Tomorrow I need to hit the grocery store after work, but crap, looks like I'll need to hit the diner for lunch. Maybe I can just call in an order and get out of there without running into that waitress. I know I need to keep my distance from her. Just one look and I could see that she'd be trouble for me. She certainly has the ability to make me feel things I never want to feel again.
Just as I finish the last of the dinner dishes and get ready to head for the shower, there's a knock at the door. For whatever reason, I actually answer it. In fact, I don't even look out the peephole before I pull the door open. Lesson learned.
"What do you want?" My gruff military persona takes over, causing the stranger to take a step back.
"Well, Edwin told me you might want some company. I think he sent me because I'm a vet myself. He thought we'd have some things in common."
"Who are you?"
"Name's Chapman, son."
I hold my hand out. "Reynolds." Seems to be that even after we leave the military, we only use last names with other vets. Old habits die hard, I guess.
He shakes my hand, points to where his trailer is, tells me he's got all the time in the world to swap war stories, and leaves. He didn't push or pry, thankfully. Before he gets to the end of the yard, he turns and says, "There's a real looker that likes to sunbathe by the pool every morning around ten. Just thought you might need some entertainment." Then he's on his way with a little chuckle. Maybe I'll have to check out the pool; it can't hurt to look, right?
The next morning, I’m a little anxious and wound up, thinking about having to order food from the diner. I wonder if they deliver, or if I’ll have to go pick it up. Of course, I’m hoping for delivery so I can just give the money to Brandon and let the delivery person deal with him. Anything to avoid that waitress.
It’s almost lunch before I have a chance to talk to Brandon about lunch, but he assures me he’ll get the order in and take care of having it delivered. I’m so relieved. A few of the other guys place an order too, but they are hoping for a certain delivery girl. The way they describe her, I’m sure it’s the same one I’m doing to do everything I can to stay away from.
“Man, she’ll never give you the time of day, Brady. You know that,” Jerry hollers from the bay next to us.
“She’ll come to her senses. She can’t deny me for long. Just because she shot you down three times this year, doesn’t mean she’ll do that to all of us.” Brady sounds pretty sure of himself. I wonder for a moment if there’s something between them. That thought causes the pit of my stomach to ache, like I’ve eaten too much. I pass off the feeling as hunger, and just listen to them bullshit back and forth. Their camaraderie is impressive. It’s nice to see a group of guys acting like family; it gives me a sense of being back in the military
“Fuck you. You know Brandon won’t let it happen, so it doesn’t matter anyway.”
The conversation dies and we all go back to work, but I can’t help wonder what Brandon has to do with that waitress next door. Why would he even care about who these guys are involved with? The shop gets swamped, and I don’t think about it again. Brandon is true to his word and takes care of our orders.
The rest of the day is so busy, I’m shocked we we’re able to eat at all. Lunch was delicious, and it makes me hate the fact that I need to stay away from the diner. I’m sure dinner would be just as good there, but it’s not worth the risk of being around her.
THE DAYS ARE all the same—get up, work, eat, sleep. I've even picked up some extra shifts just to keep from being at home alone. Not that I want company, I just don't want to be alone with my thoughts . . . my memories.
The shoulder is a little sore at the end of each day. I'm sure I should've kept up with the physical therapy when I got here, but it didn't seem necessary. Eventually it'll get used to all this work, right? I sure hope it does. I've been loading up on the ibuprofen each night before bed. That can't be good for me, but I'm not sure I want to go to a doctor around here, knowing he'll want to talk about my service, my injury, and probably even suggest therapy like all the others did. Not ready to discuss that at all. Therapy can't bring back Amelia or our baby girl, so there's really no use. Although the doctors seem to think otherwise.
It's been three days since Chapman stopped by, and I've yet to take him up on his offer to swap war stories. He seemed like a cool enough guy, but I'm not ready to dive into the whole "how'd you get out" story. I haven't been to the pool either. As nice as a bikini-clad woman sounds, it's just not time. I know that as soon as I venture into public, they'll all want to play get-to-know-one-another, and that isn't going to happen.
