Chapter 11
Isaac
I stood in front of the pedestal sink in the upstairs bathroom, staring at my reflection in the mirror and wondering if I’d made a terrible mistake. Laurel would be here in about ten minutes to pick me up, and I was having second thoughts about my Halloween “costume.” Wearing my utilities for the first time in more than three years felt surreal.
It also felt comfortable, like slipping into a pair of your favorite well-worn jeans. And that scared the shit out of me.
Lately, I’d been wondering if maybe I should try to finish the PET — prolonged-exposure therapy — program at the VA as quickly as possible, so I could get cleared for active duty. Maybe I belonged out there, with my eye on a scope and finger glued to a trigger. Watching my brothers’ backs instead of watching my own.
I grabbed the bill of my camouflage cover and ripped it off my head as I limped my way back to the bedroom to change into some regular street clothes. But as I slid open the closet door, I heard the doorbell ring. Shaking my head, I pulled the cover back on and carefully made my way down the stairs, with Boomer glued to my side.
I opened the front door to find Laurel dressed in her usual hoodie and leggings. She always looked like she was about to go to yoga class, and something about that easygoing style made her sexy as hell.
She looked me up and down and smiled. “Well, this is unexpected.”
“I was just about to change.”
She gasped. “Why? No, don’t change. This is…” Her gaze traveled down the length of my body again before she looked me in the eye and flashed me a hesitant smile. “This is good. This is perfect for Halloween.”
I shook my head and looked down at Boomer. “You hear that, Boomer? It’s Halloween.” I turned back to Laurel. “I tried to get Boomer to dress up as a squirrel, but he wouldn’t stop chasing himself, so… You ready to be scared out of your wits? I’ve got a good movie for us to watch, all cocked and loaded in my Vudu queue. You’re gonna love it.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?”
I chuckled. “I guess you’ll find out soon enough.”
As we walked the thirty meters to Laurel’s front door, she kept glancing at my right leg as I tried concealing the severity of my limp. “Shouldn’t you be using crutches, or something?”
“Probably,” I replied, and left it at that.
She shook her head as she pushed open her front door. “You really are as stubborn as you look.”
I laughed. “What is that supposed to mean? Are you saying I look like a mule?”
She shrugged as she watched Boomer and I enter. “I didn’t say it,” she said, closing the door behind us.
“Oh, man. That is some cold shit. You just straight up called me an ass.” I watched her as she walked past me and grabbed the TV remote off the coffee table. “You’d better watch it, lady, or I’ll have to use some of my ninja Marine moves on you.”
She laughed as she grabbed a couple of snack-sized Snickers bars out of a large orange bowl on the table and plopped down on the far right end of the sofa. “I’m not afraid of you. You’re a cripple.”
“Jesus Christ, woman. Did you invite me over here to abuse me?”
She smiled as I took off my cap. “Why? Are you into that?”
I cocked an eyebrow as I set the cap down on the coffee table and sat down on the other end of the sofa with Boomer at my feet. “How about you give me that remote, so I can log into my Vudu account before you get me into more trouble?”
She rolled her eyes and handed me the remote. “You want some chocolate? Help yourself,” she said, lifting her blonde ponytail and draping it over the back of the sofa so she could lean back.
“That’s why I used to suck so bad at the man-bun,” I said as I pointed the remote at the TV to scroll through the apps. “I hated that I couldn’t lean back on anything or that damn thing would dig into my scalp. Why don’t you just take that ponytail out of your hair if it’s bothering you.”
She glanced at my hair. “Is it time for another trim?”
“Actually, I was thinking of going to the barber shop for my next trim.”
She laughed. “My haircutting skills are awful enough to make you get over your dislike of hair clippers?”
“No, ma’am. It’s just that my therapist at the VA says I should start trying to do small things I’d been avoiding,” I replied, and her smile evaporated.
“I’m so sorry. I swear I wasn’t trying to give you a hard time. I was just teasing you.”
“No need to apologize,” I said, shaking my head as I finally found the Vudu app and proceeded to log in.
“So, how’s the therapy going?” she asked, and I could tell she was trying to be nonchalant about it, as if intense therapy for severe PTSD was a casual topic.
“It’s not as bad as I thought it’d be.”
This made her laugh. “I guess that’s a start. What about it do you not like?”
I watched her for a moment as I contemplated whether I should be honest about this. “Honestly,” I began, “this is going to sound real petty, but I’m not real crazy about the app they make us use to record each session.”
“App? Like an app on your phone?” she asked, her gaze locked on mine as she perked up.
I couldn’t help but smile as she honed in on something she understood. “Yeah, the app keeps a recording of all our sessions, but listening to that shit is awkward as fuck. Then, there’s a companion app called PTSD Coach that gives suggestions for exercises to do when I’m not in the therapist’s office. It also keeps track of which exercises work best and shows me how much progress I’ve made. You should download PTSD Coach. It’s created by the VA for veterans, but it can be used by civilians. The only caveat is you can’t use any of the resources for connecting with PTSD groups and therapists, because those are only available to vets.”
