Page 14 of Wyatt the Military Veteran

“I think so,” she says sleepily. Her head lays cradled between her folded arms, her dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks.

“Good.” I’ve never given a woman a massage before, so it’s a relief to learn I’m not total shit at it. I want to take away Kennedy’s pain as much as possible.

“So… Did you come home with Chris? Someone mentioned that he’s back for the holidays.”

Her simple question holds a ton of weight; the implications clear. Is this a brief interlude before I return to hang out with my army buddy? Does Chris know about our friendship?

“No, we traveled separately,” I say. Kennedy inhales a sharp breath as my fingers hit a tight knot, and I gentle my touch, wordlessly apologizing for the spasm of pain. “The truth is I came to Suitor’s Crossing for you. Chris didn’t factor into the decision.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

Is that concern I’m some sort of stalker? Or is she pleased by the admission?

Fuck trying to figure it out myself.

“Is that a good or badoh?”

“Good.” Kennedy stretches her arms overhead then cautiously rises from the chair as I step back to give her room. She carefully palpates her lower back before twisting to the side and flashing a shy smile. “I’m glad you’re here, and I’m extra happy that we don’t have to work around Chris or his family’s schedule to spend time together. Don’t get me wrong, his mom Sheree is nice, but it’s going to be awkward when she finds out her machinations failed because we connected instead.”

“I never would have had a chance if Chris took the time to write back to you,” I point out, still pissed on Kennedy’s behalf. She didn’t deserve the way he treated her.

“Maybe, but it doesn’t matter—” Firm pounding on the front door interrupts us, and Kennedy frowns at the sudden intrusion. “Who…?”

“Kennedy Elaine! Open the damn door!” An annoyed male voice booms through the hardwood, and instantly, I’m indefense mode, pushing past Kennedy to answer the demanding summons first.

Two men stand tall and bristling with anger on her doorstep. One is a firefighter based on the logo on his tee and the heavy turnout pants held up by navy suspenders. The other is harder to categorize in his tailored suit, though it’s obvious the men are related—twins with their matching steel grey eyes and black hair, despite the firefighter’s shaggier appearance.

“Who the hell are you?” the firefighter asks, his gaze bouncing between me and Kennedy, whose warm presence heats my back.

Placing a hand on the doorframe to block her from edging forward, I level a challenging glare his way. I don’t know who these guys are, but no one gets away with banging down my girl’s door and acting like a couple of overbearing dicks.

“Major Wyatt Lincoln, and you are?”

“Kennedy’s brothers, Beckett and Ezra Caldwell.” The suited man gestures to the firefighter then to himself. “We heard a stranger randomly showed up at Holiday Lane then drove our vulnerable sister home, despite a swath of friends present to take care of her. So, why don’t you explain what the fuck you want with Kennedy?”

“Oh my god.” Kennedy groans behind me. “Ezra, Beckett, calm down. Wyatt is a friend, not a stranger. Come inside before the neighbors start filming the show you two dummies are putting on. Who even called you guys?”

She tugs on the back of my shirt, and reluctantly, I lower my arm to let the men pass the threshold. One of Kennedy’s letters mentioned that she has four older brothers. The reality of what that means is becoming clear—four overprotective men intent on forming a solid barrier between Kennedy and any man who dares to be near her.

As someone who views Kennedy as a precious treasure, I appreciate the sentiment, but their bullying won’t work on me.They’re not going to intimidate me into leaving my girl. No fucking way.

“King Bishop, and it’s a good thing he did,” Beckett says. “It’s not smart to be alone in your home with a stranger, Ken. Anything could happen.”

“I told you. Wyatt isn’t a stranger. We’ve been writing letters to each other for months.”

“Letters? Like the ones you’re supposed to be writing to Chris Dugan?” Ezra sighs and runs a hand through his short hair. The disheveled look elevates the resemblance to his twin. “Fuck. How many men are you talking to?”

“Watch it,” I growl, disliking the insinuation in his voice.

“One. Chris never responded to my letters after the first.”

“So Major Lincoln decided to step into his place,” Beckett scoffs.

“It's none of your business how we met. All you need to know is that Wyatt is here and he doesn't deserve to be treated like a criminal. King shouldn't have gotten involved. It wasn't his place.”

“He's our friend and he knows to look out for you.”

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