Aprils fools, p.1
April's Fools, page 1
April’s Fools
Ivy Asher
Raven Kennedy
Copyright © 2019 Ivy Asher and Raven Kennedy
All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the author, except in cases of a reviewer quoting brief passages in a review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Edited by Robin Lee at Rainy Day Editing
Cover Design by Nichole Witholder at Rainy Day Artwork
To the soldiers, active and non-active, and their families.
We see you. We thank you. We owe you.
Contents
1. Brant
2. Brant
3. Madix
4. Theo
5. Madix
6. Remi
7. Brant
8. Theo
9. Madix
10. Brant
11. Theo
12. Remi
13. Madix
14. Remi
15. Theo
16. Madix
17. Brant
18. Remi
19. Theo
20. Brant
21. Madix
Epilogue
Raven and Ivy’s tips to surviving the Handshake Plague
About Raven Kennedy
About Ivy Asher
1
Brant
The morning air has an edge of a chill to it that I’m still not used to, even after living here for a little over two months. I walk up to the front of the shop, digging into my pocket for the keys, while Puddles, my huge brindle English Mastiff, trots happily beside me, her tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth like she doesn’t have a care in the world. Must be nice to be a dog.
I’m steps away from the front door of the gun range that I now help run when I catch movement in my peripheral and turn to find someone slinking around the corner. My hand automatically flies back to where my gun would usually be holstered, but of course, I’m not in the Army anymore, so I grip nothing but air. The intruder moves more into view, and just before they step out of the shadows, I tense, ready to attack. In the next instant, my gaze falls on a familiar face as the early morning sun brightens her features, and I blow out a relieved breath. But that relief is very short lived. I immediately jerk my head skyward, looking as far up as I can, just to be safe.
“Dharla,” I grit out. “What the hell are you doing?”
The woman is in her late sixties, and she’s known around town for being eccentric as fuck. I mean, this is a small town, so everyone knows everyone, and all of the people here are a bit eccentric, but Dharla…well, she takes her notoriety to a whole other level. Case in point: She’s standing in front of me, on this otherwise beautiful morning, where anyone can see her on Main Street, buck naked, and holding out a half-empty can of soup. She shakes the soup can at me, and I can hear liquid and loose change slapping around inside.
“Feed the poor,” she says, before hacking a surprisingly robust cough and spitting a nice, thick wad of mucus onto the sidewalk.
Fucking great.
I keep my eyes up, because for fuck’s sake, I do not want to see Dharla Cornburner’s pale, flabby, and nude body first thing in the morning. Her tits are down to her belly button, and I’m quite certain there’s a red mole on her thigh that needs to be looked at.
“Dharla, you’re not poor,” I remind her, as I try to keep my eyes on my shop sign so that I don’t do further damage to my eyes or my brain. Puddles is big and scary looking enough to warn off any threats, but apparently she doesn’t see anything wrong with this situation, and she trots off to sniff around the parking lot, abandoning me in my dire time of need. Traitor.
“I am poor,” Dharla insists with an indignant sniff. “My Willy left me without a cent when he died!”
I sigh. I am not awake enough for this shit. “Dharla, your husband died ten years ago, and he didn’t leave you anything in the will, because you’re rich as fuck and you already had all of the money.”
She completely ignores that and sloshes the can in front of my face again, making broth splash out onto my boots. Damn it all, I just fucking cleaned them. I take a step back and release a frustrated huff. I dig my phone out of my front pocket and hold it above me so that I can see the contacts without having to catch an eyeful of Dharla Cornburner’s...cornburner. My first few dealings with Dharla were not of the nude variety, but her crazy is always in full-effect. I managed to get the number of her live-in nurse the last time I had a run-in with Dharla, and luckily, I had the foresight to save it.
Nurse June picks up after one ring. “She at the range again?” she asks me, no preamble or greeting as she gets right to the point.
“Yes, ma’am. And she doesn’t have a speck of clothing on her, so you may want to bring something,” I inform June, and the line goes dead with no response from the other end except for a long-suffering sigh. Now, if you weren’t familiar with Endstone or with Dharla, you might think that kind of rude, but June is a fucking saint, and she doesn’t waste precious seconds on pleasantries when she needs them to wrangle Dharla and all of her insanity.
A small, frail hand suddenly grabs my crotch and I jump back, startled, nearly dropping my phone on the sidewalk. “Dharla, that’s not cool!” I chastise as I push her hand away.
“A blond-haired, blue-eyed boy with muscles to spare. You’ll do just fine,” she nods, eyeing me up and down lasciviously. “I usually like a beard, but clean-shaven will be alright.”
“Glad I passed the test,” I say dryly.
“Those glasses make you look smarter than you are,” she says, which I’m pretty sure is her version of a compliment. “You need a haircut,” she adds.
I run a hand over my short mohawk. “I’ll get right on that.”
She just cackles and reaches out to pinch my nipple through my shirt. “There, I serviced you,” she says. “Now pay up.”
