by Harley Stone
Words slurring, eyes swimming with compassion, this conversation had serious personal territory potential. Time to throw some ice on his intoxicated emotions before he spent the ride home drunk crying and telling me childhood sob stories. I liked the man and all, but I had to fly beside the guy; he needed my respect, not my pity.
“You’re drunk, and you’re talking crazy. You know I don’t need a relationship; I’m already married to the cockpit. That F-35 keeps me so damn busy my feet rarely touch the ground anymore. But when I do land, I get all the side cock I want. Win, win.”
It took a moment for my words to penetrate the alcohol fogging his brain, but his eyes finally lit up. Throwing his head back, he laughed so hard he almost fell off his barstool. “That’s what I like about you, Queen M. You keep it real.”
I was the realist. Drunk emotional meltdown averted, I informed the bartender that we’d be back for Jagger’s truck the next day and helped him stumble to my car. After packing his ass into the passenger’s seat, we headed out.
By the time I unloaded Jagger off on his surprisingly understanding girlfriend, it was close to midnight and I was mentally calculating the hours of sleep I’d get and preparing to hate life in the morning. Knowing Jagger’s suffering would outweigh mine made me feel a little better about the situation. At least traffic was light this early in the morning. Motoring out of his neighborhood, I made it all the way to the turn for the highway before I had to stop for a light.
The few cars on the road were spaced out perfectly to keep me from turning. While I waited for my opportunity, a new Lizzo song came on. I cranked it up and tapped my thumbs against the steering wheel, singing along. I’d be tired in the morning, but tonight had been worth it. I was in love with my life, and felt like I was sitting on top of the world. Jagger was wrong; I didn’t need a man to complete me. I had all the companionship a girl could ask for. My heart was full.
The light turned green, and I eased forward into the right turn.
As I crossed the stop line, blinding light flooded my car. Caught off guard, I raised my arm to shield my eyes. Something big was coming at me fast. I stomped on the gas to get out of the impact zone.
Metal crunched.
My body jerked against the seatbelt.
Glass shattered.
Everything went dark.
Stocks
“I GREW UP in a busy family.”
Sage, our club’s counselor, put down his pen and studied me. I’d been on his couch before since counseling sessions were a club requirement, but I’d only given obligatory responses and had never opened up to him until recently. Over the past four months, I’d been finally allowing myself to recover, and part of that recovery included being honest with the people who wanted to help me. “What does that mean, exactly?” Sage asked.
“Mom and Dad had prominent jobs that kept them glued to the phone or computer for the few hours a day they were home. My older sister, Stella, was a dedicated band geek and church youth group junkie. I was a multi-sport athlete who only came home to eat and sleep.”
“Did you spend any time together? Holidays? Birthdays?”
I nodded “Yeah. They always put on a good show. And Mom made us eat breakfasts together. Kind of. We ate in the same room.”
“But you didn’t talk?”
“We did. Mom would ask about homework and after school plans. I mean, they weren’t neglectful or anything. All our needs were met.”
“All your basic needs,” Sage corrected. “As humans, we also need interaction and connection. What about your father?”
I thought back on our morning routines. “He’d read the paper every morning, and he didn’t like to be disturbed. I always saw it as a shield I couldn’t penetrate. When he had that wall of words between us, we knew he didn’t want to be engaged. Whenever we tried, we’d get in trouble.”
“What were the consequences?”
I shrugged. “Grounded, television privileges revoked, normal stuff like that.”
Sage’s dark eyebrows rose in surprise, making him look almost comical. “Do you think it’s normal to ground a child for striking up a conversation?”
Having never thought about the question before, I took a moment before shaking my head. “No.”
“Did your father keep other shields between you and him that you’d get punished for interrupting?”
Again, I considered the question. “Yes. The phone. His laptop. A couple of TV shows. Basketball games.”
“How did that make you feel, Stocks?”
