Hard

by S. R. Jones

  I snap his file closed and shut my eyes. Then I get out of Facebook before I do something crazy like accidentally friending him. I’m done stalking for the night. And for once my eyes are falling closed and I think I might be able to sleep. Wincing as I stand, my leg throbbing tenderly, I head for the stairs.

  Once in bed, I start to read but my mind keeps drifting back to Luka. It’s the first time in a long time, I’ve had something to focus on and think about that isn’t to do with the attack. I let myself daydream about him as I doze off.

  Chapter Four

  Luka

  “Uncy Luk. Uncy Luk!” The panicked voice reaches me as I empty the oatmeal into bowls. I react immediately.

  I fly up the stairs two at a time and run into Poppy’s room. Instead of the horrors I’ve braced myself for, I find Poppy on her bed, shoes on, laces undone. “I can’t do up my shoes.” She huffs and crosses her arms over her chest, giving me an angry glare.

  As my fear recedes, I smile at how everything seems to be an emergency to Poppy these days. I don’t know if it’s a reaction to all she’s been through in life, or simply how all three-year-old girls act.

  As I tie her laces, I glance up to find her watching me carefully. Her breath gently whistles past my ears from her open-mouthed concentration.

  “There, done.” I sit back on my heels and smile up at her. I still get surprised by the tender emotions she stirs in me. Since getting home, my emotional thermostat has been set at numb, or angry. But Poppy can break through all that.

  “Thanks, Uncy Luk. Do you like my scarf?” She grasps the pink, fluffy scarf in chubby fingers and holds it away from her neck for me to inspect.

  “It’s pretty.” I stand and lift her up with me. “How about some breakfast?”

  “Can I have smashed Humpty Dumpties?”

  I laugh. “Of course, you can, Poppy poppet.”

  Poppy used to live in terror of Humpty Dumpty. Sally told me how she’d done all she could to allay Poppy’s fear of the nursery rhyme character but it didn’t work. The next morning, I took a box of eggs and painted the shells in a rough interpretation of Humpty Dumpty. When Poppy came down for breakfast I showed her them and proceeded to crack open one after the other.

  I let Poppy scramble them, and then we cooked them. I told her not to fear Humpty Dumpty anymore, because if he tried to hurt her, we’d scramble him all over again.

  Sally wasn’t happy. Said it was a bit violent, but Poppy’s not scared of Humpty Dumpty anymore. And she doesn’t wake up screaming at night scared that he’s sat on her headboard. It’s a win as far as I’m concerned.

  As we walk towards the stairs, Sally comes out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around her.

  “You want some breakfast?” I ask.

  “Yeah, but not that horrible Muesli you make!”

  “I’m having Smashed Humtpy Dumpties, Mummy.”

  Poppy sounds so proud, I can’t hold back my laugh.

  “Seems like you did cure her fear.” Sally reaches out and smooths down her daughter’s hair.

  “Spiders next.” I jiggle Poppy in my arms. “We’ll soon teach her they can be smashed, too.”

  Sally’s eyebrows shoot towards her hairline. “Oh, my god! You can’t teach her to overcome all her fears with violence. Eggs are one thing, but not innocent insects?”

  “Technically, spiders aren’t insects. And they are anything but innocent.”

  “Smash spiders!” Poppy shouts, waving one arm in the air.

  “Lord.” Sally shoots me an annoyed glance, but I catch the twitch of her lips before she turns away.

  Breakfast done and the things cleared away, I head for my room to get changed into my workout gear. I’ve got a personal training session, and then I’ll head into the office to sort some stuff out with Liam.

  I smile at the thought of seeing him and the guys. Liam, Ethan, and the gang are like family. They’re more than friends, and us all working together again is great. Although, I could have done without all this teacher training shit.

  “Will you be—” Sally pops her head around the door and stops dead mid-sentence. I have my top off, and I forget she hasn’t seen me undressed since I’ve been home. The scars aren’t that bad. They fade out on my back, and are still a bit red on my lower stomach and hip, but nothing major.