I dig into my pocket and toss every last scrap of cash and coin I have into her soup can, just so that she won’t accost me again. She cackles delightedly, but then sits down right in front of my shop’s door, her legs spread wide in front of her. I groan and run a hand over my face, praying that June gets here real quick.
Dharla starts sipping from her soup can and spits out a penny, showing it to me. “This year is a real nice mint,” she says.
I blow out a breath. “Right.”
I turn on my heel and head across the street to hide behind the hardware store owner’s truck. Cowardly? Maybe. But with her legs spread-eagled like that, I’d like to keep some space between us. Unfortunately, as soon as she drinks the rest of her gross broth, she gets up and follows me over. June finally shows up, just in time to find me running in circles to keep away from the randy and very senile Dharla as she chases after me, her flabby bits flapping in the wind.
As soon as Dharla catches sight of June’s car pulled up next to us, she stops like she knows the jig is up. It makes me question if Dharla is as crazy as everyone says, or if she’s just old, bored, and likes to get a stir out of the citizens of Endstone. If it’s the latter, I’d have to be grudgingly impressed. June gets Dharla wrapped up in a coat in no time, and I help wrangle her into the backseat of the car as June promises more soup for her at home. “Thanks, Brant,” June tells me with a wave before getting into the car.
“See ya.”
As if I haven’t been traumatized enough this morning, Dharla rolls down her window and waves a saggy boob at me in a goodbye. It’s an image I’ll have to burn from my brain.
“Fucking Endstone,” I say with a shake of my head. This town is crazy. The guys and I have only been here for ten weeks, but shit like this is already becoming commonplace.
I shoot a glare at Puddles, who finally decides to meander on over to my side again as I make my way across the parking lot to the front of my shop. There’s a Dharla-shaped smudge on the door that will make Madix go crazy. I smirk, deciding it’ll be a small consolation that I’ll let him deal with. Puddles nudges my thigh as we walk, but I shake my head at her. “Some kind of psychiatric service animal you are,” I tell her sternly. “You left me to fend for myself in a state of distress.”
Puddles looks up at me, and I swear, if a dog could actually roll their eyes, that’s what she’d be doing to me right now. I slip my key into the front door and twist it all the way to the left first, watching as the security shutters begin to roll up and expose the windows hidden beneath. When that’s done, I fit in another key on the second deadbolt and turn it right at half a rotation, and hear the three locks in the heavy door release. The impatient beeping of the alarm greets me as I enter, so I disarm it and make sure Puddles is inside with me before shutting the door and locking it again from the inside. Dharla cut into my prep time, so I have to rush around to get the gun shop and range ready for the day before opening.
It’s weird sometimes to think that this is my life now. The routine helps to fight off the shadows that stalk me, but I never thought I’d end up here. I hadn’t even hit the five-year mark as a Ranger before the guys and I were medically discharged after one mission gone wrong. Now we’re here in Podunk, Montana, running a gun range instead of executing missions and being part of the top tier of badasses. Funny how life fucks with you.
With Puddles on my heels, I go through the motions of getting the register and computer ready, and then double check that the gun displays are secure and that the glass counters are clean. I don’t need to wipe them down, since Madix closed last night. He’s the most anal dude I’ve ever met when it comes to cleaning. Maybe it was all the assignments out in the sand, or all the uniform checks that led to him not being able to handle anything out of place, or maybe he was just always like this. Either way, Theo and I never bitch about it, because when Madix cleans like a psycho, it means we don’t have to. It’s a solid win for us. Besides, I’m glad to have Theo and Madix at my back. We all have our “things,” but we’re closer than brothers, and we’ve learned to work and live together. We may not be in the Army anymore, but we’re still a unit.
Once we were all free of the hospital visits and physical therapy, we didn’t know how to acclimate back into society. But then Theo got a phone call. His crackpot, doomsday-loving uncle passed away, leaving him everything. And here the three of us are, in Endstone, Montana, running a gun store and shooting range, while trying to put ourselves back together and get to that “normal” setting that society demands of us.
Right alongside Dharla fucking Cornburner.
Yeah. Hindsight? Maybe this isn’t the best place for us to lose our crazy, but it’s too late now. Then again, maybe this town’s kind of crazy is just what we need.
When I grab a cup of coffee from the back, Puddles looks up at me with a whine. She’s been with me for fourteen months now. I don’t know how I handled shit without her before. She always watches me with intelligent brown eyes as she gauges my mood. She’s the best thing to come out of the VA. She helps with my PTSD, but she’s also funny as shit when she slobbers all over Madix’s pants and makes him freak out. I swear, she’s so smart, she just does it to get a rise out of him. I grab her water bowl and walk over to the sink in our makeshift break room/office to dump out the old water and refill it for her.
I flip on the radio before heading back to the front, hearing the song fade out in the background as the local newscasters start droning on. “The government and CDC are keeping a close eye on recent outbreaks of a virus they're calling the Handshake Plague. The virus has been taking parts of the country by storm, and is suspected to originate in a small province of India. Officials are working hard to contain the spread of the virus, and they’re advising the public to take proper precautions when dealing with anyone showing symptoms of infection. If you or someone you know has travelled in or around Bihar in the last six months, please report to your local hospital immediately.”