That was the million-dollar question. Thinking back, I searched for feelings from my childhood, but all I felt was disconnected. From everything. “I didn’t want to be there. Home, I mean. It made me feel like he didn’t want to be bothered with us.”
“Is that why you joined the Marines right out of high school?”
“Yessir. I didn’t know what else to do. Where else to go. My grades and SAT scores were good enough to get me into college, but I had no idea what I wanted to be. The Marines were… like a family. One I belonged in.” The act of losing my leg hadn’t hurt nearly as much as losing my sense of belonging. “Coming home was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I felt so… fuckin’ helpless.”
Sage’s eyes filled with understanding. “Most of us feel that way when we come home. Going from combat to civilization is never easy, but adding a disability into that mix…. You gotta know we all respect the fuck out of you for keeping it together as long as you did. No man’s an island, Stocks. No vet should have to battle reintegration alone.”
The time buzzed, indicating the end of our session.
We both stood and I shook Sage’s hand. “Thanks, brother.”
“Thank you for finally opening up to me. What’s your next step?”
“Finding a full-time job. Helping Flint at the Copper Penny has been great, but I think I’m ready to get back into the game.” The Copper Penny was the club’s bar and grill, and I worked as backup and on-call security whenever they needed me, but it was far from a stable, full-time job.
Nodding, he grabbed a newspaper off his coffee table and held it out to me. “To be used as a shield or a tool. Whatever you need, brother.”
Chuckling, I thanked him and accepted the paper before heading out.
In addition to Sage’s office, and offices for the officers, the club’s base of operations held a common area, an industrial kitchen, and the chapel where we held our weekly meetings downstairs. The second and third stories consisted of several sleeping rooms and bathrooms. The downstairs common room was wide open, but the furniture was situated to divide the space into five small living rooms. Each space had a sofa, a recliner, and a coffee table facing a flat screen TV. Everyone’s favorite sofa was a faded blue, overstuffed sleeper with worn arms and a small tear in one of the seats. It wasn’t much to look at and wasn’t terribly comfortable, but the back was pushed against the wall, and it was positioned to watch both the front door and the staircase. Veterans had a thing about being able to watch all entrances.
It wasn’t paranoia; it was vigilance.
The common area was deserted. Mid-morning on a weekday, most of the club was either at work or sleeping off last night’s bad decisions, so I got the favorite blue sofa all to myself. Plopping down to get the pleasure of a loose spring jabbing me in the right ass cheek, I slid to the side and opened the paper, flipping pages until I found the help wanted section.
My session with Sage had been surprisingly helpful. I’d never dwelt much on my lack of relationship with my parents, but now that I was looking back, I saw where it had influenced several of my decisions. They lived in Mount Vernon—which was only about an hour up I5—but I hadn’t seen them in well over a year. Hell, now that I thought about it, it had been months since we’d even spoken on the phone.
Looking back, my folks probably shouldn’t have had kids at all, but they were married in a time when breeding was expected. And my parents were all about living up to the exp
ectations of their peers. They weren’t bad people, they just weren’t good parents.
I’d had enough of reflecting on the past, though, and was determined to figure out my future. Scanning the listings, I ignored the accounting and finance sections because I’d been there, done that, and had the arrest record to prove it. Searching for something more manually laborious and less mentally stressful, I narrowed my hunt down to maintenance jobs. Serving as a tank crewmember, I’d operated and maintained a fucking tank, so maintaining a building would be no sweat. But for some weird reason, all the jobs listed required two to three years of building maintenance experience, which disqualified me from applying. In fact, every job in the damn paper seemed to require experience. Even the custodial positions.
“How fucking experienced do you need to be to scrub toilets and mop floors?” I muttered to myself.
“What’s that?” someone asked.
Looking up to find a brother who went by the road name “Bull” heading into the common area from the kitchen with a friend of the club named Lily Perkins, I ducked. “Sorry.”