  Ironically, they’re mild shrapnel wounds, and they only took a few weeks to heal. They’re from the first incident I was involved in. The one that haunts my nighttimes. Unlike the damage to my fucking brain, from the second time I got too near an explosive device. That fucked me up and stopped me from going back to work in the specials again. Fucking migraines.

  “Looks worse than it is.” I smile at her trying to be reassuring.

  She swallows and looks away. When she turns back to me, her eyes are suspiciously bright. “Will you be eating with us tonight?”

  “I might be late. The teaching course holds a lesson in the pub at the start of term. It’s sort of a getting to know everyone deal. Apparently, it often goes on late into the evening. Either way, I’ll grab a kebab on the way home.”

  “Healthy. Do you tell your clients to eat kebabs?” She laughs, and the smile chases away the last remaining ghosts of sadness haunting her face.

  I pull on a worn t-shirt and grab my kit bag. “Nah, but they don’t run for miles and miles each week. It’s only once in a blue moon. Hey, do you need me to take Poppy to nursery? I’ve got time.”

  “No. I’m going in late today. I worked lunch three days the past couple of weeks, so I’ve taken some time owed.”

  I give her a nod and a wave and I’m out of there.

  I spend two hours training clients, and then five sat in a chair. The five sat in a chair are way more uncomfortable than the others. I ache by the end of the day. So, I decide to walk to the pub and exercise the aches away.

  It only takes me fifteen minutes to reach the old pub. Noise hits as soon as I enter the dimly lit back room. I see the teacher-training group dotted around the pokey space, and glance at my watch. I’m an hour late, but seeing as it’s a casual meet and greet, I doubt it matters.

  I do a quick sweep of the room, a habit I can’t seem to stop, despite not being anywhere dangerous.

  I see Sue. She gives me a quick wave and beckons me over. Giving nods and smiles to some of the others in the group, I wind my way over to her.

  She’s sat with a woman I don’t know. A glamorous bottle-blonde.

  “Hi, Luka. This is Rebecca.” Sue waves her hand in the direction of the woman next to her.

  The blonde looks younger than most people on the course. Mid-to late twenties maybe.

  Of course, one Ms. Toulson is younger. She looks about twenty, but I reckon she’s maybe twenty-five or so. And how she got where she is by that age, I’ve no clue.

  Rebecca tosses me a high wattage smile. “Do you want a drink? I’m getting one for myself and Sue.”

  “I’ll get these.” I glance over at the bar, but Rebecca is already moving around the table, past where I’m stood.

  “No, honest. I owe Sue one, and I don’t think men who’ve fought for Queen and Country should buy their own. Not the first round at least.” Her gaze skitters over my body.

  With an internal sigh, I sit down. “I’ll have a pint of lager please.”

  Another flash of her killer smile and she’s gone. She might be a looker, but Rebecca doesn’t push any of my buttons. I don’t do forces groupies. They always want to start talking about the action I’ve seen and it creeps me out.

  “How have you been?” Sue’s kind eyes regard me.

  “Good, you?”

  We’d talked the previous week, nothing in-depth or personal. Despite not knowing much about her, I like the quiet librarian.

  I’m in a shitty mood for this socializing bullshit. I don’t want to be here. And I’m seriously considering telling Liam to get someone else to do this training bull as I don’t have the personality for it.

  “Here you
go. Pint for you, Luka. Gin and Tonic, Sue. And a glass of wine for moi!” Rebecca sits back down with a toss of her long blonde hair.

  “Where do you work, Rebecca?” I’ve no real interest, but this is what normal people do, right? They ask things for the sake of being polite.

  “At a beauty spa, the one in town next to Marks and Spencer. We’ve set up an evening class for those wanting to get into the industry. The intake is great, but none of us have taught before. So, we put our names in the hat for this course. I drew the short straw!” She giggles.

  “Ooh, if you ever need guinea pigs for your students, count me in.” Sue pats her short hair. “I could do with a bit of pampering.”

  “We always want volunteers, so I’ll hold you to that.” Rebecca narrows her eyes. “You could do with having your eyebrows plucked. Take ten years off you.”

