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  BARBED WIRE BANDAGES

  Lovers of Till Park

  Book One

  CATHERINE BLACK

  Copyright © 2016 Catherine Black

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations, and the incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and registered trademark owners of all branded names referenced without TM, SM, or ® symbols due to formatting constraints, and is not claiming ownership of or collaboration with said trademark brands. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Excerpt from Tin Foil Twenties © 2016 Catherine Black

  Edited by Lindsey Editing

  Printed in the United States of America

  Praise for Contemporary Romance Author

  CATHERINE BLACK

  "Black's humor and sharp wit are in full display in this outing. Together with the heart-wrenching drama and steamy, uninhibited passion, it makes for a wicked concoction that will have you turning the pages for more!"

  --Matt Winchester, author of Blood Racer

  "Catherine Black effortlessly offsets romantic angst with razor-sharp wit, and creates tense-yet-tender chemistry between her leads. Barbed Wire Bandages is an earnest, honest treat."

  --Chris Roll, author of Leave Them Laughing

  DEDICATION

  Dedicated to all my friends, both authors and non, who believed in me and encouraged me to write in the genre I was most passionate about.

  Thank you for pushing me, thank you for encouraging me, and thank you for being there when I needed a sounding board, a beta, or just a shoulder to cry on when things weren't working out the way I wanted them to.

  Book Description

  After ten years in uniform, Garrison Beckett is back in his hometown of Till Park where he was relentlessly bullied as a teen. With two weeks to spare, a single suitcase, and one tattered invitation to his high school reunion, he's ecstatic to show those who caused him the most pain just how far he's come.

  But that all changes the second he crashes into the fence surrounding Till Park Animal Sanctuary.

  Bridget Warner is a lot of things: Hermit. Artist. Animal savior... and rehabilitated bully.

  Her most tortured victim?

  Garrison Beckett.

  When the two former foes meet again, it's clear that Bridget isn't the cruel, vindictive girl she used to be, and Garrison is more than capable of handling himself after years of serving his country.

  Together, they have to decide what's more important:

  Forgiveness.

  Or a decade-long grudge that's defined most of their adult lives.

  PROLOGUE

  “I fucking hate this place.”

  Garrison grumbled to himself as the shuffling of sneakers and scraping of spoons attempted to deafen him. All around the cafeteria, his classmates smiled, flirted, and gossiped. They made high school life look so easy, so effortless, and all Garrison wanted was to fit in. He longed to be a part of the crowd – any crowd – and not wake up every morning paralyzed by the thought of dragging his shitty body to his shitty school to deal with shitty assholes all day.

  At six-foot-one and a buck fifty soaking wet, Garrison was a walking catastrophe. Try as he may, he couldn't get his thin, awkward frame to creep through the halls of Till Park High School undetected. He wanted nothing more than the ability to blend into the background of adolescent life, but the Goddess of Chance had taken a special interest in him, and she was a cruel, cruel bitch.

  If someone were to trip over their own feet and fall face-first into their mashed potatoes on meat loaf day, you didn't have to look up from your gravy to know it was Garrison. And if the locker room door were to swing open ten minutes before P.E., there was a 99.9% chance Garrison would be the poor schmuck standing in the doorway, his tighty whities on full display.

  And the guy picking up his spilled books from the hallway? The guy with a drenched crotch thanks to a water fountain malfunction? The guy who couldn't quite make it to the top of the rope in gym and ended up falling to the floor in disgrace?

  All Garrison.

  As he sat alone at a table, his nose buried in The Best Loved Poems of the American People, Garrison wondered when it was going to happen for him. 'It' being the happy, content life he'd dreamed about since the day his social ineptitude was brought to his attention. Sure, most high school kids struggled occasionally, but it seemed that every week grew progressively more difficult for him. He was tired of struggling uphill every damn day. For once, he wanted to reach the peak in triumph and somersault down the other side.

  As he gave up on reading and gathered his things to leave, a large hand smacked him between the shoulder blades, sending a wave of painful pin-pricks crashing across his back. He cringed and bowed his back, fighting the urge to cry out.

  Show them no weakness.

  Do not tear up.

  Do. Not. Do. It.

  “Hey, Gary!”

  Garrison clenched the underside of the table and wished he had the balls to tell Nat just how much he despised that nickname.

  “You forgot to eat your green beans. Don't you want to grow up to be big and strong?”

  The football flunkies stood around the table like a Hollister-clad Stonehenge, chuckling at their quarterback's patronizing tone. As Nat's athletic frame slid into the seat next to Garrison, he tried not to flinch or curl into himself, but ended up failing miserably. He couldn't help it. It was simple conditioning. Over the years, he'd learned that a pinch, a smack, or a painful noogie could come out of nowhere.

  “What? Is this seat saved?” Nat smiled, knowing damn good and well that Garrison was alone.

  Garrison's one and only friend, Shawn Metcalf, was out sick for the day, a fact Nat was aware of since it was him that locked Shawn in the milk cooler for the entire duration of third period the day before.

