Johnny's Toy Solider

  Evernight Publishing ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2015 Angelique Voisen

  ISBN: 978-1-77233-234-6

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Laurie Temple

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To my readers, I hope you enjoy Josh and Johnny’s story. As always, I’m grateful for your support. To Evernight Publishing, for giving this story a home.

  JOHNNY’S TOY SOLDIER

  Romance on the Go

  Angelique Voisen

  Copyright © 2015

  Chapter One

  The welcome home banners and the balloons hung limply against the background of my apartment, doing little to improve the listless mood of the party. Everyone here was there at the base months ago. We sent off five young men in fresh uniforms. Boys really, pretending to be men.

  Only three broken soldiers returned and none of the three were my brother, Eli. Well, three-and-a-half, counting Josh Edwards, who came back with his right arm gone, severed right through the shoulder. I heard from Josh’s friend, Trish, how Josh and his unit got caught up in an explosion while rescuing a family under a building about to fall apart. A piece of metal shrapnel nearly shredded his right arm and the only way to save his life was amputation.

  His fate is not funny, and even feeling a smidge of self-satisfaction seemed wrong. Inappropriate almost.

  “At least you’re still alive. Eli’s dead, so why the fuck are you still alive?” No one heard my venomous words amidst the chatting crowd, or so I thought.

  Across the room, I saw Josh’s searing dark blue eyes fastened on mine and my heart suddenly skipped a beat. He couldn’t have heard. Not from where I was standing, but Josh didn’t take his eyes off me all evening.

  Tonight, he wore a faded pair of jeans and a plain white shirt. He dressed like he used to, except his physique had undergone a dramatic transformation. His lean frame was now coiled with muscles and black ink-lines covered his desert-kissed flesh. There were more lines under his haunted eyes, and of course, he was missing an arm.

  I noticed Josh left his dog tags hanging outside his shirt, and the tags reminds me of a brand, of his mark of shame.

  You deserve to suffer, you miserable dirt bag. You promised me you’d take care of my brother, but he’s dead.

  Josh didn’t approach me until all the beer was gone and most of the guests had left. For some reason, instinct propelled me to clean up the mess everyone left behind, even though it’s futile because Eli, the clean freak, wouldn’t whine at me about the rubbish. It’s childish, but a part of me still believed Eli was going to come through the front door any second. He’d then tell me this was all just one sick joke and his death had been greatly exaggerated.

  It had always been just the three of us. Eli, Josh and I. After our parents died when I was twelve, Eli took custody of me, even though he was only a kid himself. Eli wasn’t just my older brother. He took on the role of being my guardian and my best friend. He practically raised me when all we had was each other, but neither Eli or Josh listened to my protests when they announced they were going to enlist.

  Josh’s warm hand landed on mine, and I stared at it blankly, wondering if it had always been that big.

  “Hey, little Johnny. You haven’t spoken to me all evening. You alright?” Josh sounded harsh, as if he hadn’t uttered a single word to anyone all night.

  I pushed his hand away. He let Eli die and didn’t deserve to touch me. I couldn’t pull my eyes from his though. Couldn’t quite ignore the deep sorrow lodged there. Josh reminded me of the one-armed green plastic soldiers I had when I was little. It was a hell of a lot easier to think of him that way than as a real person, because real people feel pain.

  “I’m not little anymore, you bastard. I’m twenty-one and you know it.”

  Pain flickered across his features, and I immediately regretted my words. What was I thinking? Josh isn’t a broken toy. He’s a broken man and a broken soldier, and it didn’t look like he could take many emotional blows. Still, letting him off the hook wasn’t something I could do. Not yet.

  “God. I forgot how much you look like him,” Josh said. “It hurts to look at you.” An ocean of conflicted emotions lie buried in his one sentence and I bit my lip, preventing myself from responding with a biting remark.

  “If looking at me hurts, then don’t look at me. Leave and never come back.” My voice cracked and wavered.

  Josh took a few steps toward me and collapsed in my arms. At first, I thought he was drunk, but there’s no stink of alcohol about him. Just despair.

  He was taller and bulkier than me, but despite the awkward moment, he buried his head in my chest. Tremors ran across his body and I held him until he stopped shaking. A wave of guilt rammed into me as well as some measure of enlightenment. I’ve always known Eli and Josh were more than friends, which was why I made Josh promise to bring back my brother in one piece. I just hadn’t known Eli meant this much to him, to the extent he’d just break down when my brother was no longer by his side.

  “I don’t know how I’ll live without him,” Josh confessed.

  What the fuck’s wrong with me? Josh didn’t deserve my cruelty or my judgment. Knowing now how devoted he was to my brother, he probably did and gave his best. Eli’s death most likely wounded him on a much deeper level than it did me.

  Wrapping his remaining thick-corded arm around my leg, Josh pressed his forehead against my jeans and whispered just two damning words over and over again, “I’m sorry. God. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Johnny.”

  He wouldn’t let go and I doubted I could pry him away. Maybe he needed human touch and consolation. It would have been cruel of me to deny him. Kneeling in front of him, I speared my fingers through his hair and pressed him close to my chest. I felt like a child trying to console an adult, but my touch worked wonders.

