Chapter 1: Malcolm

It’s past sunset and the hot day hasn’t cooled one bit. Sweat clings to my skin as I wheel the bike into the garage and lean it against the wall.

I returned to Ontario with only a duffel bag to my name. This red and black bike belongs to my nephew, but it’s practically mine. I’ve ridden it more times than him because I take every chance I get to hit the trail.

Nate said it was two years old when he lent it to me, but the thing was in pristine condition. Not a speck of dirt on the tires, and the frame and chains still gleamed. No surprise. That boy probably forgot what grass looks like because he’s always glued to a screen.

Case in point, when I head upstairs to grab a shower, I find clues in the bathroom he was distracted by one of his devices. His limp towel hanging off the edge of the sink counter, his underwear lying in a dark blue lump on the floor, and a balled-up granola wrapper by the trash can. He missed the toss and couldn’t be bothered to try again.

If he left his underwear and towel behind, did he walk butt naked back to his room?

I let out an amused scoff and shake my head. It’s been two months since I left the army, but I keep comparing my past life to what it’s like on the outside now. For instance, if my nephew were in basic and he left his shit lying around like this, he’d be doing extra PT until he bawled for mercy.

I tidy up Nate’s things, then take my shower. There are some universal experiences that’s like hitting pause on every negative thing for a brief moment. A cold shower on a hot day, especially after a vigorous activity, is one of them.

I close my eyes and take calming breaths, the water soothing my warm skin and easing the ache in my muscles from my bike ride. But the second I turn off the shower, a dull, rhythmic thumping chases away my peace.

The music pounds louder when I exit the bathroom and make my way to the guest room. Yep. Daphne’s at it again, playing another pop song for the whole house to enjoy.

Of course, it’s no better inside my room because I’m between Daphne and Nate. To my left, my niece’s stereo blasts wall-shaking beats. To my right, the musty scent of weed escapes from under my nephew’s door.

During deployments, I’d share a cramped space with a lot more than four other people. Loud sounds and unwanted smells were a given. Yet, somehow, it’s more claustrophobic living here in my brother’s house, even though it’s a spacious four-bedroom in an upper middle-class neighbourhood.

A big backyard, the beach less than ten minutes away by foot, and a trail nearby. I couldn’t have asked for a better landing after leaving the army. But everything that glitters isn’t always gold. Or maybe the gold is a monkey’s paw.

I wish to be closer to family.

Wish granted, but they’re annoying.

I suspect that when Paul offered me his guest room until I found my own place, he hoped that things would be like one of those cheesy nineties movies. With my military experience, I’d be the hard-ass drill sergeant who set his kids straight, barking orders and teaching them to be more well-behaved.

Ironically, a promotion offer to sergeant is what prompted my decision to leave the army. I’d spent years avoiding chasing rank, but I almost considered accepting. However, when I compared that extra responsibility to what I actually wanted, it made me realize leaving was the best choice.

If I didn’t want to be a sergeant to a team of individuals with years of obedience training, I certainly don’t want to be one now to two self-absorbed young adults with zero discipline in their bones.

I love my niece and nephew but I’m saving my energy for my own kids. The ones I plan to have as soon as I find the right woman. Best I can do is protect them from danger if it’s headed their way or give them advice if they come to me for it.

I hear a faint, familiar ring as I dress. Was that the doorbell? I pause, waiting for confirmation. Another trill sounds, drowned out by Daphne’s music. Yeah, someone’s at the door. Daphne wouldn’t have heard it, Nathan’s likely playing a video game which means he’s wearing his noise-cancelling headphones, and Paul and his wife Nicole are out. I pull on a shirt and head downstairs.

A yellow blob sways on the other side of the front door’s frosted panes. In my experience, threats don’t usually show up wearing such a cheerful colour. When I open the door, the blob becomes a gorgeous young woman in a sunflower-yellow summer dress.

Everything else loses focus as she holds my attention. Her golden brown skin is smooth and flawless, her face framed by tight, dark spirals that reach just past her shoulder blades. She resembles Daphne. Just as I realize her identity, her lips spread into a pretty smile, her dark amber eyes sparkling.

“Hi, Uncle Mal.”

“Jujube,” I say, stunned.

June laughs. “Oh my god! I haven’t heard that name in a long time!”

She drops her beige travel bag on the floor and wraps her arms around my neck, hugging me. I’m flooded with sweet scents of cocoa and flowers. Something shifts inside me the moment I embrace her.

She’s so delicate and soft pressed against me. I forget she’s my niece, more aware that she’s a beautiful woman in my arms. I haven’t experienced this in a long time. Too long. Her breath fans my neck and south of my navel begins to react to the hug.

What the fuck.

I’m getting hard from hugging a relative.

I immediately release her, then grab her upper arms and push her back.

“Let me get a good look at you.”

June waves her arms in a flamboyant spread, then cocks her hip and plants her hands on her waist. Things worsen in my pants as I follow the curve of her body. 

