Finding Purpose (Colorado Veterans Book 1)

by Tiffani Lynn

  “You’re screwing the cripple now?” Jeff accuses with all the venom he can muster.

  “I’m in love with him, Jeff. Nothing started with him until you and I were broken up. I know you can’t say the same so I don’t want to hear any bullshit from you. You’ve done enough damage here today. Time for you to go. I’ll have someone pick up my stuff from your place within the week.”

  “You’re a piece of work, Quinn. Why didn’t you just say you didn’t want to get back together because you were fucking him? At least it would be honest.”

  “I’ve been honest from the start. I didn’t think you needed it rubbed in your face that I’ve moved on. I don’t want to get married or have kids. That doesn’t change because I love someone else, Jeff.”

  “I thought you loved me.” His tone changes and he sounds like a sullen teenager.

  “I thought you loved me,” I return. “If you really loved me though, you wouldn’t have slept with anyone else no matter how long I was here taking care of my family.”

  “They’re not your family, Quincy. You were just running from life.”

  “That’s part of the reason I won’t ever get back together with you, Jeff. They’re not my family by blood, but they’re my family just the same. The fact that you don’t understand this concept tells me we never would’ve worked even if I’d stuck with you past your infidelity. Goodbye, Jeff. We’re done. Don’t come back. If I have anything of yours I’ll send it when I have Gemma pick up my stuff.” I don’t want to wait for any more of his verbal jabs so I turn and march into the house.

  Judson’s not in the living room, or kitchen, or the back porch, so I hustle to his room and knock on the closed door. He doesn’t answer, but I can hear him moving around inside. Screw this, I’m not waiting. I open the door to find him pulling on clean jeans. He must have gotten a quick shower. There are a few scratches and a bruise blooming on his face, but the dirt and blood are gone.

  “Judson,” I say. He ignores me and continues to get dressed.

  “Judson, talk to me.”

  He sits on the edge of the bed and yanks his sneakers on and stands. His gaze is cold as it locks with mine. Gone is the warmth of the afternoon and the light happiness I felt all day.

  “What’s going through your head?” I ask.

  “You let that asshole put his mouth on you!” His muscles are coiled tight. He reminds me of a snake preparing to strike.

  I use a deceptively calm voice when I reply, “I didn’t allow it. I was shocked and didn’t react. I was stopping it as you came out.”

  “Yeah, I bet getting caught ruined the moment.”

  I’d love to slap some sense into him, especially after his comment, but instead I say, “There was no moment.”

  “That’s not how it looked to me.” He steps around me and pulls the door open.

  “Judson, please don’t leave angry. Let’s talk.”

  “I have an appointment to talk to someone else.” He leaves the room in a huff and I hear the front door slam followed by the door to his truck. Thank goodness Ms. Polly is with her lady friends today. I would have died of embarrassment if she saw any of what went on here just now.

  I pick up his discarded clothes off the floor, pulling the T-shirt to my nose. I take a big whiff and close my eyes, allowing the smell of Judson to relax me. Even in college when we were just friends, the smell of him when he’d hug me, or when I’d sleep against his shoulder on the bus rides to competitions, or even just sitting in close quarters in his truck would always calm me. I was so high-strung during that period in my life. I lived for those moments when his scent would overtake me and work as a natural relaxer.

  I combine his clothes with mine and run a load of laundry. Then I take my book to the back porch and read while I wait for him to return, praying the whole time that he won’t find a bar between the counselor and home. I’m also hoping he’ll be calm enough to talk to me and hear me out.

  Chapter Ten

  Judson

  I arrive at the counselor’s office pissed as hell. Every muscle in my body is strung tight. I’d like to pound a little more on someone, but since that’s not an option I guess I’ll sit on the couch and get my head shrunk.

  Dave opens the door to usher me in. His eyes sweep me from head to toe and his brows hit his hairline. “I think we may have to skip what was on the agenda and cover new material.” His voice holds a light tone, but I can tell by the look that crosses his face he understands how tightly wound I am at this moment.