  When Garrison meekly shook his head, the entire football team slammed their trays down and squeezed their muscled torsos and all star glutes into the picnic-style bench seats. The entire table creaked and groaned beneath their weight, but arguing their invasion wasn't an option. That would have been social suicide, if Garrison's social life hadn't already been lying in shambles at his feet.

  Garrison held on tight as his nemesis tried to shoulder him off the seat and into the floor, but his grip was faltering. He stretched out one foot to brace himself against Nat's seemingly innocent assault and prayed to the High School Gods, asking them to spare him for just one day. One. Fucking. Day.

  Nat Stilton was a brat who had stepped into his self-imposed role of class bully on day one of pre-school. On day two, he set his sights on Garrison- as did every other little terror trying to climb their way to the coveted spot of Schoolyard Alpha.

  Not much had changed in fourteen years. Nat still took pleasure in tormenting him on a daily basis. But Garrison never pushed back, no matter how much he wanted to. He only hung on for dear life and waited for Nat to get bored.

  As he kept his hold on the table and began counting down the minutes until fourth period, he felt a sharp tap on his shoulder.

  “You're done. Move.”

  He didn't need to turn around to know who that voice belonged to. As he started to stand, fingers sporting talon-like nails wrapped around his scrawny bicep.

  “Hey,” she barked. “Look at me when I'm speaking to you.”

  Garrison had no choice but to look since he preferr
ed to leave the cafeteria in one piece. As he willed his body not to shake, he slowly turned to face Bridget Warner. He could see his pathetic green eyes reflected back at him in her expensive shades, but he didn't dare let his eyes venture anywhere else. Not her full lips. Not her silky hair. And certainly not the kick ass curves every guy in school wanted to get their hands on. He didn't dare look because that was a one-way ticket to the dumpster behind the school, courtesy of Nat.

  That was reason number one. Reason number two happened to be the fact that he hated Bridget Warner.

  He hated her because she had absolutely no excuse for being the heinous bitch everyone knew her to be. She came from a kind, charitable family that had no qualms with anyone else in town. They'd been there for generations, befriending everyone within a fifty mile radius.

  Nat, on the other hand, couldn't escape nor deny his rank in the social hierarchy of Till Park. His sour nature was bred into him. He came from a long line of worthless, lazy, self-entitled bastards who did nothing but bring everyone down and trample spirits with their shit-caked boots.

  Nat had latched onto Bridget the second she abandoned her training bras in favor of padded lace, and they'd been inseparable ever since. If Nat was King Bully, Bridget was his queen, and she ruled with an iron fist and rusty brass knuckles.

  “Well,” Bridget said, impatiently gesturing to the open aisle. “Get.”

  Without a second thought or a single word in his defense, Garrison grabbed his tray in one hand, his bag in the other, and scrambled away from the table. Laughter followed him as he tried to hide his flushing cheeks. Underclassmen, most of whom thought he was a waste of space, planted their feet, making it as difficult as possible for him to pass.

  “Don't scare the poor boy,” Nat yelled, pulling Bridget into a teasing hug. “You'll make him wet himself.”

  “Twice in one week? We wouldn't want that.”

  Garrison made his way to the edge of the room, giving the table the side-eye long enough to watch Bridget flip her brown hair across a shoulder and blow him a demeaning kiss.

  When he finally made it to the hallway, tears stung at his eyes as he slammed against the lockers, struggling to keep himself together. He didn't want to fall apart in those halls. He couldn't. That would be the end of him. If he broke, the wolves would descend and he'd be buried before he could even think to wipe his tears.

  With a deep, resolute breath through chapped lips, he stuffed his emotions into the same vault he kept his heart, wit, and spontaneity in, and decided the day was ruined. Hell, high school had been ruined because of those two and the mockery they'd made of his very existence.

  Abandoning the rest of his classes for the day, Garrison stashed his books in his locker, jumped on his ten speed, and rode toward the one place that had been on his mind all year long. The one place where he knew he'd find a solution, or at the very least, sound advice.

  He was tired of being pushed around. Tired of being treated like a lesser person. Tired of being a joke.

  He wanted to do something that could change all that.

  For good.

  With labored breaths and fierce determination, Garrison Beckett pedaled his way to the recruiting station.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Ten Years Later

  “What the hell am I doing?”

  Garrison Beckett read the sign again, squinting behind his aviators at the familiar wordage. The pale yellow paint adorning the cockeyed billboard had worn off years ago, but you could still make out where the words Welcome to Till Park had first been engraved.

  “Son of a bitch” he groaned, leaning back into the leather headrest. “I must be out of my damn mind.”

  With one hand on the steering wheel and the other raking over his two day beard, Garrison rolled into the city limits of his hometown. He made his way down Main Street, noting that not much had changed in the years he'd been gone. The storefronts that boasted signs for a pizza parlor, laundromat, and attorney's office still sat deserted. High school students loitered near Bucky's, the only bar in town, even though they weren't old enough to enter, let alone drink there. And every set of eyes he passed tried to laser their way through his tinted windows to get a good look at the man behind the wheel. Folks in Till Park had always been the most curious, loose-lipped, judgmental people to grace God's green earth, and it seemed that was still the case.

