Brennan threw his arm over his eyes and groaned. “What the fuck, Sarge?”
Heavy footsteps stomped into the room. Seconds later, the blanket and sheet were whipped away from Brennan’s body, exposing him in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs.
“Dude!” Brennan blindly flailed his arms, searching for the sheet to cover himself. “What the fuck are you doing?” He sat bolt upright, rubbing his eyes and then glancing at a small, digital clock on the nightstand. “It’s five in the morning. Are youhigh?”
“Get up, douchebag.” A handful of clothing hit Brennan in the face and then landed on his lap. “It’s time for PT.”
“Oh, fuck you.” Brennan tossed the clothes aside and flopped onto his back, pulling the pillow over his face. “Fuck that. If you’re planning to wake me up before the ass-crack of dawn every day I’m here, I’m just going to—”
“You’re about three seconds from me calling Liza in here to help me drag your ass out of bed and go workout, and I really don’t think you want her seeing you in nothing but your skivvies.”
Brennan pulled the pillow away from his face and gestured smugly at his almost-naked and meticulously maintained, muscular physique. “Pretty sure she’d take one look at this and tell me the last thing I need to worry about is getting up at five in the fucking morning to work out.”
“Haa-haa,” Connor mocked him, then poked his head out into the hallway. “Liza!”
“For God’s sake, Sarge.” Brennan huffed, scrambling to grab the clothes Connor had thrown at him. “Let the pregnant lady sleep.”
“Nah, she’s fine.” He waved his hand. “She sleeps like a friggin’ rock. Especially right now during that first trimester. It’s a real ass-kicker. She’s not gonna wake up until I give her a good shake when we get finished in two hours.”
“Two hours?” Brennan stilled in the middle of shoving his arms through a gray t-shirt, casting Connor an incredulous, yet groggy look. “Sarge, you’re fucking killing me.” He pulled on the shorts and then stood. Glancing down, he saw that Connor had tossed him an old Army PT uniform. Despite his complicated feelings about his time in the Marines, being forced to wear this shit was just fucking rude—almost as rude as being woken up in such a manner. He gave the shirt a tug at his abs and hitched his shoulders. “You know what else? Fuck you for this specifically.”
Connor heaved a hearty laugh, approaching Brennan to throw his arm around his neck and repeatedly slap his chest. “Hooah, mother fucker. Let’s go.”
For the next two fucking hours—Jesus Christ—Connor put Brennan through the paces of a ten-mile run and then an hour’s worth of strength training and conditioning on the levee across the street from the Old Point Bar. Sweaty and exhausted, the men returned to the house, and Connor gave Brennan a shove toward the spare bathroom.
“Take a shower, then go home, get dressed, pack a go-bag, and then meet me and Liza at work at 8:30.” Connor slapped Brennan’s back and pivoted to head for their bedroom. “You’re going to stay with us for at least a week, so make sure you have enough clothes and shit.”
And with that, Connor disappeared into the bedroom and shut the door behind him.
Brennan’s totally spent shoulder muscles sank in annoyance while he briefly stood in a fog in the hallway. And then he marched to the kitchen to grab one of the cookies Liza made the night before.
Fuck it all.
At least it was better than being alone, worried about Skye never waking up and stressing over Vito’s threat. And at least there were cookies.
* * *
Brennan shovedthrough the door of the record label house at the stroke of 8:30, and Connor, Liza, and Jimmy were all waiting for him.
“Good morning, Riley!” Jimmy crowed, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. He saluted Brennan with a steaming mug of coffee. “Ready to get a jump on the day?”
Brennan smiled sardonically. “Oh, you didn’t hear? Connor made me get a jump on the day at five this morning.”
“Then you should be all fresh and ready to go.” Jimmy set down his coffee on a nearby desk. He crossed the small front room that served as his office in the old house, grabbed a stack of file folders off a cabinet, and dropped it onto to the desk Brennan was standing next to. “That’s everything you need to know about our entire catalog. You’re now my account executive. I want you to get in touch with every independent brick-and-mortar record store in the country and get our stuff on their shelves. If you can do that, I’ll give you a fat commission.” Jimmy turned and made his way down the hall toward the kitchen. “So get on the phone and hustle.” He clapped his hands a couple of times. “It’s gonna be a great day, kiddos!”
Brennan watched him disappear around the corner, still in a little bit of a fog after such an early morning and only one cup of coffee so far. He resisted the urge to sigh listlessly as he dragged his gaze to the stack of files. It was about six inches thick. Brennan had never had an actual job in his life, let alone any sales experience. But he knew how to hustle when he had to, and there were a lot of things he’d learned how to do when he had no other choice.
In fact, sales suddenly seemed a little bit like poker. A combination of luck and skill. He could work with that. And just like cards had been in the midst of war, it was something to take his mind off of everything.
Brennan flipped through the stack with his thumb as Connor and Liza stood in front of him. “So I’m assuming y’all told him all about the extra shit I’m drowning in now.”
“Pretty much,” Connor said.
“B., we have a strategy,” Liza added, fanning out her hands in front of her face like a magician. “All of this here at work and you staying with us is going to help you while you’re dealing with everything.”
“Yeah.” Connor pointed at the stack of papers. “Throw yourself into that to get your mind off everything, and just don’t isolate yourself. It’s obvious how bad of a mess you’re in, and if you’re not careful, it’ll be your head that kills you.”
Brennan’s eyes glazed over. He knew that. He’d been the one to get Connor through that when PTSD had him at death’s door. “Well, karma’s a bitch that way, I guess.”