Today's the day I've decided to check in with mom. She's left me a voicemail every day since I've been back. Of course, she's begging me to come home and let her help me heal, but I hope she can understand why that won't happen.
"Hello?" Her voice sounds tired, and it pierces my heart a little. I know that sadness is for me.
"Hi, mama." It's good to hear her voice.
"Jay, is that you?" She's called me Jay for as long as I can remember, except of course when I'm in trouble; then I get the full name, middle name included. We always knew how much trouble we were in by how many names mama used.
"Yeah, mama, it's me. Sorry it's been so long." Knowing I'm the cause of her sadness kills me, but it's worse knowing there's nothing I can do short of going home to fix it for her. That's just not going to happen, so I guess I have to figure a way around the guilt eating at me.
"You ready to come home yet?"
"No, mama. I'm not coming home. I know you don't want to hear it, but I'm not sure if I'll ever come back there. Not sure I can deal with all the memories."
"Dear, you can't keep running. When are you gonna learn to face your problems head on? Come home and let us help you."
"Mama, why do you think I've been ignoring all your calls? I don't want to deal with all this. I just wanted you to know I was okay. I didn't want you worrying."
"Son, of course I'm worried. You are God knows where, doing God knows what. How am I not supposed to worry?"
"I'm not doing God knows what, mama. I'm working and staying out of trouble. Please don't worry. I just can't be there."
"Please take care of yourself, Jay. And call me so I know you're okay."
"I will check in, I promise."
After saying our goodbyes, I'm physically and emotionally drained. And without work today, I need to find something to do besides sit around. It's been a while since I did any working out, given that I was pouting about my injury and all, but I’m feeling like I could chase this guilt away with a good, hard run. Running is how we drained our minds when we were gone. Push yourself until you're too tired to think. That's how we did it.
Not wanting to get caught up by anyone here in the resort, I decide to drive to the closest school or park. Somehow I end up by the shore instead, but a good run on the beach doesn't sound so bad. At least I'll be able to blend in here.
It's a beautiful fall day, not too humid, and there's a light breeze coming off the water. There are people everywhere enjoying the beautiful day, and they’re not paying any attention to the random person running alone on the beach, making it a perfect place for me.
I push my body harder than it’s been pushed in a long time. I’m drenched in sweat and everything aches when I finally make it back to my car two and a half hours later. Pissed at myself for not staying in shape, I’m panting hard and dying for some water, but I forgot to grab some. Frustrated, I grab my wallet from under the seat and head to the closest shop I can find.
Of course, it’s an ice cream and candy shop that is closest. It’s full of kids, happily enjoying their afternoon treats, their loving parents watching with contentment. Standing in line and waiting for my turn at the register takes every ounce of courage I have. My chest is tight, I’m sweating again, and it’s not from the exercise. My heart rate intensifies, and I feel like I could pass out any time.
Just when I thin
k I’m going to have to rush out of there, the young girl working behind the counter says, “What can I get for you today, sir?” Her voice reminds me of Amelia’s voice when we met—timid and unsure, but so sweet. It pierces my heart a little, but I know I’ve got to respond to her despite the pinch of pain.
“Bottle of water, please.”
“Sure thing. Anything else?”
“Nope, that’ll do it.”
She takes my money and I walk away, not giving a damn that I just left her over three dollars for a tip because I needed away from the happy families. I don’t stop until I’m back to the safety of my own car before opening the bottle and taking a drink.
“Fuck,” I scream as I hit the steering wheel once inside. I don’t know how the fuck I’m supposed to move past all this. Just hearing happy kids sends me back to the moment I was told about the accident. It kills me to know I lost it all, that I’ll never have it.
Instead of going back to the cabin, I stop at High Bar, the only bar in town. I need a drink and, since I'd dumped all the alcohol I bought the other day, I figure this will be a safe bet. I am intrigued to walk in and find a chick bartender. She's actually pretty hot, but does nothing for me. Not like the waitress at that diner, thankfully.