Jesus. I’ve been hunted, shot at, and stabbed, but I’ve never been more afraid than now, paranoid my niece will glance down and see the bulge forming in her uncle’s khaki shorts.

She smiles. “What do you think?”

That I’m a sick fuck, and my reintegration counselling didn’t prepare me for something like this.

I force a smile in return. “That you’re all grown up. The last time I saw you, I could fit you in my carry-on like you said.”

She laughs and presses her hand to the door, shutting it.

“You have a good memory. I forgot I said that.” She shakes her head. “I was really sad that my favourite uncle was going far away. Climbing into your luggage seemed like a great idea.”

“I don’t know whether to be proud I’m your favourite when I don’t have any competition.”

She stares at the raised, six-inch long scar on my right arm, then lifts her gaze to mine, her eyes soft with gratitude.

“Even if I had ten other uncles who all treated me well, you’ll still be my favourite. You saved my life.”

“You saved mine too.”

Her eyebrows rise. “I did? How?”

I hesitate, regretting what I said. Sure, the answer is pretty straightforward, but it’s opening a door to vulnerability. It’s been ten years since I last saw her, but her curious nature never went away. It’s alive in her eyes. If I admit the truth, she’ll follow up with more questions I don’t want to answer right now.

Footsteps thudding down the stairs saves me from coming up with a vague response. Daphne appears, her face lighting up when she sees her sister. She rushes over and pulls June into a tight hug.

“Sorry I took so long to come down. I just saw your text that you were at the door.”

June flashes me a smile. “It’s OK. I didn’t have to wait long. Uncle Mal came to my rescue.”

Chapter 2: June

Something flops across my face. I jerk awake, breathing hard, reality wrapping around me like a comforting blanket. Thank god. I wasn’t actually being swept away in a river with no help in sight.

I blink as my terror fades and my breathing calms. The back of Daphne’s hand and fingers block the left side of my vision.

Uncle Malcolm is staying in the room that used to be mine before my parents converted it into a guest room, so I bunked with Daphne. Last night, she rolled her eyes when I put a pillow between us to protect myself in advance, yet she still got to me.

My sister and I are only two years apart. When we were younger, Mom would make us share a bed on holiday trips. Daphne would knee, elbow, kick, and slap me while she slept.

She’s twenty-three now, and it looks like she hasn’t changed. I smile. Poor Jeremy. He’s going to learn his beautiful bride is a mean street fighter when she’s dead to the world.

“Whose ass are you kicking in your dreams?” I asked her once. She laughed and said, “Nobody’s. I don’t dream.”

Lucky her. Ever since the fire, sleep is less like a necessity and more like a prison. It traps my mind and body in an alternate universe that’s either creepy, scary, or paralyzing. At least my prescription sleeping pills help when I desperately need a good night’s rest, but I didn’t bring them with me.

I sit up and gently move her hand to her side. She continues snoring without a care in the world. Of course she doesn’t have any worries. She still lives at home, pays a pittance to Mom and Dad for bills, doesn’t have any student loans, and she’s engaged to a man from a wealthy family.

I’m happy for my sister, but there’s always a tightness in my gut when I think about Daphne’s fortunate situation. Once that wedding ring slides onto her finger, my sister will blissfully move from Mom and Dad taking care of her, to her husband’s support and protection.

I chose independence, and what did that get me? Bills that swallow up my income and then spit out anxiety, and nobody in my corner except for dust bunnies because I’m often too tired to clean.

Sunlight pokes through a gap in Daphne’s curtains, streaking a line on the wall. After a yawn and quick stretch, I grab my phone from the bedside table to check the time. I frown at the text message on the screen.

Morning, baby. Can’t wait to see you tonight. ;)

It’s from a number I don’t recognize, but I know it’s my ex who sent it.

What the hell.

I’ve blocked Tyler three times already. Why won’t he stop? How does he keep spinning up new numbers? But that’s not even the worst part. It sounds like he’s coming to Daphne’s engagement party tonight.

I look at my sister who’s still sound asleep. If I tell her about Tyler’s creepy behaviour, I’m sure she would stop him from attending the party.

But Tyler is one of her fiancé’s best friends. Jeremy would want him there. I could tell Daphne that if Tyler’s there, then I won’t be, though it would be shitty to create drama on my sister’s special day.

My frown deepens when I reread the text, my grip tightening around my phone.

Honestly, I sort of brought this on myself. When I ran into him at the coffee shop the other day, I should’ve held my head straight. Should’ve flipped him off as I walked past him too. It would’ve been justified.

Instead, I wanted to be mature and civil, so I paused for a quick chat. How was I supposed to know he would see that brief moment as an invitation for more?

I need to grow some fricking ovaries and make lemonade out of this sour situation. That analogy is a little disturbing to envision, but whatever. The point is, Tyler attending the party is actually a good thing.

I never explicitly told him to stop contacting me. Later that evening after we met, he sent me a text that he wanted us to get back together, and I ghosted him. When he wouldn’t take the hint, I blocked him.