  As a familiar anxiety began to build, Garrison grabbed his cell from the cup holder and dialed his best friend. He tapped the wheel, fighting his muscle's urge to pull an illegal u-turn and haul ass back to Georgia, but before he could tuck tail and run, Owen answered.

  “You make it yet?”

  “What the hell am I doing here?” Garrison blurted, repeating the question for Owen since he hadn't been able to answer it himself.

  “Well, from the sound of it, it sounds like you're about to chicken out.”

  He huffed out a laugh and rubbed his tired eyes. “Yeah, right. I drove seven hours to get here. I can't just turn around and drive back home.”

  “Well, technically you can, it just wouldn't be your wisest move.”

  “Coming here wasn't my wisest move,” Garrison admitted.

  “Dude, grow a pair. It's one party.”

  “Nooo,” Garrison drawled. “It's one high school reunion with a bunch of shitty people who hated me in school.”

  “So? You're a fucking Marine now. They don't like you? Kick their ass.”

  Garrison rolled his eyes even as his chest ached for what he'd just given up.

  “Ex-Marine.”

  “Oh, I'm sorry,” Owen scoffed. “Ex-Marine. I keep forgetting your pansy ass went rogue on us.”

  “I didn't go rogue,” he argued for the umpteenth time. “My contract was up. I wanted a change. What is so fucking wrong about that?”

  “Nothing, man. Not a damn thing.” Owen paused, and when he spoke again, Garrison knew he was smiling. “But you'll be back.”

  “Says the man who doesn't plan to reenlist when his contract is up in six months.”

  The beat of silence that followed made Garrison wonder if Owen was second guessing his decision. It wouldn't be the first time a Marine had been on the fence. Once a Marine, always a Marine. That's what his superiors had drilled into him from day one.

  But Garrison was different. As was Owen. They'd served their time. The Corps had changed them, molded them into something better, something stronger, smarter, and braver. But they both knew there was more to life than serving. At least, they hoped.

  “I'm keeping my options open. I haven't decided.”

  “Right.”

  Loud clattering came across the speaker and Garrison jerked the phone away from his ear.

  “Where the hell are you?”

  “Chow hall,” Owen answered around a mouthful of food. “Where are you?”

  “Till Park.” Even the town's name left a sour patch on his tongue.

  “Good. Now suck it up, go to the party, bed some good ole southern gals, and come home.”

  “The reunion's not for another two weeks. What am I supposed to do until then?”

  His best friend let out a noise that was half sigh, half grunt. To him, it seemed like nothing more than a trip home, but Garrison's visit was so much more than that.

  He hadn't so much as stepped foot in Till Park since graduation day; the day he said goodbye to everything he knew about life. He hadn't even packed a bag. He just taped a note to his uncle's keg, saying that he'd see him in a few years, and caught a ride upstate from his recruiter.

  That was ten years ago.

  “Beckett, this was your idea, remember? Your self-imposed vacation before you started looking for a job. So... do whatever people do on vacation.”

  Garrison shook his head as he turned onto an abandoned street. “I've never been on vacation. I mean, hell, the last time I was on a beach I was getting shot at. I think it's safe to say I have no fucking idea what a civilian vacation would be like.”

  “
Me either,” Owen admitted before cursing under his breath.

  Frantic scrambling and the clattering of dishes overshadowed his voice, and Garrison bet money on the fact that Owen was late. That man was always late for everything.

  “Look man, I gotta go. Call me later if you need help with the hotties. I know your A-game must be pretty damn rusty.”

  “I think I'll manage,” Garrison said with a laugh.

  “With that face? Doubtful.”

  Before he could argue, Owen hung up and the phone went silent. Without much else to do, and no one to answer to for the first time in years, Garrison took his time driving through town, re-familiarizing himself with the layout. By the time the sun set, he'd seen the dilapidated senior center, the run down grocery store, the patch of brown grass that passed as Till Park's football field, and everything else in between.

  He yawned, and the idea of venturing to his motel and turning in early briefly flitted through his mind. But when he rounded the corner, Bucky's came back into view and the neon lights called to him. If that damn Corona sign were a woman, she would have licked her lips and crooked her finger, beckoning him to come inside.

  He idly tapped his fingers against the wheel, contemplating how he wanted to pass his time. On one hand, if he threw back a few drinks he might actually be able to tolerate his first night back in the wretched town. But on the other hand... People. He would have to deal with people.

  Garrison didn't hate people. He just hated the Till Park variety.

  “To drink, or not to drink. That is the question.”

  While sitting at the stop sign across from Bucky's, raindrops began peppering his windshield, but not a single vehicle approached from either direction. The town was close to dead and it was barely six on a Saturday night. He hadn't expected to see more than a few ancient trucks rumbling up and down the pock-marked streets, but the sight still depressed him.