  All the tension and the months of frustration and anger slowly ebbed away from both our bodies. Something grew uncomfortable between us, preventing warm flesh from meeting, and I discovered the cause—the cold metal of his dog tags pressed between our bodies. The world grew frighteningly still when I realized it was not just his tags strung on the chain. There were two chains, four tags. Eli’s.

  Josh loved my brother. He’s carrying the weight of two lives.

  “It’s okay,” I murmured, recovering from the realization.

  I reached out to him, stroked his broad back. Leaning my forehead against his, I watched his blue eyes grow startled. I caught his bottom lip and kissed him gently, hoping in some mad and twisted way the kiss would remind him of my brother.

  “It’s going to be okay, Josh. From now on, I’m going to take care of you.” He breathed hard against me, but didn’t interrupt me. “You’re going to sleep here tonight and all the nights after until you can be on your own again. Tomorrow, we’re going to head to your apartment and pack your things, alright?”

  I expected Josh to protest, to fight me, but he didn’t. Josh didn’t look like he has much fight in him anymore. The passionate and fiery-eyed devil my brother loved was gone, and a fragile broken husk of a man had replaced him. But I knew that Josh was still somewhere inside him.

  “Sounds good,” Josh whispered. “Thank you, Johnny.”


  Chapter Two

  The first night without Eli was the easiest because both Josh and I were so exhausted, we quickly fell into a dreamless sleep. The subsequent nights were harder and sleep didn’t come easy to either of us. I took some days off work from the garage to make Eli’s funeral arrangements. Without Josh there, I wouldn’t have gotten through everything, let alone learned to take a single day at a time.

  Enduring Eli’s service felt like swallowing lead. Time dragged on for an eternity when the casket team, made of the surviving members of Eli and Josh’s unit, carried Eli’s flag-draped coffin to his place in the ground.

  “You should be proud of your brother.”

  “These boys died honorable deaths.”

  “It’s the only way I can imagine going.”

  The consolations, the shoulder pats and the pitying glances felt oppressive. I’d screamed out all my frustrations and anger long ago. Only numbness filled me as I watched the box lowered to the ground. Josh was part of the guard, dressed to the nines in his uniform, but he looked misplaced with his right sleeve hanging empty. His expression was blank, unreadable, and his entire posture remained stiff. We’re reflections of each other. The stamp of grief was evident on his face as well as mine.

  We declined the invitations to drinks by the rest of their unit when it was all done and over with, choosing instead to stand in front of Eli’s casket in silence.

  “What do we do now?” Josh asked, breaking the silence.

  “Let’s go home,” I said tiredly, and he didn’t object.

  That night I dreamt of Eli. In the dream, we’re both kids again and our parents are still alive. We’re fighting over a bucket of plastic soldiers, and in our little tug-of-war we rip off the arm of one little green man.

  “He’s all yours,” Eli said, pressing the one-armed toy into my tiny hand.

  “What am I going to do with a broken toy?” I asked, pissed.

  “Take care of him, little bro, because I no longer can.” Then Eli vanished, and so do the walls of the room we shared back when we were kids.

  I gasped myself awake, my entire body beaded in sweat. I flung my bed sheets aside, and walked out into the darkened hallway. Standing in front the door opposite mine, I stopped. Over the past few days, I hadn’t been able to summon the courage to begin clearing Eli’s room.

  I silently padded in, leaving the door open behind me. The room was exactly as Eli left it, undisturbed except for the shivering lump on the bed. I swallowed, seeing the familiar outline of Josh’s body, unsure what to do. Josh was curled up into a fetal position, clutching Eli’s favorite blue comforter over him, unaware I’m there. What could I do in a moment like this? What can I say, when my own grief threatened to swallow me whole?

  My dream, still fresh in my mind, came back to me. Eli’s words haunted me, like a message passed between worlds. “Take care of him, little bro, because I no longer can.”

  It’s unbelievable what Eli asked of me, but I moved to the bed and sat down. Josh jerked when I slid my hand up the comforter. His eyes flew open, wide with fear, but seeing me, he instantly relaxed.

  “Hush,” I told him, moving closer. Stroking his sweat-soaked hair, I asked, “couldn’t sleep?”

  “Was dreaming of Eli,” Josh confessed, dropping his gaze. “I’m fucking terrified of sleeping, Johnny. Every time I close my eyes, I see him. It’s the only place I can, but I can’t face him and explain to him how badly I’ve failed him.”

  “I know. I dream of him too.”

  Josh shivered in his comforter. “I see him when he’s happy, laughing at some idiotic joke I’ve said, but most of time I see him when he dies.”

  I slid into the bed and Josh didn’t object, so I spooned closer until our warm bodies are touching. There’s nothing sexual about the touch. We’re simply two individuals hungry for touch, afraid of the unknown.

  “Tell me,” I coaxed. Josh banded his remaining arm around my body. He pulled me close to me, breathing in my scent. Josh’s breath was warm against the nape of my neck and a tiny flutter of desire ran down my body.