  “Have a seat, Judson.” He waves his hand at the wingback chair on the other side of the room. I sit down, my body dwarfing the chair.

  “So, I can tell something is going on. Let’s forget everything else this visit was supposed to entail and talk about what’s going on right now with you.”

  “I got in a fight.” I sit, waiting for his judgment, but find none.

  “Go on. Start from the beginning.” He sets the pen and pad he usually takes notes with on his lap and steeples his fingers in front of his lips, waiting for me to tell him.

  “I don’t know where to start.”

  “Who did you fight?”

  “My girlfriend’s ex.”

  “I wasn’t aware you had a girlfriend.”

  “It’s new. Well…not new. It’s old. Well…not old. We’re old friends. From college. Her name is Quincy.”

  I give him the Cliffs Notes version of my relationship with Quincy, dating all the way back to the beginning. Once I’m finished he asks, “You got in a fight? A physical altercation?”

  “Yeah, he had his hands and lips on her, which started it and then he called me a cripple, told me that I wasn’t man enough for a woman like her because I came back from war half a man. I lost it. It was a good fight. My balance isn’t great so I ended up on my back but in the end I kicked his ass.”

  “Did it feel good to release some of what’s built up inside?”

  What? His question surprises me. I didn’t expect him to ask that. I nod because honestly it felt really good to hit that asshole.

  “Does this guy live here in town?”

  “No, he’s a cop out of Denver. So is Quinn, it’s how they met.”

  “You assaulted a cop?”

  “No, I assaulted a man who had his mouth on my woman. He just happens to be a cop.”

  “Okay. I won’t touch that statement for the moment. Do you think she still wants him?”

  “I don’t know. He has both legs and no visible scars I could see. He’s a cop with a future and I’m a drunken loser with no clue how to run my life. It’s not looking good for me.”

  “Where is she now?” He looks up at me as his long skinny fingers grip his pen again, ready to take notes.

  “When I left, she was still at the house where we’re staying.”

  “Where was the cop?” His eyes hold mine for several long seconds.

  “He left before I did.”

  “If you could go back in time would you change it?”

  “No, I’d never regret her.”

  “Not her. The fight with the cop.”

  Shaking my head, I answer, “Oh. No, that douchebag deserved it.”

  He sets his pen down and asks, “So, why do you look so mad?”

  I exhale and let my head fall to the back of the chair. I close my eyes as I sort through the jumbled mess of shit in my head. “Because I wonder if the asshole is right. I wonder if he’s better for her, can give her more, can take care of her better. I’m a broken man, both inside and out, and she deserves better. So much better.” I chew on the inside of my lip as I shift my focus from him to the seam of my jeans.

  “What does she have to say about the whole thing?”

  “I don’t know. She said she didn’t kiss him back. Then I left.” I shrug.

  He leans forward with his elbows to his knees. “Judson, you need to talk to her and listen to what she says. Really listen. Relationships are complicated in the best of circumstances, but with how closed o
ff you are emotionally, it could be even worse. Does she know about the prescriptions and alcohol?”

  “Yes. She had her own issues when we were in college. I think I mentioned that. She’s been clean and sober for almost 11 years. She’s encouraging me to get help. She understands all of that and even seems to have a good handle on me in this messy emotional place I’m caught in. I can’t give up the chance to have her this time. I’m afraid though that I fucked it up by getting in the fight.”

  “The key to any relationship is communication. I realize it’s not your forte, but if you want this to work, you’ll have to figure out a way to talk to her and share your feelings. No relationship can grow without talking through the rough stuff and listening to the other person. It’s very important that you work on this. My primary concern is to help you cope with your new reality, without drugs and alcohol. I’m here to help you express your feelings, instead of suppressing them, and to encourage you to make plans for the future. It’s hard to move away from the past without a clear vision of what’s ahead. At the next visit, we’ll briefly revisit today so I can keep a handle on how things are progressing. Then we’ll continue with the story of the accident. Once we’ve covered it all, we’ll dig in deeper to the important things I see that need to be dealt with.