  I meet Sue’s eyes and stick my face in my pint glass to keep my smile from showing. Here I am worrying about passing as normal, but Rebecca’s got the tact of a rhino.

  “And as for you.” Rebecca’s hand with its long, painted nails lands on my arm, before taking off again to flutter around her glass. “If you ever need a massage to loosen up those muscles, give me a call.”

  She follows this up by taking a small card out of her purse and placing it in front of me. “Call me.”

  “What about Sue?” I nod over to the woman in question who is biting her lip.

  “Oh, of course. Here you go, Sue. Come in and get those eyebrows sorted out. Oooh, if you’ll excuse me, Betty’s arrived, and I want to talk to her about putting us in the paper. She’s a journalist, you know.”

  Grabbing her drink, she gets up and crosses the room. After a couple of seconds, I shoot a glance towards Sue and we both burst into quiet laughter.

  “Cheeky cow.” Sue smiles.

  “Hi there, hope I’m not interrupting?”

  I turn at the soft voice to see Cara hovering by our table. She’s wearing another long, dowdy skirt, sensible shoes, and a white t-shirt. The t-shirt shows off her slim arms and full bust, and I’d bet money she doesn’t mean it to.

  I wonder why she drapes herself in such unflattering clothes. I get it at the prison. Unless you’re a world class tease, like Gina, you don’t go getting all gussied up to teach prisoners. But why here in the pub? She dresses like someone from some uptight religious community. Fuck, maybe she is religious. The idea turns me on in a totally messed up way. I’d love to turn her bad.

  “No, not at all.” Sue indicates for Cara to sit with us.

  “I’ve been sent over to drag you two into the fray. The whole point of the meet and greet is to mix,” Cara says this with a prim expression on her face.

  I want to wipe it off and replace it with something else. Something a whole lot more carnal. I don’t even know why she makes me feel like this. I could easily take Rebecca home and fuck her tonight. But I’ve lost all interest in anything too easy. God knows why.

  Cara won’t be easy. Cara will make me work for it. And I haven’t had to work for it in a long time.

  “Gosh. I sound like a school teacher now, but would you mind coming over and sitting with the rest of us?” Cara flushes as she speaks.

  Gosh? Who says ‘gosh’ anymore? She’s such a strange mixture of competence and old-fashioned blushing maiden it makes my head spin. I wonder who she really is?

  Does she even know?

  She might be younger than I thought, but then if so, how is she teaching this class?

  I look over at the noisy group and my heart sinks. I don’t like crowds and noise. It often sets my head off. And once it starts, I only have a brief time to head it off before I’m useless for two to three days.

  Post Traumatic Brain Injury migraines. Thank you very much, life. You sick fucker.

  “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind?” Sue lowers her voice. “I’m a touch claustrophobic. I like being on the edge. Maybe if we move to the next table, we can chat to people but I won’t feel trapped?”

  “Oh.” Cara seems lost for words for a moment, but then gathers herself. “Of course. Sorry, I didn’t know. I mean why would I? But of course, if you want stay here. Don’t want to make you uncomfortable, perhaps if—”

  “The next table sounds great.” I interrupt Cara before she can waffle on any longer and make Sue even more uncomfortable. “I don’t like crowds, either.”

  When we settle at the table, Cara sits with us, to my surprise, but soon gets involved in another conversation. Sue turns to me, and begins to speak in an almost whisper. Loud enough for me to hear over the others, but not enough for anyone else to pick up on what she’s saying.

  “My son fought in Afghanistan. I didn’t say last week when you said you were military, didn’t think it was the place. He suffered with panic attacks when he came home. I thought maybe he got it from me. I’m an anxious old thing, but he said it’s pretty common after being in a war zone.”

  “Yes. It is.” Fuck me. I fight to speak around the sudden lump in my throat. I don’t talk about this shit with anyone but my therapist. And on a few occasions, Ethan.

  “I’ve been much worse with the claustrophobia since he died.”

