Waiting for redemption n.., p.1
Waiting for Redemption (Nashville Nights), page 1
WAITING FOR REDEMPTION
THE NASHVILLE NIGHTS
BOOK 3
SARAH PIRTLE
Copyright 2024 by Sarah Pirtle
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places or incidents are products of the author’s imagination and used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental or fictional.
Cover Design and Formatting by Kate | Kate Decided to Design, www.katedecidedtodesign.com
Edited and Proofread by Erica Rogers | Logophile Editing Services
To those who thought they had nothing left to live for, and kept living anyways.
And to the ones who are fighting like hell for the ones they love and refuse to give up.
This one's for you.
CONTENTS
Content Warning
Playlist
Prologue
I. 2 Years Ago
1. Tank
2. Ruby
3. Tank
4. Ruby
5. Tank
6. Ruby
7. Tank
8. Ruby
9. Ruby
10. Tank
11. Ruby
12. Tank
13. Ruby
14. Ruby
15. Tank
16. Ruby
17. Tank
18. Ruby
19. Tank
20. Ruby
Part II
21. Tank
22. Ruby
23. Tank
24. Ruby
25. Tank
26. Tank
27. Ruby
28. Tank
29. Ruby
30. Tank
31. Ruby
32. Tank
33. Ruby
34. Ruby
35. Tank
36. Ruby
37. Tank
38. Ruby
39. Tank
40. Ruby
41. Ruby
42. Tank
Epilogue
Bonus Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Also By Sarah Pirtle
CONTENT WARNING
Please note, this book contains sensitive subject matter.
My hope is that I have handled all subjects delicately and respectfully, in the process of bringing our characters their happily ever after.
Please visit www.authorsarahpirtle.com for a full list of trigger warnings.
PLAYLIST
BROTHER - KODALINE
SYMPATHY - TOO CLOSE TO TOUCH
PAIN KILLER - WARREN ZEIDERS
PRETTY LITTLE POISON - WARREN ZEIDERS
WORK SONG - HOZIER
IRIS - THE GOO GOO DOLLS
TENNESSEE WHISKEY - CHRIS STAPLETON
LAST NIGHT - MORGAN WALLEN
SATURDAY NIGHTS - KHALID
YOUR BONES - CHELSEA CUTLER
HOW DO YOU LOVE ME - NICOTINE DOLLS
HOME - MGK,X AMBASSADORS & BEBE REXHA
BROKEN PROMISES - JON DRETTO
SAY YOU WON’T LET GO - JAMES ARTHUR
LEAVE A LIGHT ON - PAPA ROACH
MIGHT LOVE MYSELF - BEARTOOTH
SIN SO SWEET - WARREN ZEIDERS
FALLING - TREVOR DANIEL
RAIN - SLEEP TOKEN
HEARTBROKEN - DIPLO, JESSIE MURPH & POLO G
HIGH - STEPHEN SANCHEZ
WHATEVER IT TAKES - STEPHEN STANLEY
IF YOU ONLY KNEW - ALEXANDER STEWART
MY BOY - ELVIE SHANE
PERFECT - ED SHEERAN
CHANGE YOUR MIND - ALEX WARREN
FALL INTO ME - FOREST BLAKK
USE ME (feat. 070 Shake) - PVRIS
BULLET - NF
HAPPY - NF
HALLELUJAH - CITIZEN SOLDIER
PROLOGUE
TANK
6 MONTHS AGO…
“What brings you here today Mr. Landry?” my therapist asks me from her brown leather chair. She’s wearing glasses propped up on the bridge of her nose, her hand is steady as she holds a pen against the notebook in her lap, and the stark blue eyes I can’t seem to shake the attention of, are trained solely on me. It’s making my skin crawl to see someone waiting so patiently for me to speak, so they can begin picking apart everything that went wrong in my brain to get me to where I am today. My leg shakes furiously against the leather couch I’m sitting on and my jaw is set tight, refusing to let any words escape from my lips as I let my gaze drift to her through my hooded eyes. She offers me a soft smile, likely trying to put me at ease. It doesn’t work the way I’m sure she’s hoping it will, however, I can appreciate her effort.
“That would be my brother, ma’am.” I give her a humorless smirk, doing what I always do. Using humor to deflect confrontation and the possibility that I may actually have to face the things I’d much rather keep hidden away. She returns my smirk with one of her own before setting her pen down in her lap.
“I see. And what reason would your brother have to think we needed to meet each other?” she asks rhetorically. I let out a deep sigh, realizing there’s no use in fighting the inevitable. I’m far too aware that Tucker would come into the next session with me if he found out I wasn’t actually trying to talk out my issues. With doctor/patient confidentiality I’m not sure how he would even know, but I wouldn’t put it past him to have some sixth sense about it.
