by Cassia Leo
“I’m sorry,” I began. “I rang the doorbell. Then, I remembered that you probably shouldn’t be getting up right now. Please have a seat,” I said, motioning to the gray tweed sofa as if it were my sofa in my living room.
He flashed me that eye-crinkling smile that always warmed my insides. “I was actually in the kitchen cooking.”
“Should you be doing that? Shouldn’t you be resting?”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “A man’s gotta eat. I’m making lunch.”
I smiled. “Want some help?”
He stared at me for a long while, and I wished I knew what he was thinking. When he finally opened his mouth to speak, I was certain he had thought it over and now he was going to ask me to leave. But he didn’t.
“I would love that,” he replied.
I nodded and followed him and Boomer toward the kitchen. “You have a seat at the table. I’ll finish whatever you’ve started.”
He let out a soft chuckle, but he didn’t protest as he sat down at the circular table in the breakfast nook while Boomer lay at his feet. “Yes, ma’am.”
I glanced around the U-shaped kitchen, which had the same layout as my mom’s kitchen, but the cabinets were swathed in new gray paint. The walls were painted a muted shade of blue, so light it could be mistaken for white. A pack of burger buns lay open on the counter next to an open can of tomato sauce and a package of ground beef.
“So, what’s for dinner?” I asked.
Isaac grinned. “Sloppy Joes.”
The way he said the word sloppy was almost indecent, and made hidden parts of my body twitch. But the two words together, Sloppy Joes, had a very different meaning for me.
My hands flew up to cover my face and I began to cry. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I whispered as I tried to block out the memory at the forefront of my mind.
“Oh, hey. We can make something else if you’re not into Sloppy Joes,” Isaac said, his chair scraping over the wood floor as he stood up.
“No,” I replied quickly. “Please sit down,” I said, wiping away tears as I tried to catch my breath. “It’s not that I don’t like them. It’s just… My mom used to make Sloppy Joes. But… she used to add cheese and lettuce to make them fancy. Then, she’d call them Unkempt Josephs.”
Isaac laughed harder than I expected him to. “Oh, good God. Your mom’s sense of humor is the gift that keeps on giving. Isn’t it?”
I nodded as tears continued to stream down my face. “It really is.”
When I finally pulled myself together, I made us some halfway decent Sloppy Joes. I even ate half of one, despite the fact I wasn’t the least bit hungry. But I didn’t want to disappoint Isaac. After I cleaned the dishes, he insisted on walking me to the door.
“I’d be happy to help out with anything you need done while you’re healing. The gardening, cleaning, cooking. You name it, I’m at your service,” I offered as he leaned against the threshold.
“That’s very kind of you to offer, but you don’t have to do any of that. I’m a big boy. I can manage on my own.”
“But,” I said, letting out a sigh. “It’s my fault you’re hurt. The least I can do is help you out for a few days. I… I don’t really have anything else to do. I’m… kind of going crazy over there.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you not remember anything that happened last night?”
“Excuse me?”
His expression of skepticism melted into a soft smile. “Nothing,” he replied. “You know, on second thought, I guess I could use some help around here.”
I nodded as I made a conscious decision to ignore his insinuation that something had happened while I was drunk last night. “Okay. Well, how about we start with you coming over to my house tomorrow night… so you don’t have to worry about answering the door for all those trick-or-treaters.”
He shook his head. “I knew I was forgetting something.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll go pick up some candy at the store.”
He gazed into my eyes for a moment. “Are you sure you want to hand out candy? I’m more than happy to just turn off all my lights and pretend I’m not home.”
I smiled at his attempt to spare me the experience of seeing dozens of happy children and parents. “We can do a scary movie marathon. Alcohol-free.”
He laughed. “Sounds like a damn good time. I’ll bring the juice boxes and the hairy monster,” he said, nodding toward Boomer.
I bit my lip to keep from making an innuendo about Isaac bringing his hairy monster. “See you then.”
Chapter 10
Jack
The event venue at the Glass House in San Jose, California had been decorated to look like a haunted forest. The dark, silvery moonlight gave the 1,600 square foot Sky Patio an eerie glow. The fog machines made the artificial moss-covered trees seem as if they were stretching their craggily branches in your direction as you passed. The temperature outside on the rooftop was a cool sixty-one degrees, but there were still a few propane patio heaters in case anyone got too chilly.
Jade had done a great job coordinating the event. It was a shame she couldn’t be here.
As I made my way to the bar, I could hear someone following closely behind me. “Club soda with a lime twist,” I told the bartender, then I turned around, not at all surprised to find Miranda staring at me with a red-lipped grin as wide as the ocean.
“Happy Halloween,” I said, turning back toward the bar.
She sidled up next to me. “Aren’t you going to comment on my costume?” she asked in that husky Demi Moore voice that grated on my every nerve ending.
