasket, I swore to—

  “Hey.” Mandy’s voice knocked that defensiveness right out of me.

  Putting on a smile, I turned around. “Hey. How are you holding up?”

  She hugged herself. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

  “I’m not the one who’s—”

  “Don’t.” She rolled her eyes and playfully kicked my shoe. “I know you, and I can practically hear your teeth grinding.”

  I avoided her gaze.

  “He’s really trying, Anthony.”

  I nodded, letting out a long breath. “I know he is. I can tell. I’m just . . .”

  She leaned against the railing beside me. “You don’t like him.”

  “Should I?”

  “No.” She shrugged. “I’m not crazy about him anymore either, but—”

  “But he’s still the father of your kids. I know.” I’d lost count of how many times we’d had this conversation. I knew I wasn’t being fair to him, but this was someone who’d hurt my big sister, not to mention her kids, who I loved like they were my own. Even if I could forgive—and I wasn’t ready for that yet—I would not forget.

  “Listen.” Mandy looked at me. “Things are going smoothly here. If you need to take off for the night, go ahead. The kids and I will be fine.”

 
Guilt mingled with that irritation. “I came here to be supportive. I’m—”

  “You have been. And I appreciate that, especially since I know Clint isn’t your favorite person in the world.”

  I ground my teeth some more. “You are the queen of understatement, you know that?”

  She laughed softly, glancing over her shoulder as if to make sure no one was listening in. “Seriously, he’s so much better than he was.”

  “Yeah, but you’ve been talking to him this whole time. Far as I’m concerned, he’s still the asshole you kicked out back when—”

  “I know. But do you think I’d leave the kids with him if he was still that messed up? He’s got his shit together now.”

  I scowled, but said nothing.

  She squeezed my arm. “I think everything is under control tonight. Why don’t you take the rental car and go have a night to yourself?”

  “And do what?” I growled. “We’re in a Podunk town in the middle of—”

  “Anthony.” She eyed me. “It’s a Navy town. I’m sure you can find something to do.”

  God, that was tempting. Get away from Clint and maybe find a man whose company I could tolerate for the night? Hell yes.

  I shifted my weight. “Are you sure you’re okay without me?”

  She glanced back into the house, then out at the kids, and a small smile worked its way onto her lips. “I’ll be fine. I probably didn’t need to drag you out here after all.”

  “You know I’d have come along anyway.”

  The smile got bigger, and she hugged me. “I know. Thank you.”

  I hugged her back, holding her tight for a second. She’d come to me for support as she’d figured out how to cope with Clint being queer. When she’d brought the kids out here to visit Clint and meet Travis, she’d asked if I’d be willing to come along so she didn’t have to face them alone. I’d moved hell and earth at work to make sure I had the time off.

  But now it was time for a break. With my sister’s blessing, I said good-bye to everyone—even Clint, because I was here to be supportive—and left like the place was on fire.

  Travis and Clint lived fairly close to the base, but then, everything in this tiny town was close to the base. So, a few minutes after I’d pulled out of their driveway, I was following the road lined with razor-wire topped chain link and signs warning against trespassing on government property. Not long after that, I was in downtown. Well . . . “downtown.”