Andrew, page 1
Andrew
Hollister - Book One
Kris Michaels
Copyright © 2021 by Kris Michaels
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted in the licensed material is a model. This book is fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictionally. Any resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, events, or locations are entirely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Also by Kris Michaels
About the Author
Foreword
Dear Reader,
This story deals with the difficult topic of suicide. Although the actual act is not depicted in the book, it is discussed by the characters.
Chapter 1
Andrew Hollister forced his eyes open. White dust floated around him, the granular flakes fluttering on the breeze like the snowstorms of his childhood. A sensation of sound reverberated through his body, penetrating the haze that surrounded him. The deep thrum echoing around him quieted and took a giant step back. Replacing it, a sharp squeal assaulted his ears. A bloodied face appeared over him. His mind skipped back online, and pain shot through his body. “Jose.” The sight of his gunnery sergeant acted like an electric shock, jolting him back to the here and now.
“Get your ass up, Cap!” His M4 was thrust into his hands as the garbled words registered. He grabbed the gun, his thumb automatically ensuring the firing selector was on automatic. He glanced down, gathering himself enough to pull the magazine, check the load, and slip it back into the weapon. The oily slime on his hands made the action difficult. He wiped the film onto his desert camouflage flak vest, only then noticing it was blood that covered his hands. He gasped as pain crushed against him. His body howled in protest when he rolled to his side. His right leg wouldn’t cooperate and his lower gut burned, on fire with the heat of a hundred suns, but he pushed up behind the remnants of a small plaster wall.
“Status!” Andrew grabbed at Gunny Sanchez, his blood-soaked hand finding a hold on the
gunny’s Kevlar vest. Andrew pulled him back so he could read the man’s lips because his hearing was still fucked.
“Pip is down. FNG is out. On your left!” Gunny lifted his weapon and opened fire.
Andrew swiveled, identified his target, and pulled the trigger, taking down the man he targeted.
“Where are the rest?” He screamed the words as he fired.
“Dead.” Gunny’s single word encapsulated the frenzy around him. Frisco, Toker, Fish, and Razor—gone. Jesus. He leaned into his M4 and raged against the onslaught of the enemy.
Genevieve Wheeler glanced at the vibrating phone that skittered across the stainless steel countertop and grimaced. Not so much because of the caller but, as usual, the timing of the call sucked. Even after all this time, her mother seemed to have the innate ability to call at the absolute worst times. If she were true to form, and she would be, her mother would undoubtedly call back until she picked up. Gen sighed, slapped her hands together to rid them of excess flour, and grabbed for the phone. Pinning the phone between her cheek and shoulder while reaching for another pan, she answered, “Hello.”
“I am surprised you answered and didn’t let it go to voicemail… again.” The deep Southern accent on the other end of the line flooded the airwaves, attempting to make her feel guilty, but Gen had become immune.
“I’ve been busy, Mom. Sorry,” she apologized but had to add, “Remember the business I own? To succeed, you have to invest time and effort.” She wiped off one hand and put the phone on speaker, dropping it beside her workstation.
“It’s hardly a business, dear. You have a small diner in the middle of absolutely nowhere, and you only serve a limited breakfast menu.”
“And lunch,” Gen added. She was damn proud of her business.
“And lunch. Tell me, in a town of three hundred and fifty people, how do you expect to make a go of it? You do realize your father and I won’t bail you out when you figure out you’ve wasted your entire inheritance from Grandmother Wheeler. Honestly, I don’t see why you couldn’t stay here and open a proper dining establishment.”
Gen worked while her mother talked, carefully loading twelve sheet trays of caramel and cinnamon rolls into the industrial-size proofer while she halfway listened to her mother’s usual rant. Gen looked toward the ceiling and took a deep breath. “How long have you been saying I’ll fail? I haven’t.”
“But you aren’t succeeding, either. You make enough to get by.”
“Mom, I make more than enough and I’m happy. That is what matters, not money.” She’d learned that life lesson from her grandmother, thankfully.
“Speaking of being happy, you’d be married with a family by now if you’d stayed in Birmingham.”
Gen rolled her eyes. How many times did she need to have this conversation with her mother before the woman would let it rest? “You know the reasons I didn’t stay, Mom. I’m happy here.” She wiped her hands on her apron and leaned against the long, stainless steel worktop that ran down the center of her small diner’s kitchen. “And, as a point of clarification, you know I would never ask you to pay for my mistakes. Dad didn’t raise me that way.”
Her mom let that little snipe go and redirected the conversation. “Avery called again last night.” Wow, okay… that was an unpleasant blast from the past. Gen sucked a breath, trying to prevent the cuss words bouncing on the tip of her tongue from spilling out of her mouth. Her mother hurried on, preventing Genevieve from worrying about her language. “Really, he is so remorseful, he knows he made a mistake, honey, and it’s not like you to be so unforgiving.”