As I finished speaking, my muscles tensed at the look of shock on Laurel’s face. I shouldn’t have been so candid with her. She had asked how the therapy was going. She was probably expecting a simple, “It’s going great,” but I had to go and suggest she needs help.
“Wow…” she replied as she seemed to be thinking very hard about something. “For the last two years, I’ve felt so helpless whenever I talk to my friends and they have a problem that needs solving.” She looked up, her gaze finding mine again. “But this… This is something I can actually do. I can write a PTSD app with resources for civilians.”
I smiled and my muscles relaxed as I realized she wasn’t angry with me. “How are you going to do that?”
She turned to face me. “I’m serious. With your help, I can write an app that works for everyone, not just veterans. I can do this!” Her brown eyes were wide with excitement. “Can you help me do this? Please.”
Fucking hell. I was a goner. I wanted to take that beautiful face in my hands and kiss her so fucking badly. How could someone this gorgeous on the outside, be so damn good on the inside?
I nodded. “I’d like that.”
A huge grin spread across her glowing face. “I’m gonna make the best darn PTSD app for regular crazy people, like me. You’ll see.”
I laughed as I reached forward to grab a chocolate out of the bowl just as the doorbell rang and a munchkin-like voice shouted, “Trick or treat!”
Laurel sprung up from the sofa and grabbed the bowl before I could get a candy for myself. “Here,” she said, tossing me a chocolate, then she headed for the door.
Boomer lifted his head, his eyes glued to my candy as I peeled open the wrapper. “No chocolate for you, Captain,” I said, and he lowered his head again.
Laurel gasped as she pulled the door open. “Oh, my goodness! Look at you. You’re a frog!”
“No, I’m a toad!” the kid corrected her as she pointed at her nose. “See my wart?”
Laurel let out that sexy laugh that always seemed to reverberate in every part of my body. “How did I miss that? Of course you’re a toad!”
r /> She dropped some candy into the toad’s bag and watched the child walk away with a wistful smile on her face. Finally, she closed the door and stood there for a moment, facing the door with her arms wrapped around the large candy bowl, as if it were a baby inside her belly. I tried not to breathe, afraid I would disturb whatever moment she was having.
Then, as if nothing had happened, she spun around wearing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She marched over and set the bowl on the table, then plopped down on the sofa, though not quite as far away as before.
“Are you okay?” I asked, selecting the movie I had planned for us to watch, Split by M. Knight Shyamalan. It was difficult trying to find a scary movie that wouldn’t trigger Laurel’s memories of the night her son was murdered.
She pulled her feet up on the sofa and hugged her knees to her chest. “Halloween is weird. We tell kids it’s okay to get dressed up. No, it’s not just okay, it’s fun. Then, those children grow up to be adults, and once again they’re told not to be themselves… Don’t share the darkest parts of you with the world, the demons and monsters that haunt you every day of your life. Just be a good human and pretend they don’t exist.” She turned to me and glanced at my uniform as she rested her cheek on her knee. “Do you ever wish you were someone else?”
I responded without hesitation. “Every day.”
She smiled. “Me too. Do you ever… Do you ever think maybe you should have stayed in Minnesota?”
Her question made me think about Emily and the Skype conversation we’d had while I was still in the hospital a few nights ago.
As my mom walked out of my hospital room, I breathed a sigh of relief that I wouldn’t have to put on a brave face for her anymore. Tomorrow, if all went well, I would check out of this hospital room and my parents would head back to Minnesota the next day. My dad didn’t say it aloud, but I could see he was dying to get back to his dental practice to take care of his patients, who obviously needed him much more than I did.
I was about to turn off my phone so I could go to sleep, when it started ringing. But it wasn’t the ringtone I was used to hearing. When I looked at my screen, I was surprised to see that I had a call coming in on my Skype app. I couldn’t even recall downloading the app. In fact, the last time I remembered using Skype was on the Panasonic Toughbook my dad bought me for my last deployment. But that was in the beginning, before we relocated to a different COP — combat outpost — and internet access was pretty much non-existent for almost four months.
The username of the caller was empress25. I didn’t recognize the name, but I still had a pretty good feeling I knew who it was. And I couldn’t help but smile.
I tapped the blue button to answer the video call and the image that materialized on the screen was very unexpected. The woman looked to be in her early to mid-twenties; twenty-two if I had to guess. Her dark, wavy hair cascaded over her svelte shoulders, the left side tucked behind her ear. Her skin was as fair as milk, cheeks flushed pink, and full lips a natural shade of rose.
She appeared distracted for a split second, then she gasped. “Oh, my God! I didn’t think you were actually going to answer.”
I chuckled. “I can hang up, if you’d prefer.”
“No!” she exclaimed, her cheeks turning a gorgeous shade of flame-red. “I… I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
I decided to have a little fun with her. “And you are?” I asked.
“Oh, crap. I can’t believe I just expected you to know who I am. I’m Emily. I’ve been talking to your mom for a while. She’s the one who told me about your leg.” Her eyebrows scrunched together above her gray eyes, waiting for me to say I remembered her, but I stayed quiet. “I’m the creepy girl who’s been leaving you voicemail messages for the last two years.”