  “For now, I want you to start with better communication. With your mom, with Quincy, your brother and whoever else is in your life. Try saying what you feel out loud instead of being stoic and quiet. It doesn’t make you a pussy to have and share feelings. Even big bad war vets like us need to let it out and the people in our lives who matter the most need to hear it. I learned that the hard way from my wife.

  “The best quote I can give you is not one of mine. It comes from one of my favorite movies and it’s perfect for you and your situation. ‘Get busy living or get busy dying’ It’s actually from The Shawshank Redemption but I’m sure you can see how that applies to you. Every time you’re faced with a scenario where you want to retreat emotionally I want you to repeat that to yourself. I know you want to live. It’s time you show it to everyone else, including yourself.”

  He places the pen and paper on the little table to his right. “One more thing. If everything you’ve told me about Quincy is accurate then she doesn’t need you to take care of her. She’s taken care of herself for years. Think about it.” He stands and says, “I’ll see you on Monday.”

  I stride out of his office to the safety of my truck. I know he’s right. If I want things to work with Quinn, I have to open up and figure out a way to express myself that doesn’t leave me looking like a caveman. I hated the look on her face tonight as I left the house. Now that I’ve settled down I realize she didn’t do anything wrong, but looking out to see his mouth connected to hers had me seeing a shade of red I didn’t know existed. I just wanted to end him so I didn’t have to look at his smug face again or worry about his return. If her voice wasn’t screaming for me to stop, I’m not sure I would have.

  The guy is a total dick. She can do much better than him even if it isn’t me, but there’s not going to be anyone else. She’s mine. I’ve fantasized about her for years and I’m not about to give up now because that jerk showed up trying to get her back. If I were a better man I’d give her up so she can have a man who isn’t broken, both inside and out. I’m not a better man though. I’m a selfish bastard and I’ll keep her as long as she’ll let me.

  When I pull back into the driveway I find the porch light on and the garage door closed. Ms. Polly must be home now. I’m nervous she’s heard all about the little brawl in her yard today and I’m not sure how she’ll take the news. I throw my shoulders back and limp my way into the house. That little skirmish earlier left me with a more pronounced limp than usual and it’s pissing me off.

  The sound of voices is coming from the kitchen and when I enter the room Quinn and Ms. Polly stop talking and look at me. Quinn watches me with weary eyes, but doesn’t say a word. I can’t tell if she’s afraid of me or mad at me. Ms. Polly’s expression is very easy to read. She’s pissed. I open my mouth to say hello and Ms. Polly’s hand comes up to stop me.

  “Don’t say a word, Judson Rivers. I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen.” She glances at Quinn. “Can you excuse us, Quincy? I’d like to speak with him in private.”

  Quinn nods her head once and rounds the counter, passing me in the doorway. I grab her arm to stop her. When her eyes meet mine, I see the hurt and confusion swirling behind them and I can’t take the feeling it gives me so I pull her into my body and hug her tight. I place a gentle kiss on her hair and let her go. She doesn’t look at me again as she hurries down the hall. I watch until she’s closed herself into her room.

  Ms. Polly asks, “Are you hungry?”

  I nod, wary, “A little, I guess.” The calm before the storm is a scary place to be with women, and that’s definitely where I am in this scenario, sitting in the calm.

  “Well, you need to eat. Let me warm a plate up for you and then we’re going to chat.”

  I don’t argue. I open the refrigerator, pull out some Tupperware and scoop the contents onto a plate. She puts it in the microwave, pours me a glass of milk and sets it on the table. Once the food is ready, I remove it from the microwave and sit down. She plants herself across from me and asks, “Are you a damn fool, boy?”