“For what?” Lily asked. “Swearing? I’ve heard and seen a lot worse than the F-bomb around here.” Since the Dead Presidents were a rowdy bunch, I didn’t doubt her claim one bit.
Lily was a mousy brunette in her early twenties who stood maybe five-foot-five and might have weighed in at 120 pounds dripping wet. She was introduced to the club through Havoc, our sergeant at arms, who rescued her and beat the shit out of her attacker. Since she had no local family, the club had taken her under its wing. She often stopped by to hang out with Boots, the club’s service dog, and Bull, who I suspected she had a crush on.
“Hey, Lily, good to see you,” I said, standing.
She greeted me with a hug. “You too, Stocks. How’ve you been?”
“Can’t complain.”
Bull was right behind her to shake my hand. Also in his early twenties, he stood about six-feet tall and weighed close to 200 pounds. He kept his dark hair short and his face, clean shaven like he hadn’t been dishonorably discharged and was just home on leave. We’d served as prospects together, and had gotten patched in as members within months of each other. I liked the kid. He’d gotten a raw deal over some messed up bullshit, but he was a good guy.
“You lookin’ for a job?” Bull asked, gesturing toward the paper I’d dropped on the coffee table.
Retaking my seat, I nodded. “Gotta do something with my life. Fillin’ in at the Copper Penny isn’t enough to keep me busy.”
“You and me both,” Bull said, joining me on the sofa. “Always thought I’d be career Navy. Never worried about much beyond the service. It’s probably time I rectify that.”
Lily scooped up the paper and sat on the other side of him. “Maybe I can help you guys. Do you have any work experience, Stocks?”
“Yeah, but not in a field I want to get back into.” When I first came home from the Marines, most of my time was spent in physical therapy, conditioning my body to use the prosthetic leg they’d fitted me with. PT only ate up so much of my time, and it didn’t take long for boredom to set in. Boredom led to thinking, and thinking was exactly the kind of shit that someone suffering from my nightmares needed to avoid. Thankfully, an old high school buddy rescued me from my fucked-up mind and set me up with a job opportunity. After taking the necessary classes, I became a certified financial advisor and joined his employer’s firm.
It wasn’t my dream job or anything, but I finally felt like a productive member of society again. At least for a while. Then the market went to hell. The DOW plummeted and my clients lost their shit. Somewhere between the fifth and sixth panicked phone call from some entitled, rich asshole demanding that I dismiss my training and liquidate all their holdings into cash, I, too, went over the deep end. My memory of the incident is a little blurry, but according to the police report, I took my chair to the phone, the computer, and the security guys who tried to physically remove me from the premises.
“What field were you in?” Lily asked, looking from me to Bull.
“Financial planning. Let’s just say it wasn’t a good fit for me.”
Bull covered his laugh at my understatement with a cough.
Lily eyed us like we were fucking with her, but finally nodded and moved on. “What are your skills? Do you have any training?”
I glanced at the paper in her hand. “Nothing applicable. I mean, I can’t see much use for driving a tank and firing its weapons.”
“Uh…” She scanned the paper. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”
“He helps with security at the Copper Penny,” Bull chimed in.
Lily let out a sigh of relief. “Security. We can do that.” She pointed at a posting. “Here. There’s a security guard opening at UW. It’s only temporary, but it would get your foot in the door and give you some experience.”
“I’ll check it out,” I replied, more to make her feel helpful than anything. The college would no doubt run a background check, and my recent stint in the slammer would most definitely throw up some red flags. “Thanks Lily.”
She smiled. “It’s nice to be able to help one of you guys for a change. What about you, Bull? What are you good at?”
Bull’s gaze cut to me. “My situation is complicated.”
“So? Uncomplicate it for me,” she replied.
“Maybe some other time. I thought you came for self-defense training. When are we gonna get to that?” he asked.