  I turn to her, shocked. “I’m so sorry. What happened?”

  “Killed by a hit and run driver. Can you believe it?” She raises her glass with a shaky hand and takes a sip. “He went out with some friends, and a speeding driver mounted the curb.”

  “Christ.” I don’t know what to say to this. Surviving Afghanistan, only to come home and be killed by some idiot behind the wheel. Jesus.

  “My husband’s pretty much done in by it. He’s been off work for over a year now. But for me, getting out, being with other people, it’s a way to cope. If I’m not in amongst big groups, or stuck in small spaces, I’m okay.”

  “Bonfire night gets me.” I can’t believe I’ve said so. But after what she’s just told me, I feel I need to give her something back. “Fireworks do my head in. I get migraines from an injury out there, and the endless bangs set them off. Plus, the noise, it’s too reminiscent, you know?”

  A warm hand grasps mine, and Sue squeezes before letting go. For a long while neither of us say anything, but simply sit, side-by-side, sipping at our drinks.

  As one pint becomes two, I begin to relax. The light outside dims and the lights inside flicker on, taking the pub from dingy to cozy.

  Laura has joined our table at some point, but she and Cara had faced the main group most of the time and joined in their conversations, leaving me and Sue free to talk.

  “So, you two.” Laura turns her friendly face towards us. “Looking forward to the course?”

  “Bit nervous, actually.” Sue slurs the ends of her words. She’s gone through two more gin and tonics. “Worried about where I’ll be able to gain enough practical teaching hours. I don’t want to have to take up a placement.”

  “I might be able to help you there.” Laura’s face lights up, and she moves to the bench running down the back wall, to sit by Sue.

  I let their voices wash over me and mingle with the others in the room. I’ll probably make my excuses and head off in ten minutes.

  “Did you think any more about what days would suit you best?” Cara’s words make me jump, snapping me out of my daze.

  “Sorry, what?”

  “The prison. You seem keen to carry on, so have you thought about which days suit you best?”

  I can’t shake the feeling this chick doesn’t like me. I mean properly, seriously doesn’t like me. Something about her attitude rubs me up the wrong way tonight. Ruining the nice mellow I’d got going on.

  She’s still as hot as fuck. More so, even, with the way the low lighting makes her hair shine. But her tone and expression are pissing me off. I want to wipe that superior look off her face. Who does she think she is, with her goody-two-shoes clothes, and her pity job at the prison?

  “Yeah, I’ve thought about it.”

  “And.”

  “I�
�m definitely in. I’ll email you the days I can do.” Stick that up your superiority complex.

  She nods and looks down at the table, face tight, disappointed. As if I’ve told her Santa isn’t real.

  Fuck this. “Is it going to be a problem...us working together?”

  “No. Why would it?” Cara flushes, her complexion deepening. She’d be useless in enemy hands. They wouldn’t have to torture her, she’d simply blush her way to a confession.

  I like the look on her though. I idly wonder if she’ll look the same way after she comes. Preferably all over my cock. I pull my mind out of the gutter and focus on our conversation.

  I keep my words calm but deliberate. “Because, I get the feeling you don’t like me.”

  For the longest while, she says nothing. Then she shrugs and meets my gaze head on. “I don’t know you. I don’t dislike you. I’m not terribly fond of the military, but it’s not personal.”

  Her words take me completely by surprise. They’re not what I expected. Then they piss me off. “You don’t like the military? It’s kind of a big institution, full of thousands upon thousands of people. Do you dislike them all?”

  She gives a small but impatient shake of her head. “I’ve told you, it’s not you, or other individuals, but I don’t like the military machine. Don’t like war.”

  “Who does?” I mutter. I’m fucking grateful when a third pint gets sloshed in front of me by Sue. What a conversation. I take a long big swig of it, and I’ve nearly downed half the damned thing. It’s strong too, not sure what, but it’s not some weak beer.

  “Well, the military for one.” Cara claims my attention once more.

  She doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about. “Hardly. The military are the ones who know the reality of war. It’s mostly politicians who are eager to send men and women away to die.”