  “There’s falling debris everywhere. Our CO’s shouting, tells us to take cover, but Eli sees the falling house and the occupants still trapped inside. He runs in and I follow, cursing all the way,” Josh halted and his breathing grew uneven. I waited, tracing my fingers along his muscled forearm. A few minutes passed, but it felt longer.

  “We get the kids to safety, feeling full of ourselves. When the bomb goes off, Eli didn’t seem like he noticed anything changed. He cocks his head toward me, as if listening to something. There’s nothing on his face. Not agony, not shock. He just fucking smiled at me as I shouted at him. I gripped his hand, but he shoved me away and then he was just…gone.”

  For a few seconds, I said nothing. Then I realized it was no longer just Josh’s heart thumping against his chest, but also mine painfully beating in unison. I wished he hadn’t told me. Lending more details to Eli’s death only made it real.

  “That sucks, Josh,” I said, and his chest suddenly heaved against me. I realized he was laughing. It wasn’t a nice laugh. Hysterical sobs and giggles came out of him, and I squeezed his arm in alarm.

  “It’s okay, Johnny. I’m alright,” Josh said after composing himself, but we both knew he isn’t fine.

  The only good thing that came out of this night was that we slept soundly and Eli’s ghost didn’t disturb us further. Looking back, it was the first step toward Josh’s healing and my acceptance of Eli’s death. Settled in the crook of his arm, and with Josh sleeping soundly behind me, it felt like some huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. By doing this, by touching him, I’d also inevitably crossed the line between friend and brother.

  Chapter Three

  “How did your date go?” Josh’s voice startled me as I entered the apartment.

  I assessed him. Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade, his and Eli’s favorite movie, played on the TV screen. A half-eaten bowl of microwavable popcorn rested on his lap and I couldn’t help noticed he was dressed in just his boxers. I forced my gaze away from the sight of his hard, inked and tanned chest and tried to focus on his face instead. Eli’s words from my old dream two weeks ago resurfaced, making me uncomfortable.

  Lies were ready on the tip of my tongue. Dating had been the suggestion of some of my co-workers friends. Well, they hadn’t called it dating so much as fucking to relieve stress. I didn’t want to lie to Josh.

  “It was awful.”

  I joined him on the couch and he moved aside, offering me the bowl. I took it, grabbing handful to munch. The buttery taste filled my mouth and I wondered if the popcorn tasted a little of Josh’s fingers too. Fuck. I just went on a luckless date and I’m thinking of what my dead brother’s boyfriend’s fingers taste like?

  I noticed he’s looking much better these days. He’s been following a healthy routine too, starting with a morning jog, then a trip to his army-issued therapist, and lunch with me. Hell, I looked forward to these lunches more than I looked forward to these hook-ups with random men and women.

  “On a scale of one to ten, how horrible was it?” Josh asked, grabbing more popcorn.

  One piece landed on his chest and I absent-mindedly picked it up. That was an error. My hand brushing his naked skin wasn’t just a colossal mistake. It felt like a sin. One mere touch is enough to send a jolt up my arm and right down to my dick. I told myself Josh wouldn’t notice how I reacted, but he did. Josh watched me intently, and I tried to pass off the moment by scooping up the bit and tossing it into my mouth.

  “One being horrible or one being good?” I asked, noticing how he abruptly stood to pick up a fresh shirt from the drawer by the TV where he kept his clothes, despite sleeping in Eli’s room. I understood. I wanted to leave Eli’s belongings in tact too, at least for a while.

  “What the hell are you doing? It’s not like I haven’t seen you without a damn shirt on.” The words left my mouth before I could take them back.

 
“You don’t need to see my…accident.” Josh pulled the plain white shirt quickly over his neck and a part of me—to be honest, a huge part—was sorry to see the expanse of his muscles covered up.

  “Accident? Josh, I hadn’t even noticed until you mentioned it.”

  “Stop it, Johnny. I fucking hate it when you take pity on me.”

  “You think I pity you? Well, I don’t.” I crossed my arms. “Why can’t you see you’re fine just the way you are, even without one arm?”

  “Stop lying. No one wants a one-armed broken soldier,” he said.

  Striding over to him, I grabbed a handful of his shirt and glowered at him. “Sometimes, you can be so fucking stupid, Josh. Who the fuck do you suppose I think of when I go on these stupid dates?”

  “Well, yeah. You have to worry about the cripple you left at home, scared he’s going to commit suicide or something.” Josh said, stepping back.

  But I refused to let go of his shirt. He tightened his hand over mine, and my pulse leaped at the physical contact.

  “Is that what you think?” I asked softly.

  His expression turned to one of surprise, then realization, then shock.

  “You aren’t a chore to me, Josh. You never were.”

  He drew away first, as if my touch was a brand, a brand he was terrified of being burned by. By the way the bulge in his boxers grew, I knew what I felt wasn’t one-sided. Don’t get me wrong. I was terrified too, and equal parts ashamed of what I felt. By wanting Josh, I was betraying my brother. But my brother was dead. Was he floating in some version of heaven, or was his soul resting in some form of sweet oblivion? How could Eli leave, knowing he’d abandoned Josh and I, left us in turmoil?

  “We can’t do this,” Josh whispered, agony evident in his eyes.