  My eyes widen and I sit up straight. I chew my food and swallow, ready to ask what exactly she’s referring too. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her cuss before. This ought to be interesting.

  “Don’t answer that. It was rhetorical. The answer is yes, you’re a damn fool. It’s not the fighting I’m talking about either.” She leans back in her chair and crosses her arms over her chest.

  I tilt my head, confused by what she’s referring to, and her eyes narrow on me.

  “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m not mad about the fight. Jeff had that coming. Gene and I have never been big fans of his. I almost wish I’d been here to see you kick his butt. I’ll just have to watch the playback on the security footage.” She chuckles a little and then clears her throat before she gets back on track. “If you don’t get your stuff straight you’re going to lose the best thing that’s ever happened to you.” She points in the direction of Quinn’s room and continues, “That girl was made for you and you know it. You should tell her every day that you love her and all the reasons why. You should take her out to eat and buy her flowers and shower her with presents. She deserves everything. Most of all, you should give her your heart. She needs that.”

  “I don’t know how,” I confess in a low voice, ashamed that I have no idea how to do that. “I’ve never been good with this kind of stuff, but I don’t want to lose her.” I can’t even look at Ms. Polly as I share this. My face burns with shame as I stare at my plate.

  “Let me tell you a little something about that old tough-as-nails husband of mine. He never sent me flowers. He rarely bought me jewelry. He never took me dancing or to fancy romantic dinners, but every day he was home he left me a little note taped to the mirror, telling me one thing he loved about me. He did it all the way up until the day before he died. He had to have Quincy put them up there toward the end, but he still wrote them. Over the years there were repeats, but it didn’t matter. It was more the commitment it took to do such a simple little thing for me, and the idea that every day he thought of something he loved about me. It’s all I ever needed in the way of romance. He was like you, terrible about sharing his feelings out loud, but he could write them. When he was deployed I got lovely romantic letters from him once a week and at the bottom of the letter would be a list of things he loved about me. Again, he showed the commitment and the thought. When he was home he never missed a chance to kiss me or hold my hand. It’s the little things that count with you tough guys. I don’t care if you steal his idea or you find your own, but you’d better figure out something.”

  I nod. “I’ll work on it.”

  She rea
ches over and pats my hand, gifting me with a motherly smile. “I know you will. Now tell me about clocking that jerk in the face. Quincy said she thinks his nose is broken.” I can’t help but laugh at Ms. Polly. It’s obvious she’s never used those exact words before and they were hilarious coming out of her mouth. She probably heard them on one of her soap operas or something. She looks thrilled by the notion of Jeff having a broken nose.

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s broken. I heard the crunch. I think there’s blood on my shirt. I probably need to wash it.” She squeezes my hand and removes my dirty plate.

  “Quincy already washed it.” She winks and shuffles to the sink.

  I hobble over to where she’s washing my dish and kiss her wrinkled cheek. “Thank you for the advice and dinner. I’m going to take her out for a little while. Don’t wait up.”

  My hip is becoming more sore by the minute so I stop in the bathroom to take some Tylenol, praying it will take the edge off the pain. Then I knock on Quincy’s door.

  “Come in,” she calls to me. I peek my head in and ask, “Can you slip on some shoes and take a ride with me?” She stares at me. I wiggle my fingers at her. “Come on, Quinn. We need to talk and I want to show you something.” She releases a heavy breath and sets her book down.

  Ten minutes later we’re in my truck driving down a dark country road. When we reach an old barn I turn left down a narrow trail and drive a quarter mile into an abandoned field. I stop and turn off the truck. I open the door and climb out, round the hood and open the passenger door for her. It’s so dark I can barely see in front of me. It’s a new moon tonight so it’s even darker than usual. I help her down. She doesn’t say anything but latches onto my arm with a death grip I didn’t realize she was capable of. I lead her to the back of my truck, drop the tailgate and spread out the blanket we used for our picnic earlier. Then I lift her into the bed and climb up beside her to lie down.