Drive Your Truck

By Julia Talbot

Home on compassionate leave for his brother's funeral, Navy SEAL Garrison Matthews needs to blow off a lot of stress and grief before he returns to active duty. Just like in the country song, Garrison takes Bettie, his brothers' souped-up vintage truck, out for a spin. A bit of an adrenaline junkie, Garrison has no problem finding trouble. This time trouble's named Walt, and he happens to be Garrison's sister-in-law's brother. When they meet at the funeral, both men need to find some stress relief.

Neither of them expects their fling to amount to anything else, but after an injury sends Garrison home for good, he turns to Walt, hoping to start a new life. Walt is a closeted sheriff's deputy, and while he adores Garrison, he isn't sure he's ready to come out... or for such a big commitment. Being fresh out of the service isn't easy on Garrison either. To find their happy ending, Walt and Garrison must overcome grief and trust issues and get ready to settle down together.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Turtlehat Creatives
• Release date: Jul 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9781951532970

Book preview

1

The funeral took two hours longer than Garrison Matthews had the patience to sit. The viewing made him want to chew his arm off, and the funeral service, with the color guard and honors and all, had him grinding his teeth. Oh, he did his part, wearing his dress uniform, standing and saluting at all the right times. They would take the body down to Las Animas later for burial, so there was no lowering the casket into the grave and all, for which Garrison was grateful.

He even teased Brandon’s fellow Talons about how Air Force sucked and Navy was so much better, blah-blah.

None of it made even the slightest dent in Garrison’s disbelief that his brother was dead.

He stared at the shiny black casket with the flag draped over it, knowing soon the flag would be removed so they could take the casket away. The color guard would fold the flag and hand it to Brandon’s widow, who Garrison was ashamed to admit he had just met today.

Crazy, how he could get compassionate leave for a funeral but not for a wedding. That said something about the damned military, for sure. He sighed, rolling his head on his neck. He’d been deployed for so long that Colorado seemed… shocking. Weirdly perfect and quiet.

Even when taps sounded for his brother’s salute.

He walked out to the cars with his family, hands loose at his side, his whole body numb, his brain spinning with all the things he didn’t get to say, all the things he never would now.

You want to sit up front?

Garrison looked at his dad, who looked old, the lines around his mouth and eyes dug in hard and deep. Brandon had gotten his eyes from Dad, though, the blue still bright, even though Dad was on the wrong side of fifty.

Sure. Garrison climbed into the front seat of the second car, next to the driver the funeral home had provided. Since there was no graveyard to go to, they had offered a funeral procession back to Kylie’s house, which felt small town and bizarre. He would rather drive, but the family had to ride in the official cars, right? Brandon’s wife, Kylie, and her mom sat in the lead car, Kylie’s bright blonde head bent in sorrow for the loss of her husband and the father of her child….

Brandon’s wife was pregnant. The thought made bile rise in his throat, and Garrison swallowed convulsively against it.

Do you get car sick? the driver asked, eyeing him sideways when they pulled out.

No. No, it’s just stuffy.

I’ll turn on the air.

A blast of cold air hit him in the face, and the driver turned up the radio, the chatter of some talking head almost covering the sound of his mother’s quiet sobs.

Christ, he was going to explode before they ever got to the inevitable potluck supper.

The trip back to the house seemed endless with that stupid talk radio thing chattering on and on. It probably took ten minutes, but Garrison’s leg started jittering a few seconds into the ride, and by the time they parked he was rocking the car.

Here, man, Garrison said, handing the driver a twenty before he slid out of the car. He helped his mom out of the backseat, nodding at his dad.

Are you coming in for the big feed, son?

As soon as I go change. Need to keep the uniform clean, huh? He was staying at a hotel. His folks had sold the house years ago to buy a fifth wheel, so they’d driven back for the funeral.

We’ll see you there, then.

Garrison nodded, bending to kiss his mom’s pale cheek. Her lipstick, a bright pink, made her compressed lips look like tiny ribbons on her face. Her eyes were bloodshot, and he wanted to hug her, hold her tight, but he feared she might break. So he let her go and walked away, sliding into his rental SUV. He wanted to go take off his uniform and change into a decent pair of boots.

An hour later some lady he didn’t know let him into his sister-in-law’s house. Garrison knew it was Brandon’s house too, but he’d never been there, had never seen Brandon there, so it didn’t seem like his brother’s house. Not a trace of Brandon’s spirit lingered there, not for Garrison.

His folks stood just inside the living room, along with Kylie and Kylie’s mom, Sharon. He kissed cheeks and shook hands, but he didn’t know what to say, what to do. He wanted a cup of coffee and maybe a piece of bread or something. Surely there would be bread.

I need to talk with you for a minute once it slows down, Kylie told him, grabbing his sleeve.

Garrison stopped, staring down at her face, which he’d seen in countless pictures. Kylie had always stood next to Brandon in those photos, her pointy chin and mischievous green eyes making her look like a very feminine elf. Now she just looked tired, the half circles under her eyes etched deep and dark.

Just holler when you’re ready, he agreed, hoping whatever she might ask was something he could do. He still belonged to the Navy, and Colorado didn’t exactly have a port he could get himself reassigned to.

Thanks. She gave him a tired smile before turning back to greet a dour-looking woman who smelled like old lady perfume, all roses and alcohol.

He wandered into the dining room, where a neat row of casseroles and salads sat under the ugly chandelier. Brandon had told him about that chandelier, about how as soon as he got back from deployment he was going to change it for the one Brandon and Kylie had picked out at Home Depot. The stupid thing was sitting in the garage.

