I rubbed a hand over my face and sat up. “I’ll let you fight that out with him. As long as I get paid, I don’t care who pays the bill.”
There was another deep and rumbling chuckle. “You serve in the military, son?”
I blinked in surprise at the offhanded question and looked down at my oxblood Burberry wingtips and the legs of my custom fit, navy Canali suit. I was miles away from the rebellious and untrained eighteen-year-old that had enlisted what felt like a lifetime ago. No one asked me about those four defining years of my life. They asked about finishing my undergrad in record time, they mentioned law school, they talked about passing the bar, and they questioned me about defending a well-known serial killer and getting a sitting congressman acquitted of vehicular manslaughter charges. Most of the time, I forgot about the kid that had been shipped to the desert to fight hostiles and insurgents on endless miles of bloodstained sand. I was too busy being the guy in the suit with a slick haircut and perfectly placed accessories to show how successful, how good at my job I was.
“Why do you ask?” I wasn’t going to confirm his suspicions because I hadn’t been a soldier or a wide-eyed kid in a very long time and I didn’t want to give the man the wrong impression about who I was or what kind of man he was going to be dealing with.
The other man made an amused noise and told me, “I can always tell. Something about the way a man speaks, the way he presents himself, even if it is over the phone and to a total stranger. Like recognizes like. I look forward to meeting you in person tomorrow, Mr. Jackson.”
He hung up and left me shaking my head in bemusement. It took a lot to surprise me considering I was intimately acquainted with all the appalling things humans were capable of, but both father and daughter had managed to knock me sideways today.
I hit the Google search bar on my phone and tapped in the name Brighton Walker out of pure curiosity.
Like recognized like.
That may be true but I wasn’t sure how alike the two of us actually were. There was plenty of information on the ever informative Google about Brite Walker, including details from his illustrious military career with the Marines, a career that lasted decades rather than the mandatory four like I had served. There were articles about his work with the VA and disabled vets all over the country, news stories ranging from good to really bad about the bar he no longer owned, and several articles that tied him to the largest and most notorious motorcycle club in the Rockies. The man was equal parts hero and outlaw. He was the stuff local legends were made of and the kind of man other men told stories about. He impressed from nothing more than a web search, so I couldn’t even imagine how dynamic and enthralling he would be in person. Something told me Brite Walker had never even seen a Rolex and that the things that impressed everyone else who filled my day-to-day would not awe him in the least. For some reason I suddenly felt entirely inadequate, and I started regretting not letting the pink-haired spitfire actually get away with firing me.
Normally, I was a man used to being at the top of my game. I was a man used to getting what I wanted no matter what stood in my path. I was a man used to winning … but not lately. Lately, I was a man that had been betrayed, rejected, and drained emotionally and financially. Everything that went down with Lottie, my ex, had left me feeling like a loser, like a failure, like a fool.
We’d known each other since high school, had grown up in the same small mountain town a couple hours outside of Denver. Lottie came from money; I didn’t. She grew up in a mountainside mansion that looked like a goddamn ski resort; I grew up in a tiny cabin that only had running water and working electricity half of the time. Her parents worked in the entertainment industry and summered in the Virgin Islands; mine lived mostly off the land, refused to work for “the man,” and had bartered and traded for everything we had ever owned.
I hooked up with her at first to prove that I could. Girls had always liked me even though I came from nothing and had a shit attitude about it. Once I sealed the deal, I realized she was sweet, fun, and unendingly kind considering her affluent background. The sex was a stroke to my immature ego which quickly turned into something more. I begged her to wait for me because I had no other choice but to enlist and try to figure my life out. Joining the Army was the only way I was able to afford college, and I was determined to make something of myself, even if it meant leaving my girl and my very disapproving family behind.
Lottie promised to wait, and while I was sent overseas she went to Vassar and started her poli-sci degree. Lottie wanted to be a lawyer long before I did, but only one of us had the dedication and drive to actually get the degree and pass the bar. While I was away fighting a war and becoming a man, she was busy dropping out of school and flitting from guy to guy, all while sending me letters and messages telling me she loved and missed me. I was none the wiser, thought she was still the sweet, innocent girl I had fallen for ages ago. When I got back stateside, I put a ring on her finger, moved her to Boulder so I could attend CU, and spent every dime I made trying to keep her in the lifestyle she was accustomed to while simultaneously paying tuition.
It wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.
The expensive suits, sports cars, the fat bank account … none of it had been enough to keep Lottie happy or faithful. At first, I was gone because of Uncle Sam, then I was in school, then I was busting my ass to pass the bar while working full time, and then I got hired at the firm and started working eighty- to ninety-hour workweeks to make a name for myself. She told me I wasn’t around. She told me I wasn’t present. She told me that she never loved me, and only stayed with me because I was safe and a good bet for her future financial security.