Page 26 of Memories of Us

Brenton

SEVENTEEN.

Hell. My greatest fear was true—I was my father. Getting out of Dallas all those years ago broke the addiction he'd groomed me to be dependent on, but genetics was genetics. I was a fool to think I'd ever be able to escape that family gene.

But the age thing wasn't the big secret she was holding back. Did that mean what Beks wouldn't tell me was worse than seducing a seventeen-year-old? I needed answers. Needed to know exactly what I did so I could beg for her forgiveness, which would hopefully fix my head shit. Remembering, getting better, going back to Kentucky—that was the plan, nothing else. I needed to keep my head on straight around her and not make this worse for her in the end. No matter what I did to her early on, I had the power, and the fucking willpower, to not get wrapped up in her vortex now.

Right. If I believed that, my blackouts weren't my only head issue.

For the second time in the past sixty seconds, I scanned the store looking for her distinctive curly dark hair. I squeezed my hands into tight fists at her talking and laughing with some guy. Her hands moved up and down as she told some story that had them both smiling.

Hell no.

She was mine.

On a mission to break that shit up, I weaved through the racks of jeans and pearl snap shirts, my determined gaze on her. Halfway across the small store, her attention flicked up, causing her smile to falter.

Tension built in my chest at him pulling out his phone and handing it to her.

“Hey, man,” said the guy wearing a name tag, standing way too close to my Beks when I stopped beside her. “You need help with something?”

Not paying him any attention, I kept my gaze locked with hers. “The woman who was helping me needs you.” I nodded behind me. When he didn't move, I shifted my hard glare to him. I was an ass for savoring the slight tremble in the guy's shoulders. “Go help.”

Beks watched him retreat, a deep frown pulling at her pouty lips. “What the hell was that about?”

“I'm ready to go.”

After glancing down, she looked back up with a quirked brow. “Without shoes?”

Shit. Forgot about that. I was in the middle of trying on boots when I saw that dipshit with her. “What were you two discussing? Do you know him?”

“He was in the process of asking me out, I think. Hell, who knows since you scared him off, being all territorial. Surprised you didn't whip out your man bits and pee on me.”

Brows raised, I shot her a questioning look.

“Dogs, male animals, they mark their territory by peeing on things. Didn't you learn anything in biology?”

“You're the smart one. I didn't finish college, remember?”

“I only got to go because of you,” she whispered.

The sales girl called my name, but my focus stayed on Beks.

“What does that mean?”

Her eyes turned down to the floor, her black-painted fingers tucking a bit of hair behind her ear. “It means you paid for it.”

The hesitant tap on my right shoulder snapped my gaze to the person at my back with an annoyed growl.

“What?” I gritted out to the now-terrified salesgirl. Hell. I forgot how terrifying I could be when pissed. I'm no small guy, and add in the high level of intensity I put into everything, I was too overbearing for civilians—a civilian woman, no less. The boys on base weren't too intimidated, but by the way this girl’s knees were knocking together, I was her worst nightmare come to life.

“Your boots, sir. They're—”

“I'll take those, every pair of jeans you have in the size I tried on earlier, ten pairs of socks in my boot size, ten pairs of extra-large boxers, ten pairs of boxer briefs, twenty of those dry-fit T-shirts in black, some shirts and a few of those Yeti hats.”

Her blank stare fueled my annoyance.

“Do you need to write it down?”

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