What the hell is that smell? The deep voice came from off to his right, and Garrison turned slightly to see a tall man with dark blond hair and clear green eyes, his skin tanned and scored with laugh lines.

Garrison sniffed, his nose wrinkling. Uh. Cabbage? Smells like dirty gym socks.

In hell. The guy grinned a little and held out a hand. I’m Kylie’s brother, Walt.

Brandon’s brother. Garrison.

Sympathy flashed in Walt’s eyes, the lines next to them crinkling up, but not with a smile. I’m so sorry, man. Brandon was a good guy.

He was. Garrison knew it was true too, not just a platitude. Brandon was a total Boy Scout, without the gay prejudices, that was. Kind to his mother, willing to help out, always prepared in an emergency.

Too bad Brandon hadn’t been able to dodge that IED in Afghanistan. No one was prepared for a bomb blowing up in their goddamned face.

Garrison glanced up, realizing they’d been standing there, silent, for several minutes. Sorry, he muttered. Sorry, I was just—

No, it’s okay. This has to suck. You’ve never even been here, to the house. Right?

Yes. I mean, right, I never have. I was OCONUS for the wedding. Training in the Middle East. Is Kylie okay? Does she need anything? I know she’s….

Pregnant? Walt nodded. She is. She’ll be all right, but it’s going to be tough.

You local? Having her brother there would be a big help, he was sure.

I am. How long are you here? Walt asked.

Long enough, I guess. He had two weeks. He reckoned that was better than a three-day pass, but he didn’t know what he could do to help where he was. You got any idea where the bathroom is?

Come on. Walt led him past the food and down a hall lined with pictures of what he assumed were Kylie’s family. At the end there was a photo of his and Brandon’s folks on their twenty-fifth anniversary and a single framed shot of him and Brandon together, right after Garrison had graduated from high school.

God, we look so young.

We all do at that age. Bathroom is just there.

Thanks. He avoided looking into Walt’s green eyes, not wanting to see any more of the awkward sympathy. He ducked into the bathroom, needing to piss and to splash some water on his face. Alone, he could hear himself think, could stop worrying about what he would say if someone spoke to him.

Sighing, he rolled his head on his neck, everything popping and creaking, reminding him he’d just gotten off a military hop twelve hours before. Jet lag was a bitch.

He flushed and washed up, grinning a little at the sight of all the little shell-shaped soaps next to the faucet. The soap dish was shaped like a shell too. Brandon would have teased Mom about those things unmercifully. He’d bet his brother had teased Kylie about them too.

Garrison doubled over, clutching the sides of the sink. Christ. Brandon was dead. He couldn’t breathe, thinking about it now. Garrison was a fucking Navy SEAL. He had expected to go first, even if Brandon was damned Air Force Special Operations and all full of the Any Time, Any Place motto.

A rap on the door brought him upright, wiping his mouth just in case he’d thrown up or drooled or something. He avoided the mirror, though. No one wanted to see his pasty skin and deep eye bags, least of all him.

Sorry, Garrison said, opening the door. Did you need the bathroom?

Nope. Walt still stood there, a frown drawing his brows together. I was checking on you.

Well, I’m a lost cause today, but I promise not to drown myself in the toilet.

That’s disgusting. Walt gave him a ghost of a grin. Come on, man. Let’s go get something to eat. Something not stuffed cabbage.

Hey, I don’t want to take you away from your sister. He didn’t at that, but getting away and getting some not funeral food sounded amazing right now.

Kylie will be super busy, and your folks are here for her. When she’ll need us is when the crowd dies down. Walt nudged him, elbow against his arm, and he jumped.

No one touched him anymore. Hell, his mom’s hug had damned near made him crawl out of his skin when he’d first shown up.

Okay. Let’s go. He wiped his hands on his pants, taking a deep breath for the first time since the funeral ceremony. Is there still a good steakhouse around here?

Sizzlin’ Sirloin. One of those places that serves Texas toast and chocolate cream pie you order at the counter.

Sounds like a plan. He’d get some food in his belly and try to get his head back on right before he talked to Kylie about whatever it was she wanted. Only seemed fair to not lose his shit in front of her when she was the pregnant widow.

And if Walt stood a little too close to him while they ordered their steak and got their salads, well, he’d think about that later too. Right now it just felt good to let someone else make the plan.

---

Walt Drummond felt totally guilty for thinking it, but his sister’s dead husband’s brother was stunning.

He sat and watched Garrison Matthews eat, moving automatically to shovel food into his mouth. Steak, potato, salad, it was all better than the limp macaroni and freakishly bad cabbage at his sister’s house.

Walt knew he was ill-suited to funerals and family gatherings. Sadly, it was usually up to him to deliver the news to family members that someone had died, which was one of the hazards of being a cop. He’d told Kylie more than once lately that his day job used up all his sympathy or empathy or whatever, and all he had left for her was brotherly love.

Which meant he’d always say the wrong thing.

So, uh, what do you do? Garrison asked, almost like the man had read his mind.

Sheriff’s deputy.

No shit? Garrison’s mouth curved a little. Run in the family?

Yeah. Dad was a military cop.

Garrison sobered. Is it just your mom, then? I saw her at the funeral, I think.

Walt tried not to think about how much he missed his dad. Yeah, it is. Dad had a stroke two years ago. Real sudden. He was only in his fifties.

Sorry. Now Garrison seemed uncomfortable, head bent over his food.

You didn’t do it. He snorted. "And