Song Fiction ~ The River Lea by Adele

Song fiction time. I’m in the midst of flooring up to my eyeballs and trying to finish Cannon’s book, but here’s a short bit to this pretty cool song by Adele. If it’s new to you like it was to me, here’s the only video I found to work, and the resulting story. It’s a bit about Brett “Colt” Sievers from Cannon’s book.

“Okay, Sievers, out with it.”

Brett, or Colt to his buddies, his brothers, looked up from his beer, sighing when several of his teammates pulled up chairs and gathered at his table. The one he’d picked in order to isolate himself. So this kind of brotherly intervention wouldn’t happen. But, they’d all used their damn Delta skills and scoped him out.

Brett thought he’d done a damn good job of hiding. Going to a bar that was definitely not his taste. Loud techno music, flashing disco lights and more bodies grinding on the dance floor than was probably allowed, it represented everything he hated about furloughs. And the last place he thought his squad would hunt him down.

Or course, Six and Cannon were among the men. Bastards were damn good trackers, even in an urban environment. And they knew him too well. Hell, knowing Six, he’d read Brett’s mind or something equally creepy. There was a reason everyone called the man Six. He had this way about him—sensed things a moment or two before everyone else. As if he knew shit was about to go sideways. Just this morning, he’d grabbed Brett and shoved him out of the way before one of the tent poles they’d been dismantling fell exactly where Brett would have been standing. What would have been at best, a nasty concussion. At worst, it could have killed him. 

They’d given up trying to figure the guy out. If he had some kind of extra sensory perception thing going, they didn’t care. Not if it saved their asses. He could be an alien and they wouldn’t care. Not when he’d single-handedly kept them all from seeing an early grave. Which meant he’d probably just done some kind of Jedi mind trick, or that Vulcan meld thing and sourced out exactly where Brett had ventured.

He took a long pull of his beer, giving the men a shrug. “Not sure what you’re talking about.”

Jacks snorted. “Please. First, you were late for our run this morning. Then, you disappeared while we were breaking camp—right after Six saved you from getting cold-cocked. And if that wasn’t enough, Cannon had to tackle your ass when that tango appeared and damn near blew your head off. Not to mention, you ditched us the minute we got sent on mandatory decompress.” He glanced around the table as he laid his arms along the back of the chair facing the table. “So, out with it.”

Another pull. Then, another. Not that it helped. A full two-four wouldn’t be enough to drown his heart. The one still bleeding out. Fuck women.

Six sighed. “I think maybe we were wrong, guys. Let’s give Colt some space.”

“We weren’t wrong, Six, we—”

“You heard the man.” Cannon, this time. “Clear out. We’ll meet for breakfast at the hotel restaurant at oh eight hundred.”

Jacks grunted but stood, twisting the chair the right way round then heading off with the rest. Six gave Brett’s shoulder a pat then tagged along behind the rest of the men, quickly disappearing into the crowd. Only Cannon stayed at the edge of the table, one hand on the top, the other shoved into his pocket.

He waited until Brett looked up at him. “I don’t need to have Six’s radar to guess that this involves Heather.”

Brett focused on the table. If he said her name…

“How’d she do it?”

“Sent a letter out with Hammond’s squad. Real classy.”

“I’m sorry, man.”

“Me, too. I thought…”

He’d thought that they were serious. That they had a future. Hell, they’d talked about retiring. About moving in together. Starting a family. Everything had been fine, then… a Dear John letter to end all letters.

“She say why?”

“Just the usual.”

“She found out who your father was.”

“They all do in time, Cannon. You can’t run from your past forever. Not when it’s in your blood.”

“Colt…Brett…”

“Don’t. I know the score. I’m just tired of never being good enough. Of never getting out from under his shadow. It’s like my damn DNA is stained. And it taints whatever I touch. Ruins it.”

“You know that’s not true. Anyone who truly cared about you wouldn’t put what he did back on you.”

Brett snorted. “Then, I guess she never really cared.”

“That’s not what I meant. Fuck.” Cannon took a step, stopped and turned. “Is there anything I can do?”

Brett raised his beer. “Got it covered.”

“I’ll be waiting up to make sure you get back. Don’t make me wait all night. And Colt?”

“Yeah, man?”

“Not every woman is like her. I promise. There’s someone special waiting.”

“Or maybe, that’s just not how my life’s gonna play out.” He waved off Cannon’s reply. The pep talk the other man was no doubt going to preach. “It’s fine. I’m fine, I just need a night.”

“You sure that’s the best course of action? We all have a tendency to bury the bad shit.”

“So?”

“Makes it hard to feel the good.”

“The only good is making it through a mission alive. Seeing your brothers do, too. That’s all I’ve got right now. I’ll be back by midnight.”

Cannon nodded then walked off. Brett watched the man fade into the crowd of bodies, signalling the bartender he needed another beer. Cannon was right. Brett had spent a dozen years pushing the bad shit down until nothing remained. Until he was just numb. Maybe that’s why he always ended up alone.

Or maybe he was just cursed. Either way, he’d drink to it.

And that’s it for me. Not sure this will make it into any book. Just a jump into Colt’s head. Now, head on over to Bronwyn’s Blog for her amazing story…