Between These Sheets Read online

  “I fought one war on the battlefield. Now I fight another in my mind.”

  Jay is always on the run—always looking for the next place to start a new life. But no matter how much he moves, he can’t escape the painful memories that haunt him. As he settles into his latest job in the warehouse at a glass bottle factory, he finds himself the target of his co-workers’ teasing. When he takes a stand against one of the bullies, a fight breaks out. His boss, a war vet named Reese, steps in, and Jay accidentally shoves him to the ground, revealing Reese’s prosthetic leg. Jay’s sure he’s gonna lose his job, but he’s blown away when he’s given another shot.

  Reese is annoyed by the new guy. Jay is reckless and temper prone. Maybe Reese shouldn't have given him a second chance, but his attitude reminds him of his war buddy—a guy who he cared deeply for and who he lost under tragic circumstances. He just hopes Jay doesn’t let him down.

  When an accident in the factory triggers one of Reese’s PTSD episodes, Jay returns the favor by being there for him and keeping anyone else from discovering the incident. Reese wants to move on and forget it ever happened, but Jay won’t let it go. And as much as Reese tries to keep his distance, there’s a heat—a passion—between them that he can’t resist. It leads them to the bedroom again and again, but Reese quickly realizes they’ve ignited more than the sparks they create between the sheets. And despite the tough-guy façade Jay puts on, underneath there’s a soul just as tortured and hurt as he is. He’s starting to fall for Jay, but he knows there’s a dark storm lurking in the back of his own mind—a storm that will return one day and destroy the beautiful connection they share.

  Between These Sheets is a standalone romance novel with no cheating, no cliffhangers, and a happy ending.

  Works by Devon McCormack

  Click Here to Receive Email Updates for Future Books from Devon

  Romance

  Faking It: Metropolis, Book I (with Riley Hart)

  Filthy Little Secret

  Tight End

  Weight of the World (with Riley Hart)

  ~

  Non-Romance Titles

  Bastards Series (Sadistic Contemporary)

  Bastards (Two Dark Erotic Thrillers)

  Young Adult Titles

  The Pining

  Hideous

  When Ryan Came Back

  The Night Screams

  About the Author

  Devon McCormack

  A good ole Southern boy, Devon McCormack grew up in the Georgia suburbs with his two younger brothers and an older sister. At a very young age, he spun tales the old fashioned way, lying to anyone and everyone he encountered. He claimed he was an orphan. He claimed to be a king from another planet. He claimed to have supernatural powers. He has since harnessed this penchant for tall tales by crafting worlds and characters that allow him to live out whatever fantasy he chooses. Devon is an out and proud gay man living with his partner in Atlanta, Georgia.

  Find Devon:

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  1

  Jay

  “You want to start something?” Tyler asks.

  “You already started it,” I say, balling my hands into fists and stepping toward him.

  I’ve only been here a few days, but this guy’s been grating on my nerves ever since I began working at the factory. He’s another packing associate, but for some reason, he thinks he’s superior because he has a little seniority. I was fine with the attitude and him calling me Blue Jay to get on my nerves, but when he tripped me as I was heading to the loading dock, I was finished being cordial.

  Glass is scattered across the floor beside the box I dropped. He could’ve seriously injured me.

  “It was an accident, man,” he says. “Not my fault you don’t know how to use your goddamn feet.”

  That’s it. I spring forward, fists flying. His jaw tenses, and he comes at me, rage in his eyes.

  This is what he wanted. This is what he fucking asked for, but he’s gonna wish he hadn’t when I break his nose. I’m about to lay into him when a force hits my shoulder and knocks me to the side. I turn to the guy who pushed me and punch. The blow knocks him to the ground.

  When I see who it is, I’m horrified—it’s my boss, Reese Kline. The guy who interviewed me less than two weeks ago. The guy I practically begged to give me the position.

  The right leg of his jeans is hiked up, revealing a dark gray metal rod. A prosthetic, I assume. Some of the guys in the office had mentioned he’d been in Iraq. The way he limps slightly, I assumed he’d been shot. No one said anything about him missing a fucking leg.

  Shit.

  His face bright red, his eyes are on me, and I don’t see the friendly man who greeted me when I first got here. I see something darker—like I flipped a switch and now I’m facing off with the Hulk.

  He rises to his feet, slowly, steadily, and I back up against the wall. Normally, I’d be game for challenging him, but the moment I saw his leg and the expression on his face, my guilt dissolved all my defensiveness. I want to tell him I’m sorry, but the words are stuck in my throat.

  He approaches, but stops before reaching me, breathing heavily, his hands trembling beside him. “My office in fifteen minutes. No sooner. No later.” His words are like bullets. Short. Quick. Frightening.

  He walks away, leaving me in the middle of the small audience that’s collected around me during the commotion. “Clean it up, Tyler,” he calls over his shoulder, and I notice his limp more than I usually do—now understanding the reason for it.