I took another glance at her Princess Jasmine costume, quickly looking away from her bulging cleavage. “Aladdin. Very cool.”
She laughed as she turned around to show me the back of her costume, and the way her long, black hair fell down her back in a loose plait. But I wasn’t born yesterday. It was abundantly clear she wanted to show off the massive junk in her trunk.
“My aunt made the costume and I did my hair. Do you like?”
The bartender slid my club soda to me and I slid him a twenty-dollar bill. “Sure. Like I said, very cool,” I replied to Miranda, then I headed toward the other side of the patio to get a better view of the city lights.
As I arrived at the railing, the view took my breath away. It was Halloween on a Saturday night in Silicon Valley. The city was alive with color and light, blanketed in glitter and mischief.
“Wow. What a gorgeous view,” Miranda murmured as she curled her talons around the steel railing.
As she began to say something else, my mind drifted to the memory of my first Halloween party with Laurel. We had only been dating a few weeks. When I knocked on the door of her apartment, I was certain she would get a kick out of my fireman costume. But when she opened the door and I saw her dressed like Ursula from The Little Mermaid, that was the moment I knew I loved her. The costume and the fat-suit underneath were homemade, due to lack of funds, but she never looked more majestic to me.
“Why aren’t you dressed up?” Miranda asked when I came out of my memory.
I closed my eyes as a soft breeze skimmed over my heated skin. This weather was too warm for the middle of autumn. I’d only been in California six hours and I already missed the rain.
“I didn’t feel like being anyone else today,” I replied, opening my eyes as I turned around and leaned back against the railing.
She let out a soft, sultry laugh. “I wouldn’t want to be anyone else if I were you, either. So, where’s your wife?”
The hard edge in her voice when she spoke the word “wife” was unmistakable.
I shook my head. “My wife is at home,” I replied, not taking her bait.
“Really? I heard you two were separated.”
I turned my head to look her in the eye. “You heard wrong.”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, no need to get upset. Just making chit-chat.”
I laughed. “Maybe you should go get a drink and make chit-c
hat with someone else.”
She was silent for a long while. I wondered if I’d offended her, but I was too annoyed with her to look at her smug face and find out.
“That’s a good idea,” she finally said. “Do you want me to bring you something from the bar?”
Jesus fucking Christ. This girl didn’t take a hint well.
I held up my glass of club soda. “I’m all set. Thanks.”
“No bourbon tonight?” she asked playfully, a vague reference to the bottle of bourbon she’d sent me a few weeks ago, which I poured over Laurel’s glorious pussy during sex.
“Not tonight,” I said, then I downed the rest of the soda.
Her smile returned. “Why not? Afraid you might do something you’ll regret?”
“Nope. Just not drinking much these days.”
Her smile shriveled. “Are you in AA now, or something?”
I ignored her question as another memory came to me. “I spent the summer between my freshman and sophomore year in college in this tiny village in Costa Rica with a couple of friends, just partying and trying to learn to surf.” I smiled as I stared at the crystal-clear ice in my glass while imagining the crystal-blue ocean waves. “The drinking water was questionable, and we couldn’t afford bottled water, so we got in the habit of adding a little vodka or tequila to our water to kill the bad stuff. When I came back from Costa Rica, I was a full-blown alcoholic. I had to wean myself off the stuff by having an occasional finger of bourbon every three or four days. That’s when my love of bourbon began.”
Miranda let out an impatient sigh. “Okay, so are you or are you not an alcoholic?”
I finally spun around to her and looked her dead in the eye. “That’s none of your business,” I said, then I placed the empty glass on a nearby table and headed for the exit.
As I passed Kent — in a vampire costume — and a couple of board members chatting near the center of the patio, Kent called out to me in a Dracula-like voice. I should stop and say hello, do the usual schmoozing and pretending I cared what any of them were saying. But I was done pretending to be someone I wasn’t.
I didn’t start this company so I could spend my life obsessing over the bottom line and whether or not our latest app was silly enough to appeal to the right demographic. Laurel and I had dreamed of using technology for the greater good. We often joked that our marriage had a slogan: changing the world one app at a time.
The Halo Foundation was a step in the right direction, but I messed that up by putting Miranda in charge of it. Maybe it was time to cut the umbilical cord and set Halo free.
I stopped next to Kent and looked around at the group of investors. “Good evening, gentlemen,” I said, then I looked Kent in the eye. “You took a chance when you invested in me to create this company. And you’ve been tolerant of my prolonged absence since the death of my son. For that, I will always be grateful. But this company isn’t what it used to be. It isn’t what I envisioned.”
Kent looked confused and embarrassed by my words. “What are you talking about?” he said, with an uncomfortable chuckle. “Is this some kind of Halloween prank?”
“I’m done, Kent. Send me a buyout package and I’ll have my lawyer look it over.” I glanced around the group and nodded. “Goodnight, gentlemen.”
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.”
