The General

Chapter 8.

​Briar parked her car, her phone buzzing in the cup holder with a text from Eliza.

​"Mom needs a few things," Briar said, scanning the list. "Milk, flour, rosemary- apparently she used the last of it on the chicken, and some heavy cream. She’s making her 'welcome home' fudge."

​Archer let out a cheer from the passenger seat. "Say no more. I will hunt that fudge down like it’s a high-priority target."

​As they climbed out of the car, Briar couldn't help but notice the way the atmosphere shifted the moment they stepped onto the asphalt. She walked in the middle, flanked by her brother and Victor. They were two large, fit men in tactical gear and boots, their presence radiating a quiet, dangerous competence. People in the parking lot stopped to look. It wasn't every day a suburban grocery store played host to a General and a Captain who looked like they were still cooling off from a combat zone.

​Inside, the effect was even more pronounced. The automatic doors hissed open, and Briar felt like she was leading an elite security detail through the produce section.

​The transition from the high-stakes environment of the shooting range to the florescent, humdrum reality of the local grocery store was jarring. Standing in front of a sliding glass door that smelled like floor wax and rotisserie chicken felt surreal.

​"Okay," Briar said, grabbing a cart. "To make this faster, Arch, take the dry goods. I’ll handle the dairy and produce."

​"On it. See you at the registers!" Archer snatched half the list and disappeared toward the cereal aisle with a grin, leaving Briar alone with Victor.

​Walking down the aisles with Victor Bennett was an exercise in spatial awareness. He didn't just walk; he moved with a deliberate, scanning rhythm, his eyes never truly resting. He made the vaulted ceilings of the grocery store feel low, his massive frame barely fitting between the narrow displays of snack cakes and soda.

​"Could you get that for me?" Briar asked, pointing to a bag of specialty flour tucked onto the very highest shelf.

​Without a word, Victor reached up. He didn't even have to stand on his toes. His sleeve pulled back slightly, revealing the dark ink on his forearm as he snagged the bag and handed it down to her.

​"Thank you," she murmured, her fingers brushing his as she took the bag.

​"The list is short," Victor noted, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate against the metal shelves. "We should be efficient."

​"Efficiency is the goal," Briar agreed, turning the corner into the baking aisle.

​But her efficiency came to a grinding halt. Standing near the sugar was a person she hadn't wanted to see: Travis.

​He looked exactly the same- the gym-rat physique, the carefully coiffed hair, and that particular expression of practiced boyish charm that Briar now knew was a mask for a lack of character. He was holding a carton of eggs, but his face paled when he saw her. Then, his eyes traveled to the man standing directly behind her.

​"Briar?" Travis asked, his voice cracking slightly. He looked Victor up and down, his gaze lingering on the General's rank and the sheer size of him. "Who's this?"

​Briar felt a cold, familiar stone settle in her stomach. She straightened her shoulders, her eyes narrowing.

"This is General Victor Bennett," she replied, her voice clipped. "General, this is Travis." She sighed when saying the name, the sound heavy with exhaustion. "What do you want, Travis?"

​"Can we talk? Alone?" Travis pleaded, taking a half-step forward. He pointedly ignored Victor, trying to recapture the intimacy they used to have.

​"Travis, not now," Briar sighed, her grip tightening on the handle of the cart. "I've got a grocery list to pick up for Mom, and quite frankly, I don't want to talk to you at all."

​"Just a minute, please? Just to clear the air?" He begged, his eyes darting back to Victor, who was currently standing like a silent, immovable mountain.

​Briar felt the pressure of the situation building. She didn't want a scene in the middle of Aisle 8, but she knew Travis wouldn't go away until he'd had his say. She glanced over her shoulder at Victor. "I'll be just a moment."

​Victor simply nodded. He didn't look bothered. He turned his attention to a box of tea on the shelf, his stoic face betraying nothing, though Briar knew he wasn't missing a single heartbeat of the interaction.

​Travis led her a few yards further down the aisle, near the bulk flour.

"Briar," he started, his voice dropping to a low, urgent tone. "I’m sorry for what I did. I really am. But you have to admit, it’s hard to feel like a man in your life sometimes. All your family talks about is Archer. How 'awesome' the military brother is. How brave. How honorable."