I laughed harder this time. “I’m sorry. I totally knew who you were before I even answered the call. I was just messing with you.”
“That’s so mean!”
“I know. I’m real sorry. It’s just getting kinda boring in this hospital bed. Gotta get my kicks wherever I can.”
She smiled as she shook her head. “You really had me going there. I thought maybe there was a chance you hadn’t actually listened to any of those messages.”
“Well, it would be kind of hard to keep from listening to at least one when you left me over a hundred voicemails.”
“Oh, God. Now it sounds even creepier,” she said, folding her leg up so she could rest her chin on her knee. “So how’s the leg doing? I was so worried when your mom told me you’d been shot.”
“You Skyped me to ask about my leg?”
She let her leg drop off the chair and she hid her face in her hands. “God, I’m so bad at this.”
“Hey, I was just teasing you,” I assured her. “It’s not like I haven’t been dying to see the girl who’s voice I’ve grown so… accustomed to. Actually, I was going to say that I’ve grown so attached to your voice, but that would be even creepier than you leaving me a hundred voicemail messages.”
This time, she laughed. “That would definitely not be creepier than a hundred voicemails.”
“Okay, maybe not creepier, but definitely in the same creepy neighborhood.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Why do I feel like I’ve known you all my life? I… I can’t explain what made me want to get in touch with you after I got those calls from your VA worker. It was just… something I had to do.”
I had never seen a woman so eager to wear her heart on her sleeve. Especially a woman with such natural beauty. She was quirky and unsure of herself, yet something about her was also stately and bold. She was going to speak her truth, no matter how uncomfortable it made her. It was breathtaking.
“Well, I’m glad you did,” I said. “Look, I was about to go to sleep. The good drugs are kicking in. Maybe we can chat again later?”
She smiled as her gaze seemed to wander over my face. “You look different than I imagined. Better, but different.” She shook her head as if to clear away whatever thoughts were clouding her mind. “Of course! Yes, we can chat later. I’m sure you’re really tired. I’ll let you get your rest.”
“Goodnight, Emily.”
“Goodnight.”
“I actually think about going home pretty often,” I said, answering Laurel’s question about whether I ever thought that maybe I should have stayed in Minnesota.
She unwrapped her arms from around her knees and stretched her legs out as she rested her feet on the coffee table. “So why don’t you go home?”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?”
She gasped. “No! Of course not. I’m just… trying to find out if you’re planning on leaving any time soon.”
I shook my head. “Why would you think I was leaving?”
“Because everybody leaves.”
I let out a deep sigh. “I’m not going anywhere,” I said, repeating the words she’d spoken when she visited me in the hospital last week.
She glanced at me as she suppressed a grin. “Maybe you should put on the movie.”
One hour and four more trick-or-treaters later, I got an idea I couldn’t believe hadn’t come to me sooner.
As Laurel closed the front door and made her way back to the sofa again, she cocked an eyebrow. “What’s with that wide-eyed, crazy look on your face?”
“You should go to the shooting range with me,” I declared excitedly. “Have you ever been to a shooting range?”
She shook her head. “No way. You saw what happened to me when your car backfired. Guns and I don’t get along.”
The truth was I didn’t remember a whole lot of what happened when she had a panic attack the day my car backfired. I remembered hearing her screams and running toward her house. I remembered bits and pieces, like breaking her window to get into her house, then my memory skipped forward. Suddenly, I was outside Laurel’s house, carrying her in my arms as Boomer yapped at me to try to stop me from doing something stupid.
“I k
now you don’t like guns, but my VA therapist says that prolonged-exposure therapy is the treatment with the highest success rate for severe PTSD. It’s difficult in the beginning, but I can teach you some of the breathing and visualization exercises we go through.”
“I think I’ve been to enough yoga classes to know how to do breathing and visualization exercises. I’m just so afraid of what will happen if I have another panic attack. I… I can’t end up in the hospital again.” She turned to look me in the eye. “Promise me you won’t let that happen and I’ll go.”
“I promise the moment you start feeling uncomfortable, we’re out of there.”
Without a trace of a smile, she nodded. “My sanity is in your hands. Don’t let me down.”
Chapter 12
Laurel
Trying to resist the urge to look in the mirror and check my hair and makeup was like trying to resist a drink of water in the middle of the Saharan desert. A Herculean task. Nothing good could come of obsessing over my appearance today. I was going to a shooting range, not a classy restaurant or a nightclub.
I didn’t have anyone to impress.
This wasn’t a date.
I was going to a shooting range to attempt to confront my fear of guns.
This wasn’t a date.
I was going with a friend.
This wasn’t a date.
My cell phone buzzed loudly as it vibrated on the nightstand. I scooped it up, my heart thumping wildly as I turned it over to look at the notification on the screen.
Dylan:
how’s your date going?
I gasped and almost dropped the phone as I fumbled with it, clumsily unlocking the screen and typing my response.
Me:
It’s not a date!
Dylan:
whatever you say, love-bug. are you with him now?