Stunned, Gen barked out a harsh laugh. “Mom, he was engaged to me and having an affair with my best friend. I caught them together. For God’s sake, they were having sex in my bed, and he’s remorseful? Really, don’t you think he should be? But you know what I find hysterical? It took years for him to come to that conclusion.” The audacity of the asshole.
Gen’s mom interrupted, “Well, of course, he should be, and he is, terribly so. You know he is grieving. He’s miserable.”
“Wait, what? Grieving what?”
“Well, losing you, of course,” her mother purred.
Gen busted out, laughing, “Ah, hello? He’s been married and divorced and he’s grieving something he messed up years ago? Mom, I really think you’re being sucked into his psychosis. I dodged a huge bullet when I caught him with Chelsea. That man is a serial cheater.” At least, according to Chelsea’s social media posts. The woman was all about airing their dirty divorce laundry in public, which probably pissed off the mighty Montague family.
“Don’t buy into everything you read online, dear. Chelsea was bitter.”
Gen nodded and rolled her eyes even though her mom couldn’t see her. “I have firsthand knowledge of that feeling. It sucks, but she’ll get over it. I did. Can I suggest you stop talking to him? He’s ancient history, and frankly, he’s a weasel.”
“Honey, men will be men… they all make mistakes. Won’t you please talk to him? I could give him your number. He really is a good man, so very successful and handsome. Gen, honey, he realizes he has made a mistake.”
Gen pinched the bridge of her nose and answered, slowly enunciating each word very carefully.
“Mother, don’t give Avery my phone number, my address, or the location of my diner. There is nothing left to talk about. I don’t need an apology. I don’t want one. He needs to move on because believe me… I have.” Years ago. Why the hell was this coming back around? What’s dearest Mom up to this time?
A long pause at the other end of the phone caused Gen to look at the device to make sure she still had a cell connection. “Hello?”
“Gen, honey, I gave him your address last night. He said he only wanted to write you a letter to explain. It is just a post office box number. What harm could come from that?”
Genevieve shook her head, astonished at both Avery and her mother. “Mom, you said it yourself. This is a town of three hundred fifty people. If he wanted to find me, it wouldn't be hard.” Not that he would. The man couldn’t be an hour’s drive away from his tanning salon. Gen rolled her eyes again. A question popped into her head. “Mom, tell me something. Why now? What’s happening to make him think of me? There’s something else, isn’t there?”
“Honey, he just wanted to write a letter and asked for your address last night at your father’s political fundraiser.” Her mom added quickly, “We have the full backing of the party. Your father is going to make a run for President.”
“In two years?” Gen frowned at the phone and wiped her workspace.
& nbsp; “No, six. The incumbent will be the party’s nomination. But we are building his platform now and slotting in public appearances. There is so much to do. As you know, image is everything, so mending the fences with Avery, especially due to his father’s political position… Well, it needs to happen.”
“What? Does Dad know about this?” Gobsmacked, she stopped cleaning the counter.
“Of course. Reporters dig, darling.”
“Right. So, how are you going to explain the separation between you and Dad and the fact Dad raised us without you?” She could only imagine her mother’s scheming and manipulation at a national level. God help us all.
“That’s something we’re working on. Our issues we can take care of, you need to fix yours.”
Gen snorted. “I don’t have any issues, Mom.”
“Good, then you won’t mind talking to Avery. His parents insisted he contact you, and I agree. Showing a strong joint front will not only help your father but Avery’s father. Oh, pooh, I forgot I have a nail appointment. I must go. Toodles.”
Gen stared at the phone and shook her head. “Seriously?” she spoke to the phone. “The only issue I have is you.”
“Who?” Eden Wheeler, her sister-in-law, asked from the back door.
Gen spun and grabbed her chest. “Holy hell, woman. Knock next time.”
Eden laughed and shifted Carmen, Gen’s niece, in her arms. Gen slapped off the remnants of flour from her hands and reached out. “Give me that adorable baby girl.”
She took the baby and fell into a swinging step across the floor.
“Do you need any help, and who do you have issues with?” Eden walked over to the walk-in refrigerator and pulled out two water bottles, setting one down for Gen and taking a long drink out of the other.
“No, I’m done except for a bit of cleanup. And Mom is my issue, as always. Why are you in town? And I’m so sorry that movie night didn’t go as anticipated.” Eden had to come into town to get the kids because of the situation at the Marshall Ranch, which had caused Gen to open and feed thirty hungry men in the middle of the night.
Gen pulled her ponytail out of Carmen’s little hands and flipped it over her shoulder. “Aunt Gen doesn’t want to go bald. No, she doesn’t.” She rocked Carmen again and gave the little girl her finger to hold to divert her niece’s attention from her hair.
“Well, as you know, Jeremiah was gone all night, too. I was happy to come get them. That ranch house is too quiet without anyone there. Zeke called me before the sun came up this morning and asked if I could help him. I just got back from the Marshall Ranch and picked up Carmen. Jay is out back playing. They stayed with Sarah Granger. She didn’t mind helping out.”