He’s been on my ass for the last two weeks about when I would be coming in for this session after recommending this therapist. Apparently, she’s experienced in dealing with Veterans and comes highly recommended by those who have seen her.
It’s not like I don’t want to get better—to get to the bottom of what’s been going on with me and make sure I leave it in the past—I just needed some time to sit with my thoughts before I was ready to talk to someone else about them. My eyes are glued to my running shoes and my nose begins to sting at the emotions creeping through my body as I remember the day all too well. From writing Tucker a note while my hand wouldn’t stop shaking, leaving my dog tags on the coffee table, hearing the click from my handgun, and the color draining from Tucker’s face when I finally saw him standing in front of me—witnessing what I can only imagine to be a big brother’s worst nightmare.
Some may take my hesitation as a sign that I don’t want to work out my problems—the ones I don’t even know I have but I’m sure will become evident soon enough—I just don’t know where the fuck to begin.
So, I start by answering her question with the truth.
“I’m here because I tried to kill myself,” I admit, swallowing past the lump in my throat. My eyes finally come up to meet hers, and there’s not a trace of pity to be found. She just looks at me like she sees my hurt, and really wants to help me overcome it. She doesn't move, or pick her pen up and flip open her book. Her attention remains on me, and this time I appreciate the focus she seems to bear.
“What do you think it was that led you to that decision?” I let out a humorless laugh, unable to answer. “Remember, Mr. Landry, I need your complete honesty if I am going to be able to help you. That is why I’m here, after all. To help you,” she says, giving me a soft smile and a gentle nod.
“That’s a question that comes with many answers, Doc,” I admit, finding it hard to look up from my wringing hands. She takes a quick breath, repositioning herself in the leather chair. When I steal a glance at her, the expression on her face changes.
“That’s alright. I know it can be difficult to find a place to start. Why don’t you tell me how you’re feeling instead? After everything that’s happened, how are you feeling?” For the first time in 14 days, I allow myself to open up and find an answer to that question. The one I’ve not dared ask myself, knowing what my dark truth will be. I swore I would keep these demons locked up until the day that I died, but that day may not be as near as I once thought it was. I take a shaky breath, as I hear my truth spoken out loud for the first time.
“Broken and weak.”
And the journey that got me here was a fucking wild one.
“I am going to do whatever I can to help you see the strongest parts of yourself while you work on feeling whole again. I am so glad you are still here, Mr. Landry, and that you reached out for help.”
PART ONE
2 YEARS AGO
CHAPTER 1
TANK
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen my brother, Tucker. He and I have always been close—seeing as how he basically raised me after our dad died—but our careers have kept us from seeing each other regularly over the past few years. Our father, Mitchell Landry, was one of the most well-respected officers on the Nashville police force, and the best damn dad we could have ever asked for—losing him turned mine and Tuck’s whole world upside down. After he passed away, our mom was so devastated and heartbroken that she started drinking and simply never stopped. With her living in a drunken denial all the time, Tucker was left to pick up the broken pieces of our family. No middle school-aged kid should have that much responsibility, but Tucker handled it in a way that made me feel like everything was going to be alright.
I did my best to stay out of trouble throughout my adolescence, but with a loss like that at such a young age, the grief would com e in waves at the most inconvenient of times. Specifically any time Jimmy Halloway—the most obnoxious middle school bully—had the fucking audacity to make jokes about my family. I found myself in so many fights with him that the guidance counselor at our school finally suggested I join the wrestling team to keep from getting expelled and help me channel my angry energy. It didn’t take long for me to see the difference wrestling made in my life, and I quickly became the school's top wrestling champ. The last time Jimmy ever messed with me was the day I tossed him in the dumpsters behind the school after he made a crass joke during PE about my mother. He finally left me the hell alone and things started looking up.
I wrestled all throughout high school, and even started taking MMA classes in my free time. I probably would have dropped wrestling altogether when I started MMA, but I knew I had a better chance of landing a wrestling scholarship, so I stuck with it. Sure enough, before I graduated high school I was offered a full ride to UCLA where I eventually joined their Taekwondo team. I knew to stay sharp on fight weeks, but that didn’t keep me from getting into trouble any other time.
After four years of nonstop fights, parties, and getting in just enough trouble to appease my rebellious streak, I graduated with my bachelor’s degree in business management. I spent the next few years traveling and ended up training at a handful of the best MMA gyms in the world. Getting to see some of the most beautiful places on earth, all while perfecting my skill, was a high I don’t think I’ll ever match.
Once I was back home from my travels, I realized I never stopped moving from one fight to the next long enough to settle down. Not in the get married and repopulate the earth kind of way, more in the having a regular drinking buddy kind of way. The only friends I’d ever made were ones I never let myself get too attached to since I had a bad reputation for causing trouble and leaving things broken in my wake. So I just kept moving—never in one place long enough to make any real connections.