I glance up at the clock over the door, realizing it’s one minute to nine. Shit. Dharla really set me back. If I’m late opening, I'll never hear the end of it from Sheriff April and Zeke, who both like to come shooting every morning, right when we open, at nine on the dot. I hurry to the front and flip the switch that lights up the fluorescent Open sign and then disengage the locks, waving at the shop owner across the street who’s doing the same thing.
When Theo first asked Madix and I if we wanted to move here with him to help run this place, I pictured an old, beat up shop that would probably need a ton of repairs, and a dusty old shooting range that would be in similar shape, but I was pleasantly surprised to find that this place was top-notch. And luckily, nearly everyone in town is gun owners who come shooting on a weekly basis, so business has been good.
Before I can walk back behind the counter, the front door whooshes open, and Sheriff April comes in. He’s actually retired, but everyone around town still calls him Sheriff. He holds the door open for his buddy Zeke, and they both saunter over to the counter with rifle bags in hand. They’re both in their late sixties, with round middles and scruffy salt and pepper jaws. Zeke lost the battle with his receding hairline and opted to go bald, while the sheriff prefers to comb his gray hair back and stuff a worn baseball cap over it.
“Morning, Brant. How are you, on what promises to be another balmy day?” Sheriff April asks me, as he tilts the bill of his cap down in greeting.
I chuckle. “Balmy? It’s not even sixty outside, Sheriff. And even in the summertime, I bet this place has nothing on the Arizona dryness that I grew up with. Phoenix in the summertime is like visiting hell. Maybe you’re just having hot flashes,” I razz the retired sheriff. “You could trade in the slacks and button downs for a t-shirt and shorts,” I suggest with a grin.
Zeke laughs. “I don’t know what I’d do if I ever caught this man in a pair of shorts. Hell, he might as well be strutting around town in a bikini, for all the shock it would give people. We’d know for sure the end of days were upon us if that ever happened. His legs are probably whiter than the fucking snowcaps. Nobody needs to see that,” Zeke says, chewing on a toothpick.
“Good point,” I say with a shudder, making Zeke laugh again.
“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up,” Sheriff April says, fighting a grin.
I get them stocked up on ammo before they head to the range, chuckling and back-slapping as they begin to take bets on who will out-shoot who.
As far as I can tell, Sheriff April and Zeke have been friends since forever. It seems that most of the people here in Endstone are born, raised, married, and buried without ever leaving this place. There’s a saturated sense of camaraderie that I’m still not used to, but I have to admit, it’s kind of nice.
Before long, I hear the faint but distinct sound of Zeke and the sheriff unloading their rifles in the indoor shooting range. Sometimes, it sets my teeth on edge, and I have to breathe through the panic that jumpstarts in me—fucking PTSD—but luckily, it doesn’t phase me this morning. Looks like I may have just conquered that small trigger. I get into my groove, restocking the bathroom before checking our inventory.
An hour later, Sheriff April and Zeke come strolling out, busting each other’s balls about who was the better shot for the day. They come over, slapping their paper targets down on the counter, and I sit back, sipping my coffee and hiding my smirk.
“Bullshit, Sheriff. I had the better shots, and you know it,” Zeke argues.
Sheriff April rolls his eyes, but there’s mirth in his blue gaze as he scratches the scruff on his chin. He has the telltale paunch in his belly that reveals how much he enjoys the beer and pie that he has every night at the diner. He’s usually joined by a group of three other male widows, including Zeke, and all of them get doted on by the middle-aged diner owner, Jolene.
When we first moved here, Madix made the mistake of going into the diner on a Saturday morning, when nearly half the town was there. He got at least a dozen girls flashing him smiles and doe-eyes, most of them offering to bring him a casserole. Good thing he ordered our food to-go, or he might have ended up accidentally engaged. For some reason, the chicks dig his asshole ways. They think his broody quietness is interesting or some shit.
Theo draws attention too, but it’s because he’s the most outgoing and always seems to know how to make people like him. Madix has already been threatened by two shotgun-toting fathers, and it’s only a matter of time before another pissed off one shows up for Theo, too.
Sheriff and Zeke’s long running argument is still background noise as I scroll through items on the supplier’s website, but I look up when I hear the door open and see Mr. Stevens walking in. I offer him a friendly smile and take the small gun case he holds out. He owns the local butcher shop and normally comes in to shoot on Thursdays, which is my day off.
“Hey, Mr. Stevens. What can I help you with today?”
He steps up to the counter as I set the case down. “I bought this Smith & Wesson about a month back, but I’m having trouble with the magazine release sticking.” Mr. Stevens begins to unzip the case, and all at once, a distinct smell hits me. Just like that, I’m not in the shop anymore. I’m trapped somewhere else. The last fucking place I ever want to be.