Gen sighed. She wouldn’t mind watching them either, but she’d had zero sleep last night after she handed off the children to Eden and she was running off massive quantities of coffee and willpower today. “I don’t know what was going on out there last night and this morning, but something big happened.” She glanced at her sister-in-law, hoping for a nugget of information.
“Sorry, signed my life away. Can’t say a word about anything. Suffice to say that it’s over.”
Gen held Carmen and started to wipe down the counter one-handed. Eden stepped in and took over, wiping the counters down like a pro. Gen shifted Carmen and bounced her a bit, settling her. “Do they have everything they need? Is there any way I can help?”
“They have everything under control. I know they’ll ask if they need assistance, but I think they’re good to go,” Eden explained.
Well, that made sense. Everyone helped around here. It was what they did. A culture she’d learned to love. Gen spun. “Oh, I met Ember King last night, or this morning, rather. She’s nice. And so pretty. She’s Amanda Marshall’s daughter-in-law.”
“Ember? Yes, she is nice. I’ve met her a couple times. Remi knew her when they were in residency together. She lives in Nevada or somewhere down there with her husband.” Eden rinsed out the cleaning cloth in the sink.
“I’m glad she was here last night. It was busy and she pitched in along with Remi. We emptied the walk-in fridge feeding the lot that showed up. I’m going to have to make a run to Rapid City sooner than planned to restock.” There had been a fat check placed onto her counter sometime during the day with a note of thanks. She wasn’t expecting to be reimbursed, especially ten-fold the amount she’d provided, but with that check, she could close for a day during the week to make the run.
“What did the Women’s Circle have to say about last night? They did come in for all the gossip, right?” Eden glanced at her.
Gen rolled her eyes and groaned. “Coffee, cinnamon rolls, and gossip. Like clockwork. I swear, they are the busiest busybodies in the world. They had zero information, and nobody in the diner knew anything, or if they did, they weren’t giving them anything. I think Edna Michaelson actually went over to Jeremiah’s clinic to try to get some gossip because she’d seen several of the men going in and out of the building this morning,” Gen laughed, “but the front door was locked, and a particularly abrasive gentleman refused to allow her in the back door.” Gen mimicked Edna’s snooty tone. “Father Murphy had stopped in for a coffee about that time and took her to task for snooping. I had to come into the kitchen to keep from laughing in front of her.”
“I swear, she’s getting bolder as she gets older. I say good on Father Murphy.” Eden wiped her hands and held them out.
“Thanks for the baby fix.” She leaned down and kissed her niece before she gave her back to her mom.
“Can I get a takeout for dinner tonight? I didn’t defrost anything before I left this morning.” Eden bounced Carmen on her hip.
“Sure. What do you want?” She opened the walk-in freezer. “I’m fully stocked.”
“Gumbo, please, and some of your garlic bread. Jay and Remi requested it, special.”
“You got it.” She pulled out the containers and dropped them into a bag.
“Gen, have you ever thought of hiring help?”
She looked up from stuffing napkins and hot sauce packets into the bag. “More than once, but who am I going to hire? Edna? No, thanks.”
Eden’s eyes widened. “Goodness, that would be a horrid mistake.”
“Right? Besides, I have all of this down to a science. The biscuit ingredients are measured out and ready to be mixed with the wet ingredients in the morning. Sausage and ham slices are prepped and ready for the oven, and everything is set for my morning customers. Lunch starts at the lull about nine, and I clean up and prep before I go up about five. Easy peasy.”
“I don’t know how you do it. Thirteen-hour days, six days a week.” Eden grabbed the bag.
“Willpower, but I shut down early on Saturdays most times.” She laughed, kissed Carmen, and opened the door for Eden. She watched them walk toward the front of the building before she shut the door. The utter exhaustion from what had turned out to be a twenty-four-hour day the day before coupled with the weirdness of her mom’s call hit like a tidal wave. She took another look around her small kitchen. She’d upgraded the equipment and improved the front of the house after a tornado nearly wiped out the town. Her fingerprint was on every square inch of the place, and she loved it. With a sigh of utter contentment, she turned off the lights and headed upstairs for the night.
The alarm shrilled at four in the morning. Rolling over to slap it, Gen blinked the sleep from her eyes. The sky was still dark but would lighten quickly. This morning, waking up took a substantial effort, probably because of the sleepless stint the night before. Normally, she was up before the alarm. She yawned and closed her eyes, her body floating on the comfort of her mattress. Maybe she needed to take steps toward getting help at the diner. Jerking herself awake, she flipped back the blanket and headed to the bathroom. After a quick shower, she pulled her hair back into a ponytail and donned her work clothes. Her uniform was the same every day: blue jeans, a T-shirt sporting the words ‘Gen’s Diner’ on the back, and damn good tennis shoes with bouncy heels and arch support. She was on her feet all day every day and needed the comfortable attire.