"What'll ya have?" the bartender asks as she places a napkin down on the bar in front of me.
"Jack and Coke, please."
She doesn't ask any questions, just makes it and places it on the napkin, then walks over to the register and comes back with a receipt. I slap a ten down and slide it with the receipt back to her. No extra words spoken between us. None are necessary. I don't need a friend, and she can sense that. She’s clearly not new to the bartending world, and that is much appreciated.
I sit and drink in silence, watching the strangers come and go. Many of them are friendly with the chick bartender, laughing and enjoying life. After two drinks, though, I know I need to stop and go home so I don’t get out of control. A few hours and two drinks is enough to take away the pain of witnessing such happy families. That place in my heart gets torn open more and more, and I’m not sure it’ll ever be able to heal. And the pain, it hurts worse and worse each time. I would’ve never thought something could hurt me so badly.
Once I get home, though, the silence doesn’t help. Being alone with my thoughts is just as painful as being around those damn happy families. Without any alcohol in the house, I have to find another way to remove the silence. Despite already running until I was spent, I think I’ll walk to the lake and find a quiet place to swim. Exhausting myself to the point of passing out is about all I can do right now to ease the ache in the depths of my heart.
Finding a place away from everyone on the lake is easy, thankfully. The water, on the other hand, isn’t the warmest to get into, but the shock is welcomed. I’d rather be focused on the shocking cold of the water than the pain. I swim for what feels like forever to my body, but in reality is only about an hour when I look at my phone to see the time. Exhaustion overtakes me, so I lie down on my towel and end up dosing off.
A little disoriented when I wake, I realize I fell asleep lakeside and it's almost dark. Damnit, I didn't mean to fall asleep on the shore. I was hoping to use this exhaustion to sleep good tonight. Now I just have to hope I can actually fall asleep after that nap. I scoop up my things and jog back to my cabin, hoping to bring back some of that exhaustion. Unfortunately, I have company sitting on the front step when I arrive.
"What's up, Chapman?" I hope my annoyance comes through in my voice.
"Just checking in. Saw ya down at the lake taking a nap earlier, and wanted to make sure you were okay."
"All good. Just a little tired after my earlier run and then that swim." I'd really like to just walk past him and go inside, but he's planned his attack nicely, blocking me from being able to get by him.
"Son, I see the signs. I know you're runnin' from somethin'. You're not gonna outrun it, ya know. Gotta work through it. And all that shit we see at war is tough. You can't hide from it."
"Thanks, but I don't need a friend. I understand I won't be outrunning these demons." Instead of giving him a chance to speak again, I step over him and go inside, then lock the door and head straight to the shower, needing to wash the grime from the day off of me.
Why the fuck is this old man working so hard to get my story out of me? Aren't there others here he can talk to?
THE WEEKS PASS in a blur. I’ve gotten used to my routine: work, run, swim, eat, sleep . . . exciting, I know. I'm even picking up an extra shift at the shop so I'm only off one day a week, the only day the shop is closed. Brandon's paying me under the table for the extra day so he doesn't have to pay me overtime. Totally worth it to me. I'd probably do it for free to avoid having more time to fill.
The guys all bug me about going out after work all the time, but I've yet to take them up on it. They've really given me a hard time about not going to the diner with them at lunch. A couple of days a week, Brandon closes up at lunch and takes the guys. So far, I've been able to come up with an excuse every time, but I know eventually they'll catch on and I'll be stuck going.
Today's been one of the days I love—so busy there isn't time to think. Of course we bullshit while we work, but we've got a lot to do and I know we won't be able to close for lunch. Brandon had some errands to run, and left me to look in on the office. Apparently, the little computer training I had in the service is far more than any of the guys here. Thankfully, there's a bell that sounds when someone comes into the lobby so I can still work while I help the customers. Ironic that I'm trying my hardest not to connect to anyone, and I'm the one stuck having to be the friendly face when people come in.