Being back home felt good for a beat, but after a week of silence and not being able to contact Tucker while he was deployed, I had to get my ass out of the house before I died of boredom. I spent most of my time at the gym and soon realized how desperately I needed to find a job. Since I had the most experience in fighting, and couldn’t fathom a job where I had to sit behind a desk all day, I started looking for openings as a martial arts instructor. When I finally saw an ad for a position needing to be filled at a gym down the street, I was over there in no time—but I never made it inside.
After stopping to talk with a Marine recruiter set up outside, I left there with my mind made up about what I would do next. At 26 years old I joined the Marine Corps, and at 31 I am on a plane headed home—permanently.
It fucking sucks when you find something in life you believe to be your calling, to have one thing you’re doing that will actually make a difference, just to have it ripped away from you in one fell swoop. I’ve spent the last three months in a recovery center, forced to interact with an entire staff that looked at me with respectful pity every time they laid eyes on me. As if breaking my back and having to stop doing the one thing I love isn’t bad enough, every sad, puppy-eyed expression that crossed their faces made me want to bash my head into the wall. So I’m downright giddy to be back home with my brother, and more than ready to see what’s next for me.
When I finally step off the plane and see the big ass grin on Tucker’s face, it causes one to creep across my own as well. This is probably the first time I have smiled, genuinely smiled, in months – it feels so foreign and of course, he’s the first to point it out.
“What the fuck is this? I thought you broke your back, not your face.” Tucker says, squeezing my cheeks to smush the smile I was attempting.
“Shut the fuck up dude, you wouldn’t know how to smile either if you spent the last three months where I was.” I swat his hand away, rubbing at my jaw.
“Sorry, I couldn’t be there with you man. I would have been–” Tucker says with a pained expression.
“Ah, don’t worry about it. I know.” I cut him off before he starts feeling down on himself for not being there with me. Sure it would have been nice to have someone by my side that didn’t walk on eggshells the whole time they were around me, but I knew Tucker had a business to run here and I had no intentions of letting him drop everything just for me. Not again. He gives me a small nod and looks down at the duffle I’m carrying.
“Here, let me throw this in the back and we can get going. You hungry?” He grabs the bag, tossing it in the back of his Bronco before we climb into the cab.
“Fucking starved.” He gives me a grin before speeding off down the road.
Tucker and I have spent almost every second together that he’s not working since I’ve been back, and to be honest—I’m fucking exhausted. Don’t get me wrong, I love my brother to death, but he’s acting like he’s seconds away from getting me a life-alert bracelet, and that shit’s annoying the hell out of me. After finding an apartment for me a couple of days ago, he took off work today so we could shop for furniture and get it set up, that way I’m not sleeping on the floor or his god-awful couch that might as well be made of stone. That’s one thing he and I actually agreed on—I need a real fucking bed as soon as humanly possible.
“So, you got everything moved in already?” Max asks, sitting back in his chair. He props his ankle on top of his knee as he takes a drink of his beer.
“Yeah, thanks again for letting us use your truck man.” Tucker’s Bronco didn’t have nearly enough space to load all the furniture we bought and since my truck was in the shop, Max was kind enough to let us borrow his.
“Anytime.” Max nods in response.
“Yeah. What can I say? I’m a pro.” Tucker sighs dramatically, propping his hands behind his head. Unfortunately, Tucker had to drop everything he had going on to help me since I’m not supposed to be doing any heavy lifting for a while. I’d rather eat glass than feel like an inconvenience to someone, and that’s exactly how I’ve felt these last few days, no matter how many times they tell me not to worry about it. Luckily everything we bought came in boxes that he was able to either carry or drag on his own.
At least I can still use a fucking screwdriver.
It made me feel even shittier than I already did, not being able to do more, but I tried not to focus too hard on it and just accept the help.
When we finally got done putting everything together and Tucker asked if I was hungry, I thought we’d swing through a drive-through or order a pizza. I did not expect to show up to a bar-b-que for three at Max’s house.
I’m not complaining though, this is the best meal I’ve had in… maybe ever, honestly. We’re sitting in the backyard around the bonfire with a cooler full of beer while Riley, Max’s service dog, finishes off her very own steak.
“I’m glad you’re coming to work at the bar, man. We’re starting to get a little outnumbered,” Max grumbles. Tucker snickers and my eyes shift between the two of them. Tucker looks pleasantly amused, and Max looks annoyed as shit—the usual for these two.
“I feel like I’ve missed something, but yeah I’m happy to help.” I offer before finishing off my drink. I feel the self-loathing trying to creep its way out of the dark hole I keep it in, but manage to shove it back down before it dares to show its face.
