Dirty Secrets (Get Dirty 4)

“It’s not like that. It’s just his . . . life requires that I accept limitations. Limitations that he places upon himself just as much as he asks me to do the same. He’s sweet in his own way, protective and caring, and he encourages me to become all I can be. But what I did tonight is like . . .” I search my mind for something to make him understand. “Being protective is like his love language or something, and I just shit all over that. Imagine if you’d bought Janine a dozen red roses and instead of saying thank you and putting them in a vase, she just ignored them and forgot, let them rot on the counter without a care. It’s a piss-poor analogy, but pretty much spot-on.”

He flinches and runs his hands over his face, his eyes downcast. “Well, I won’t be bringing Janine roses any damn time soon anymore. That’s for fucking sure.”

His voice breaks at the end, and suddenly, I realize why my bro’s turned up out of the blue. All evening, we’ve been chatting, reminiscing about the good old days, and it hadn’t occurred to me that he’s been intentionally directing the conversation to the past so that he didn’t have to talk about the present.

I’d been so caught up in my own head, not sure how to explain everything going on in my own life, that I’d readily let him keep us in the carefree days of our youth.

But now I can see that was a mistake. Regardless of my relationship with Dominick, and TJ’s questions about how Dom can be overprotective, my brother’s in pain, and he has issues that we need to discuss. I’m okay, but he suddenly looks like he’s truly not.

“Spill the beans, TJ. What’s going on with Janine?”

He sits silently, his jaw opening from time to time as he tries to start, but each time, he closes it. I noticed the habit the last time we were together, something he picked up in his time in the military. Before then, he’d talk first, think later. Now my brother’s a lot more thoughtful.

“She’s been distant when I’d get to call home,” TJ finally says quietly, rubbing at his cheeks. “I thought the deployment was wearing on her. Shit, I understand. It was wearing on me too.”

He huffs a laugh full of pain, and I reach over to take his hand. He squeezes back, holding on for dear life.

“I wanted to surprise her, thought it’d be like one of the fucking viral videos with her running into my arms and hugging me tight when I came home early. Hell, I even put in for a transfer so I could stay stateside for a bit, be home for dinner and shit.”

I see the tear run down his cheek, but he swipes it away angrily. He’s quiet for a solid minute, lost in the video playing out in his head.

“What happened when you got home?” I ask, forcing him back to this moment.

“I took a buddy with me. He’d used his hazard pay to buy one of those really good camcorders. Like the dude could have filmed for Channel 7 with the fucking thing. I wanted it captured for eternity, you understand? I walked in the house, grinning like a fucking fool at the load of laundry waiting to be folded on the couch and the dishes in the sink. It felt real, ya know? Like she hadn’t spit-shined up for some big homecoming. I remember smelling vanilla cupcakes, best damn smell ever.”

He pauses, shaking his head miserably. “Janine doesn’t cook, not a lick. But she likes the house to smell like she’s been baking so she burns these candles all the time.”

I nod, and he disappears back into his story.

“So I’m walking down the hall, my buddy following me, recording. But when I opened the bedroom door, thinking she was going to be so happy to see me, she was . . . she was . . .”

He chokes, growling out in frustration.

“She was what, TJ?”

He takes a fortifying breath, spitting the words out like they burn his tongue. “She was getting railed by some guy. I caught her red-handed, Allie. Fucking some guy in our bed while I was on deployment.”

I wince, pain and shock rolling through me. I’ve met Janine a bunch of times and always liked her. She was a bit distant while TJ was on deployment, having her own circle of support, but she’d been nothing but good to him.

Until now.

“Oh, my God! I’m so sorry!” I whisper, squeezing his hand. “What’d you do? Please tell me you didn’t kill the guy, or if you did, let me call Dominick to see if he can hide the body.”

It’s just an attempt at humor, something he and I have done at inappropriate times since we were little kids, but TJ’s eyes flash dangerously, and I wince.