  The guys aren’t even looking at me—not even Tyler, who I figured would be thrilled about me getting into trouble. We crossed a line with Reese, and I doubt that’s something he’s proud of. From what I know, the guys respect Reese. He’s on the level with them, and he’s a fair supervisor. Doesn’t treat us like we’re inferior. Doesn’t condescend. It’s hard as fuck to find a boss like him in this line of work. Typically, guys on the floor are talked down to by their superiors like we’re too stupid to know the sky is blue. Reminds me of being a kid. Of my asshole father shouting at me like I was fucking nothing.

  Tyler heads off to get shit to clean up the mess while I continue with my work. My co-worker William had dropped one of the packages off the forklift when he was moving them onto the loading dock, so I was helping him clean up the mess when I had my run-in with Tyler. I continue helping William, dreading this meeting with Reese.

  I keep my eye on the warehouse clock uneasily. It’s taking for-fucking-ever for fifteen minutes to pass.

  After how I humiliated him in front of the whole warehouse, he’s gonna fire me. That’s all he can do. Guys like Reese have egos. Big ones. And they won’t tolerate insubordination…or even worse, humiliation.

  I’ve been in town less than a month. I thought I was lucky to have found a new job as fast as I did, but now I’m gonna have to pack up and head out.

  Doesn’t feel fair. But I’m the only one I can blame for this. It was one thing to lose my temper with Tyler. It was another to turn it on the guy who was friendly enough to give me a break after he called one of my references and discovered I’d lost my job because of my temper.

  “One shot,” he told me. “That’s all you have. Got it?”

  Shot blown.

  I won’t be groveling for my job. If he wants to get rid of me, I won’t humiliate myself over mediocre work at a glass bottle factory. I can get a crap job like this in any town.

  As the clock reaches the ten-minute mark, the suspense itches at me like a rash. Finally, the time comes, and I head to his office.

  He’s sitting at his desk. The cement walls behind him are lined with bookshelves and a few
filing cabinets. He keeps his office clean.

  His face stern, he rests a trembling hand on the table. “Close the door,” he says as I enter. I obey and take a seat in front of his desk as I did when we had our first interview.

  His bright blue eyes sparkle in the room’s fluorescent lights, which casts sharp shadows beneath his cheeks. His tense jaw is covered in a dirty-blond beard that matches the tufts of his bangs, which wave to the side. His massive biceps shape the sleeves of his short-sleeved button-up. He’s hot. The kind of guy I wouldn’t mind rolling around in the sack with after a few drinks. The sort of guy I’d want to fuck. Hell, I’d let him inside me—let him take me, make me feel good. If only because there aren’t enough moments like that in my life.

  His gaze doesn’t waver as I sit before him. He glares at me like he’s two seconds from hopping up and beating the crap out of me for the spectacle I made of him in front of all his employees.

  “Do you not understand the concept of one shot?” he asks.

  This is the part where I’m supposed to defend myself. Tell him that Tyler started it. Go into the same long-ass monologue I would have gone into in the principal’s office when I was a kid. But all I can think of is how much I’ve disappointed him. I don’t know why that even matters. I guess because there are few guys who would have hired me after they found out from one of my previous employers that I was a troublemaker. But hell, no one ever checks my references for work like this, so I wasn’t thinking he’d call anyone. As a packaging associate, you either can or can’t do the job. It doesn’t matter what sort of trouble you might have gotten into in the past. The fact that Reese took some time out of his day in the hiring process makes me respect him more.

  A shame this is the last day I’ll be working with him.

  “Are you just going to sit there and stare at me?” he asks. His hand still noticeably shakes on the desktop, and as I gaze at it a little too long, he pulls it back and slides it under the table, never taking his eyes off mine.

  “Mr. Kline, I’m sorry for pushing you,” I say. I’m surprised by the sincerity in my own words. Typically, I’d be a dick. Maybe offer some facetious apology to piss him off even more, but I didn’t mean to show every guy in the warehouse his fake leg. I didn’t mean to expose his vulnerability. I wouldn’t want that for myself or anyone else.

  Although that must be one of only a few vulnerabilities a guy who’s built like a pro-wrestler has to worry about.

  Reese presses his tongue against his cheek. His gaze trails off, as if he’s lost in deep thought about something. I can’t imagine what. He just needs to tell me I’m fired and to grab my things out of my locker. Get the hell out of here. I can pack my bags in the room I’m renting and get the fuck out of town in no time. Move on like I always do.

  Those blue eyes are on me again. “I’ve seen how Tyler’s been treating you all week. Yeah, he’s been a bit of a dick. He’s gonna be that way because I technically brought you in to handle some things that he couldn’t. He was shitty, but I don’t need you making things worse during a tricky situation. That’s what I’m here for. The guys give you crap, you come to me. My job is to take care of that.”

  Wait. Is he seriously letting me off the hook?

  I’m so thrown by his words I can’t even think straight. But as soon as I regain my composure, I say, “I don’t need anyone protecting me from schoolyard bullies. I can take care of myself.”

  “If they’re going to act like schoolyard bullies, then I’ll discipline them like schoolyard bullies. That’s my job, not yours.”

  The feeling of having an ally eases my tension.

  “I catch you throwing punches or making a scene again,” he adds, “I’ll have your job, got it?”

  I nod. “Yes, sir.”

  “It’s Reese. Not sir,” he says through his teeth.