Just before noon, the bell rings and I make my way inside, unprepared to come face-to-face with the beautiful waitress from the diner. Seeing her stops me dead in my tracks, and practically cements my feet to the ground. She just stares back at me, a little nervous looking, until Ty comes barreling through the door.
"Cat got your tongue, dude? Move . . . let's get this food passed around."
"Yeah, sorry. When did the food get ordered?" I ask Ty, but my eyes never leave hers. Ty doesn't even notice that neither of us is paying attention to him, and I'm thankful. I don't need the guys to bug me about her. I need to stay away because this pull that I feel to her is dangerous. A danger I need to stay as far away from as possible.
Ty's voice breaks the silence. "Earth to Jason. Sign the slip and I'll take this out to the guys. Yours is in the bag on the counter."
I just shake my head in response.
"Dawn, are you staying to eat?" Ty asks.
What the fuck? Why would she stay to eat?
"Um . . . where's my uncle?" she replies.
"He's out for most of the day. You can stay and eat with Jason here. He's got office duty for the day."
She looks at me and, as much as I need to keep my distance, I know I can't be rude since she's clearly Brandon's niece. "Up to you," I tell her, hoping it doesn't sound rude, despite hoping she'll decide against eating with a stranger.
"I guess I could stay. You coming back in to eat with us, Ty?" Her voice is soft and so out of place here. We're all loud and gruff, typical men.
"Sorry, Dawn. Get to know Jason here, I've got to finish a few things before I can eat. See ya soon."
She says goodbye to him and goes about laying out all our food, before grabbing another stool to eat across from me on the edge of the counter. "What brought you to our tiny little town?"
This get-to-know-you session is going to make it even more difficult to stay away from her, but Brandon's been great to me and I owe it to him to be nice to his niece. "Just got out of the military and needed to figure out what to do next. Been in the Army since I was eighteen years old, I don't know anything else. A friend has a cabin at The Happy Endings Resort and it just sits empty since he's in the Army. He offered it to me until I decide where to go from here."
"Wow, I bet you have some amazing stori
es from your time in the military. Uncle Brandon was in the Marines for four years. He has a lot of funny stories, even though he didn't go overseas. He saved everything from his time, and was able to open this shop when he got out."
"I didn't know he was a vet. Guess it makes sense."
"What does?" She's legitimately interested.
"He took a chance on me, without references or contacts. I told him I was just out of the military and he hired me, no questions asked."
"Yep, that's Uncle Brandon. He is already quite trusting and kind, but if you're former military, you're family to him. It used to scare me, but he's a pretty good judge of character."
I nod in agreement. The guys here all seem pretty cool, but I hadn't realized they were all former military. I guess if I was friendlier I might have known, but I’m not gonna change.
Dawn either doesn't notice my lack of engagement in her conversation, or doesn’t care. She continues to talk, about everything and nothing all at once. When she finishes her lunch, she cleans everything up and says goodbye to me, before walking through the shop and saying goodbye to the guys. And just like that, she's gone. And I feel it, deep inside, the ache of loneliness that never goes away. Except it did, while she was here, it was noticeably absent. It's a feeling I need to forget. That feeling only leads to pain.
The rest of the work day, I'm distracted by something deep in my gut. I know it's the feelings that Dawn's presence is stirring inside me. Instead of allowing myself to think about her, I just act like an asshole to the guys. Ty doesn't say a word, just smirks at me when I get snarky. The others just keep poking me, though, all seeming to see what put me in my mood.
After work, I hit the beach for a run and then push my body to exhaustion in the ocean, and when I get home I still feel restless. I bang things around while I cook dinner and wash dishes, despite knowing it's not going to fix the mood I'm in. It isn't until I slam the cupboard so hard the door comes off the hinge that I realize I need to just go to bed and forget this day existed.
A Soldier's Dawning (The Happy Endings Resort Series Book 8) Page 3