“You need self-defense training?” I took the paper from her, folded it, and set it on the table. “Why? What’s going on? Is everything okay?” Lily brought out the protectiveness in all of us. She was a sweet kid with a good heart, and life had shit all over her. I had her back now, as did every other member of the club. “Did someone hurt you?”
She frowned at Bull. “No. I’m fine. Nothing’s happened. I just thought it would be a good idea for me to know how to defend myself, in case something ever does happen.”
It was a good idea, but the randomness of it made me leery. “You’re sure nothing’s going on?”
She beamed me a smile. “Yes. I promise.”
“What do you know about self-defense?” Bull asked. “Did you take any training?”
“My training was more hand-to-hand combat related. Have you considered getting a carry concealed permit, Lily?”
“For like… a gun?” Her eyes widened.
I nodded. “Yeah. We could take you to the range and teach you how to shoot.”
“No.” She shook her head vigorously. “No guns.”
“Maybe some pepper spray and a taser then?” I asked.
“I could do that, but I also want to learn some fighting techniques. There’s a class going on at the gym down the street, but it’s like two hundred dollars for six one-hour classes, and I don’t want to fork out the money for it.” She focused on Bull. “I also don’t want to make a big deal about this; can’t you just teach me some punches or kicks or something?”
I rubbed the back of my neck and considered how best to word my thoughts. Lily didn’t need any reminders of what she’d gone through, but she needed to really think about this and be safe. I still wasn’t convinced that her sudden interest in protecting herself was all that random. Most likely she was fighting her own battle with PTSD and needed a way to regain some semblance of control. Understanding her struggle, I didn’t want to give her a false sense of security with a few kicks and punches. “Two hundred isn’t a bad price for six classes taught by trained professionals.” My savings had dwindled, but between what was left and my monthly checks from Uncle Sam, I still had plenty to keep Lily safe.
“I’ll help,” Bull added. “We can split the cost.”
Lily threw her head back and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t want to go to self-defense classes.”
Bull’s eyebrows shot up his forehead as he looked to me like I had the secrets to the confusing feminine mind. “But—”
“I want you to teach me.”
<
br /> He turned to face her, resting his hand on the back of the sofa. “I don’t know the techniques. Improper training is a good way to get yourself hurt.”
She leaned closer to him. “What are you, eighty? We have the power of the internet at our fingertips. We’ll watch a few how-to videos and be fine. This is gonna be fun. Something we can do together.”
Ah-ha. It had been months since I’d had sex and years since my last relationship, but I wasn’t completely oblivious to the opposite sex. Lily was wearing makeup and perfume, not a lot, but she usually didn’t wear any. Her cold-shoulder blouse was much nicer than the baggy sweatshirts she normally wore. She looked up at him like he hung the moon, and I realized the girl didn’t give one damn about self-defense. Reassured that her sudden interest in self-defense had more to do with getting close to our youngest member than avoiding danger, I decided it was time to make my exit.
“You know… I just remembered a phone call I need to make.” Standing, I collected my newspaper, folding it and sticking it under my arm.
Confusion filled Bull’s eyes. “But… aren’t you gonna help us?”
Lily’s expression fell for a fraction of a second before she managed to paste on a smile. “We didn’t mean to run you off. If you’d like to stay and help me, you’re welcome to.” Her eyes told a different story, begging me to leave. The girl was definitely trying to get herself a bite of Bull meat, and who was I to stand in the way of young love?
“I’m sure the instruction videos you’ll find will know a hell of a lot more about self-defense than me. Good luck.” I backed toward the stairs.
Lily looked up from her phone long enough to grin at me and mouth, “Thank you.”
I gave her a nod. Bull’s brow furrowed as he glanced down at her. I could almost see the wheels spinning in his brain when he realized how close she’d gotten to him. Hell, the girl was practically sitting in his lap. Trying not to laugh, I turned and took the stairs two at a time.
Monica
YOU’RE LUCKY TO be alive.