Clearly, he’s not getting the message. He needs to hear it straight from my mouth. That’s exactly what will happen if he tries to talk to me tonight.

A couple angry taps on my phone screen fills me with satisfaction. There. Text deleted, new number blocked. Screw you, Tyler. I put down my phone on the bedside table and get out of bed, an urge to pee leading me out of Daphne’s room. I shut the door and turn, bumping into Uncle Malcolm.

I let out a startled sound as I stumble sideways and accidentally stomp on his toes. He grabs my waist, steadying me.

I make a face. “Sorry, I didn’t see you.”

Although, I don’t know how. My uncle is hard to miss, even in a room full of people. He’s built like a centuries old tree. Tall, hard, and unshakeable. His presence is magnetizing too. Everyone pays attention when he’s talking. Last night at dinner, we were all gripped by his stories about his time in the army.

“That’s OK,” he says.

His hands linger on my waist, his warmth seeping through my loose tank top. His towering nearness makes me feel shorter and smaller than usual. I openly stare at him, noting his mild resemblance to Dad, marvelling at how he looks the same yet different after all these years.

He’s handsome. That’s something I never realized when I was younger. As an adult, it’s hard to miss. I do remember his dark brown hair would turn auburn in the sun, and I’ve always thought his hazel eyes were nice.

Very nice. Staring into them, admiring the light green circling the gold seems to put me in a trance. I can’t move. Or maybe I don’t want to because he smells good, like wood and spices softened with vanilla.

Uncle Malcolm glances down, then quickly releases me and takes a step back. I look down too and heat rushes to my face. Oh god. My nipples are hard. I fold my arms over my breasts to hide them.

I might be the first person to suffocate from shame because I don’t think I’m getting enough oxygen. I want to die so I can be buried, hidden away from this moment. My favourite uncle probably thinks I got turned on from his touch.

Wait. Did I?

I haven’t had sex in almost a year, and I was enjoying his closeness. My mind knows he’s my uncle, but my body wouldn’t care. Ugh. No. I don’t want to accept that explanation. My nipples got hard because that’s just what they do sometimes.

“Slept well?”

He’s moving us on from the awkward moment. I’m grateful for it.

“Kind of. I woke up from a bad dream, though.”

“What was the dream about?”

I search my memory, only recalling fading snippets.

“I was on a camping trip… and I was being chased by dogs through a forest for some reason. I jumped into a river to avoid them, but it was moving too fast, and I couldn’t swim.”

“Sounds like you’ve been dealing with a lot in your life.”

I blink, my lips parted. “You figured that out from my dream?”

“Dreams are often just our brains trying to process stuff that happened when we were awake. In your dreams, you’re struggling with and fleeing from multiple stressful situations.”

“Is dream whisperer your side-gig to your carpentry job?”

He lets out a short, amused huff. “It would be if it paid well enough. So, what’s stressing you out?”

I hesitate, glancing at the closed door to my right. We’re standing in the hallway and Daphne might hear me. I don’t want my family to know I’m struggling to make ends meet. 

They’ll try to help, and I don’t want them to. I don’t deserve it after they lost everything they cherished once because of me.

“Just some stuff, but I have it under control.” I force a smile and start to edge past him. “I should go. I need to... ah... tinkle.” Tinkle? Seriously? How old are you? My face is burning. I want to die again. “See you at the party.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not sure I’ll be there.”

Before I can respond, Daphne opens her bedroom door, her lips in a pout.

“Why aren’t you coming to my party?”

See? I knew it! I knew she would be able to hear. As a matter of fact, it seems like she’s been eavesdropping.

I narrow my eyes at her. “Daph, how long have you been listening to us?”

She waves away my question with a flap of her hand. “Let him answer.”

“I don’t own any formal wear except for my dress uniform.” His expression turns remorseful. “It slipped my mind to get something more appropriate.”

Daphne purses her lips. “What about today? You might find something at the mall.”

He hesitates. “I can try, but don’t get your hopes up. I’m pretty busy today.”

“Well, if the mall doesn’t work out, you can probably borrow something from Nate or Dad.”

I barely suppress my snort. “That’s not going to work.”

My sister has got to be joking. Nate’s a bean pole and Dad’s the complete opposite. Meanwhile, Uncle Malcolm looks like the model they would use in an ad to convince new recruits to enlist. Patriotic message not necessary. The marketing copy would be simple and effective.

Want to look like this guy? Join the army.

Daphne shrugs. “Fine. If you can’t make it, you can’t make it.”

She turns and heads down the hallway to the bathroom. Dammit. She beat me to it! Worse, she’ll be in there forever. I guess I’ll have to use the one downstairs. I turn to Uncle Malcolm. He’s shaking his head, a faint smile on his lips.

“She’s something else. It took her less than thirty seconds to go from disappointed to not caring I won’t be at her party.”

“I care. I want you to come.”

His smile fades. “I’ll see how it goes. I have to head out now. Talk to you later, June.”

I frown at his back, confused by his abrupt attitude change as he quickly disappears into the guest room.