  I’m too stunned to say anything else. This can’t be happening. Reese is the only boss I’ve ever had who would have tolerated that kind of behavior, especially when it resulted in such a humiliating incident.

  “Now, get out of here and finish out your shift, okay?”

  2

  Reese

  I’m still shaking from when Jay knocked me down.

  I was on my way to the loading dock when I saw him and Tyler getting into it. I figured I’d just grab him. Get his attention. But then he turned on me, and the moment his fist made contact with my face, I was transported back into the heat of battle. It was a good thing he knocked me down, because if I hadn’t had that time standing up to regain my bearings, I’m not sure what I would have done to him. With my adrenaline high and my body convinced I was facing an enemy, I could have laid a few blows to his head. Maybe severely injured him.

  I haven’t had an episode like that in a long time. I still have the usual ones. I’ll never be totally fine, but I don’t normally lose it. I might feel the impulse…Every muscle in my body might urge me to spring to life and kick some ass as every thought in my brain echoes the sentiment, demanding I act, but I’ve learned how to soothe those thoughts—at least enough that I’m not afraid of going apeshit on an employee.

  Today was close.

  Too close.

  I’ve already been on edge recently. I’m hanging onto my sanity by a thread, and if I’d done something to Jay—hurt him in any way—I never would have forgiven myself. Not just because I’d lose my job and potentially have to deal with a lawsuit, but because it would mean that all this work—every group session, every therapy appointment, every month I spent working to find the right cocktail of pills—would have meant shit. I’ve worked too hard to get to this point. Too hard to live a somewhat normal life, even when the thoughts and emotions feel like they’re too much to handle. Even when they overtake me to the point where I’m not sure I’ll make it through the day.

  I fought in the field, and now I fight in my mind. It’s a battle I’ll never win, and experiences like what just happened in the warehouse remind me of that.

  When Jay leaves my office to return to his shift, I rise from my chair, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I’m waiting for this to pass. For my nerves to settle. But they’re still overexcited.

  Raging. Screaming at me to run for my life. Reminding me that if I’m not shooting, then I might wind up shot.

  A weight presses down on my chest, making it difficult for me to breathe. Heat fills my cheeks, and the way my thoughts swirl, it seems like if I don’t calm down soon, I might throw up.

  I pace around the room, using every mental exercise I can conjure up to soothe myself, but I’m trapped in this spell. The best thing to do in moments like these is to surrender, so I lock my door and curl into a ball in the corner of the room. I need a few minutes. Need to remember that as much as it feels like these thoughts will destroy me, it’ll pass like it always does.

  Easier said than done.

  I grip onto my leg—no, my prosthesis.

  Sometimes I forget what it is. What I’m missing. What I can never get back.

  ***

  I head out of the factory and see a few of the employees still lingering as they wait for rides, most from their spouses—some from their parents.

  I’m still rattled from the experience with Jay, but at least the tension and the physical discomfort has settled. I noted the experience in an app on my phone, so I can bring it up with Laura, my therapist—one I pay for myself since the VA’s resources are shit. Fortunately, the factory has an incredible insurance plan that allows me to see Laura, my psychiatrist, and my prosthetist.

  Painful and frustrating as this can get, I’m one of the lucky ones. Despite how the terrors haunt me and how bad it can get, it’s manageable enough that I can live some semblance of a normal life—enough that I can hide episodes from my employees. And I can function well enough with a job—something I knew I needed. Something I desperately fought for, not just because I need the money, but because I need my fucking sanity. At least when I’m busy, I can distract myself from the thou
ghts and sensations that bombard me on a regular basis.

  On my way to my car, I see Jay standing before the open hood of his Honda Civic, which is scratched up and has a few dents in it. I figure it’s an apt representation of where he’s at in life.

  I should breeze past him and head home. I’m too on edge. It’s too easy for me to be triggered right now. But as he curses under his breath, I shift my direction toward him.

  I know what’s drawing me. His guardedness—his attitude—they remind me of my friend. And as much as I know that’s liable to make what I’m experiencing even worse, I can’t resist this impulse that pulls me to him.

  He’s so preoccupied he doesn’t see me coming. His dark hair is a mess. Sweat and dust covers his face from the work in the warehouse. We all get a little film of crud on ourselves from being in there all day. He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt. When I reach the truck, he turns to me, his expression wide with confusion. Just like when he was looking at me in the warehouse after he pushed me down and exposed my leg for everyone to see.

  Just thinking about that moment pains me. To be humiliated like that in front of my guys is a serious bruise to my ego. They know about the leg, though. They knew I was injured in the war. It’s not something I’ve kept secret. Something like that’s hard to hide because of my limp. But even though they know, I don’t need them to be reminded of my faults. My weaknesses. My vulnerabilities. I’m their boss, not their friend.

  “Oh, hey, Mr. Kline,” he says, his brown eyes shifting between me and the inside of his hood.

  “Car troubles?” I ask, inspecting the inside.

  He bites his lip and avoids my gaze.

  “You mind if I take a look?” I ask.

  He steps away, wiping his hands on his already dirty jeans. “Sure,” he says.