​"It is honorable, Travis," Briar hissed, her sass coming out in full force. "He serves his country. He has a spine. That shouldn't make you feel like less of a man unless you’re already standing on shaky ground."

​"Yes, well, how does it look when you hang around all these... honorable men, Briar?" Travis said lowly, his voice dripping with a mocking sarcasm. He gestured toward the end of the aisle where Victor was standing. "It didn't take you long to find a replacement, did it? Trading the fiancé for a General."

​"It doesn't matter how it looks, and your opinion doesn't matter," Briar shot back, her face heating up with anger. "Are we done here? Because I have a life to get back to. One that doesn't involve you."

​"Briar, I want you back, okay? I'm sorry for the gym thing. I was just feeling insecure. I made a mistake." He reached out, his expression turning desperate.

​"Well, I don't want you back," Briar hissed, her voice shaking with the force of her conviction. "I’m not a second option for you or anyone. I don't do 'mistakes' that involve other women."

​She turned to walk away, but Travis, driven by a sudden spike of panicked possessiveness, reached out and caught her wrist.

​"Briar, wait, please-"

​He didn't get to finish the sentence.

​"It takes a big man to admit he was insecure," a voice rumbled.

​It wasn't loud, but it carried the weight of a physical blow. Victor Bennett had moved without a sound, closing the distance between them in a way that felt like a predator cutting off an escape route. He didn't touch Travis, but he stood close enough that Travis had to crane his neck back to see the General’s face. Victor’s expression remained perfectly stoic, but his eyes were like frozen steel.

​"Regardless," Victor continued, his voice thoughtful yet lethal, "I think she’s done talking to you. Let her go."

​Travis’s face turned a mottled red. He didn't let go of Briar’s wrist immediately, his ego battling his common sense. "And why should I listen to you? This is civilian territory, 'Sir.'"

​"Travis!" Briar hissed, wrenching her wrist from his grasp. She stepped back, her heart racing. "Stop it. He'll kill you in a fight. Just let it go and let me go."

​But Travis was too deep in his own resentment. He looked at Victor, a sneer curling his lip. "So 'Captain Smith’s' sister is finally on the market and you try to snag a 'brother’s' sister? I thought the military was about loyalty, but all I see is a snake in the Smith's garden."

​The air in the aisle seemed to drop ten degrees. Victor didn't move, but the lethal aura Briar had seen at the shooting range flickered back to life in his gaze.

​"You speak of loyalty like you know the word's meaning," Victor rumbled, the sound coming from deep in his chest. "You wouldn't recognize loyalty if it stood in front of you. And I am no snake."

​"You sure act like one," Travis snapped, though he took a reflexive step back.

​Briar could feel the heat rising between them. She knew Victor wasn't the type of man who made idle threats, and she knew Travis was a man who didn't know when to shut up. She didn't know why Victor was stepping in- whether it was a sense of duty to Archer or something else, but she knew she had to end this before it turned into a police report.

​"Victor, let’s go. He’s not worth it," Briar muttered. She reached out, her fingers wrapping around Victor’s wrist. His skin was hot, his pulse steady and slow under her touch. She gave his arm a tiny tug, knowing she couldn't move him an inch unless he allowed it. "Please. Let's just finish the list."

​Victor’s eyes stayed on Travis for one more heartbeat, a silent promise of what would happen if he followed them. Then, he slowly exhaled and allowed Briar to pull him away.

​As they turned to leave the aisle, Travis let out one last, desperate jab. "Run along, Briar! Go play house with the General! Let's see how 'loyal' he is when he’s ten thousand miles away!"

​Victor didn't look back. Briar didn't look back.

​They walked in silence for a moment, the squeak of the cart’s wheels the only sound between them. Briar’s hand was still on Victor’s wrist, and she realized it and quickly pulled away, her face burning.

​"I'm sorry," she whispered as they reached the dairy section. "He's... he's a lot."

​Victor paused in front of the milk, his face returning to its calm, granite state. He looked down at her, his blue eyes softening just a fraction.

​"He was wrong about two things," Victor said quietly.

​Briar blinked. "What?"

​"I don't play house," Victor rumbled, reaching for the heavy cream. "And I don't leave people behind."

​He placed the cream in the cart and looked at the list. "We still need the rosemary."