by Cassia Leo
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!”
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 fro
m 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 know 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?
* * *
Me:
No. We’re leaving in about 20 minutes. Did Frank give you the merch box?
* * *
The marketing director at Barley Legal Brewery offered to send me some Barley Legal merchandise to use as inspiration for the app mockup I was creating. I would be billing the brewery hourly as a freelance software developer, creating a few drinking game apps. If they liked any of the mockups, we would then negotiate a price for developing and delivering the final product.
If I did a good job and worked my ass off, I could probably make enough in the next few weeks to support myself for the rest of the year. That would give me a nice cushion of time to find more freelance gigs.
Just thinking about this stuff made my stomach ache. I had worked to support myself through college, but I was painfully aware now that I had lived a charmed post-college life. The days of yoga class, coffeehouses, and planning my blissful future were gone.
Part of me was glad to have something to work for. Supporting myself made me feel stronger and more purposeful than I had in years. But I couldn’t deny the part of me that yearned to be taken care of. I just wanted to know that if I lost my grip, someone would be there to break my fall.
* * *
Dylan:
he said someone will bring it by in a couple of days. he’s swamped.
* * *
Me:
I thought you were going to bring it. I miss you.
* * *
Dylan:
I would bring it, but I promised avery we’d go to the gym after work every day this week.
* * *
Me:
The gym? Are you trying to bulk up?
* * *
Dylan:
are you saying I need to bulk up?
* * *
Me:
No! You’re perfect the way you are.
* * *
Dylan:
I’ll definitely see you next week. don’t think I forgot you’re turning 30.
* * *
Me:
Thanks for reminding me.
* * *
Dylan:
see you on the 11th!
When I pulled into the parking lot of The Rodeo in Hillsboro, I took one glance at the tinted storefront windows covered in garishly-colored signs, depicting guns and shooting targets, and the hairs on my arms stood at attention. Isaac was taking me target shooting today.
I had forced myself to watch him load up the trunk of my SUV with gun cases, ammunition, and protective gear. The whole twenty-five-minute ride to The Rodeo, his mouth kept moving as he spouted off gun etiquette and one safety rule after another. I tried to pay attention, but when he got to rule number twelve, I began to tune out his voice out of sheer self-preservation.
It was too much to remember.
* * *
Keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot.
Don’t point the gun at anything you’re not willing to destroy.
Always treat a gun as if it’s loaded, even when you’re certain it’s not.
Always know what’s behind your target.
Always be aware of your surroundings, especially if there are staff members walking around.
Observe the range facility rules, especially when it comes to check-in, cold and hot range rules, and changing targets.
* * *
And those were just the rules I could remember. This outing was beginning to seem like a worse idea than I’d anticipated. As I pulled into a parking space, I turned off the Tesla and stared at the dashboard in silence.
“Hey, like I said, if you’re feeling uncomfortable, we can turn around right now,” Isaac assured me, softening his voice to try to put me at ease.
But it wasn’t working.
“I’m not ready. I’m sorry you came all the way out here with me and now I’m chickening out. Maybe…” I glanced at the hopeful look in his eyes and quickly turned away. “Maybe if we just sit here and chat for a bit, I’ll work up the nerve to go inside. Is that okay?”
“Absolutely. You make the rules today.”
I let out a soft sigh as I turned in my seat to face him. “Okay, you told me before that you were a sniper in the Marines. Did you get any awards or medals for hitting targets?”
His smile waned. “Yeah, I’ve got some medals. Some I’m more proud of than others,” he replied. “The farthest target I ever hit was a touch shy of 3,300 meters.” Suddenly, as quickly as his smile had disappeared, i
t was back, along with a proud gleam in his hazel eyes. “At that distance, your heartbeat is enough to throw you off target, so I had to wear a heart rate monitor. Once I was in position, I closed my eyes and did deep breathing exercises to slow my heart rate. I got it down to forty-seven beats per minute, less than one beat per second. In that one second space between beats, I opened my eyes, aimed, and pulled the trigger. I set a record for the 148th.”
“The 148th?” I asked.
“The 148th Infantry Regiment.”
My stomach tensed at his reply. Isaac was a man who was trained to shoot to kill. I wondered if the man who murdered my son had also trained in the military. Did the country I love create the one man I loathed?
I took a deep breath to release some of the tension in my muscles. “Okay, I have a question I’ve been wanting to ask you for a long time, but I’m afraid that you won’t want to answer, or that I may not want to know the answer.”
He narrowed his eyes as he silently contemplated my words. “I’m an open book,” he finally said. “Ask away.”
I cast my eyes downward, my gaze focused on the console between us. “What’s the one thing you did in the military that you’re most ashamed of?”
“Not speaking up,” he answered without hesitation.
I looked up at him and the way his pain distorted his handsome features made me sick to my stomach. “What do you mean?”
