The Hotshot

by Myra Scott

  “How long?” I asked.

  She cocked her head to one side and gave me a sympathetic look. To her credit, though, I didn’t perceive even an ounce of pity. I appreciated that. Sympathy was hard enough, but pity? Nothing unraveled me quite like pity.

  “Recovering from trauma is sometimes a lifelong journey,” she told me honestly. “But that’s okay. I know it may sound rather daunting to know that this isn’t just some easy fix, but you have to understand that the human psyche is a delicate thing. You have to treat it with care. And yet, despite being delicate, it is also resilient. It’s flexible. You don’t have to live with the same level of tension and fear as you do now. Things can change. You can change. But it won’t happen instantaneously. It takes time.”

  “So, what do you suggest I try if the meditation stuff doesn’t work for me?” I inquired. I was trying desperately to keep my cool and not let her little explanation get to me. I didn’t want to be fighting off my trauma for the rest of my mortal life. I wanted to cure it now. The idea of dealing with the repercussions of that fateful day at the burning bungalow forever was almost too soul-crushing to bear.

  “Well, first of all, I know you don’t want to hear this, but I would like it if you would continue to give the meditation a try. Just humor me. And think of it this way: it can’t possibly make it worse. It’s a free and easy way to potentially take yourself out of a dark moment and remind yourself that life will go on, and you will be okay,” she told me.

  I sighed. “Fine. I will give it another go. But is there anything else that might work… faster?” I asked, shrugging exasperatedly.

  She smiled softly. “There’s always medication. Do you think you would be open to trying that? In our first meeting, you told me flat out that you would rather not.”

  “I still feel pretty much the same way as I did then. If I can avoid it, that’s what I want. I don’t want to be reliant on some pill to keep me sane,” I said, bristling at the mere idea.

  “Casey, I won’t force you to try medication. Or meditation. Or anything. I will work with you to find the right treatment, okay? You can trust me on that. I won’t pressure you too far, but I need to know that you are open to some new ideas,” Dr. Waltham said.

  “I’m open. I’m just also a little hesitant,” I admitted.

  “I know. And I totally get that. Which is why I want you to work on something for me.”

  “What is it?” I asked, frowning suspiciously.

  “Don’t worry, it’s not anything dramatic. I just want you to promise me you’ll step out of your comfort zone from time to time, okay? Doesn’t have to be a big leap, just a little step. Does that sound like something you could do?” she offered.

  I chewed it over, wondering what exactly she meant. “I would be open to that, of course. I don’t want to live in fear. I’m a firefighter. I can’t be shying away from danger. It’s my entire job to be fearless and selfless,” I explained.

  My therapist raised an eyebrow and fixed me with a quizzical stare. “That’s very noble of you, Casey, but you do know that it’s not entirely up to you to save the world, yes?” she asked.

  I felt defensive suddenly. “Not the whole world, no. Just my little community.”

  Her face softened. “Even that is a pretty hefty burden to take on one’s shoulders alone.”

  “I don’t think of it as a burden. Just a duty. A responsibility,” I countered.

  “And what would happen if one day you had to stop doing your job?” she added.

  I felt my heart sink instantly at the mere thought. “I… would not like that. I would feel like a loser. Like I had failed everybody,” I confessed with a shrug.

  She tapped her clipboard with a pen, nodding. “Yes. See. That is exactly what I’m trying to get at here. You don’t have to be a martyr, Casey.”

  “A martyr? I’m not trying to sacrifice myself, I just have a duty to uphold,” I protested.

  “I know. And you want to save everybody all the time. I know you’re good at your job. I know you have a good heart. But let me tell you something: you cannot pour from an empty glass. You cannot give and give and give endlessly because eventually you run out of anything to give. You have to look out for yourself every now and then,” she explained.

  “I take care of myself. I work out regularly and I eat pretty healthy,” I said.

  “Yes, but you need to take care of yourself spiritually, too,” she replied.

  “Spiritually? I mean, I’m not exactly religious,” I noted, starting to worry that she was about to evangelize to me or something. But she only chuckled.

  “I don’t mean spiritual in the church way, I mean spiritual in the psychological well-being kind of way,” Dr. Waltham corrected. “I need you to take a breather from time to time. Do something nice for yourself. I want you to be selfish.”

  “Selfish?” I repeated, wrinkling my nose.

  She nodded emphatically. “Yes. Do what you need to do for yourself, not for anyone else. If that means taking a day off to relax in your PJs and watch cooking shows, so be it. If it means saying no to a favor someone asks of you because you’re worn out and you just want to recharge for a while, do it. Now, I’m not saying you have to turn into a total douchebag who only looks out for himself. I know that runs totally opposite to your personality. You’re a good person, Casey, but you’re going to burn out if you don’t slow down a little.”

  “Well, speaking of that, I’m actually taking some time off of work right now,” I told her, rolling my eyes. “Not by choice, of course.”

  “Oh, that’s great!” she said, grinning. “You may not feel like you can give yourself permission to relax just yet, but you should take advantage of this opportunity. Do what pleases you. Get out there. Enjoy yourself. The job will still be waiting for you when you’re done.”

  “It just feels like I’m missing out on something,” I admitted after a pause. “Like I’m being sidelined just as the most crucial play of the season is about to start.”

  “You were an athlete in high school, weren’t you?” she asked, a little bemused.

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “And you were the MVP, I bet?”

  I felt my cheeks turning red. “Y-Yes.”

  “Casey, let me ask you something. How long have you felt this way? Like you have to carry the whole world on your shoulders?” she asked, leaning forward to listen closely.

  I thought about it for a moment, then answered, “I don’t know. I think I’ve just always been like this. I feel responsible for… well, everything. I want to fix things. It’s part of why I studied woodworking at tech school. I like to build things. Mend things that are broken. And it’s why I like baking, too. If I follow the steps, the science will bear it out. I can do it perfectly if I just pay attention. I like to be right. I like to do things right.”

  “What if I told you there is more than one way to do things right?” she suggested.

  I smirked. “I would probably argue with you on that.”

  She laughed gently. “I know you would. You have difficulty relinquishing control.”

  “Is it that obvious?” I asked, almost amused now myself.

  “Well, to be fair, it is my job to read people,” she assured me. “Not to change the subject, but how have you been sleeping lately?”

  I shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

  “Had any more nightmares?” she prompted, picking up her pen and clipboard.

  “Nothing too crazy. Just the usual dreams about high school, mostly. And sometimes I do still dream about… the bungalow,” I admitted.

  “When you wake up from these dreams, how do you feel?”

  “Restless. Tired. Maybe a little anxious,” I said uncomfortably.

  “That’s okay. You need to let yourself feel those feelings as cheesy as it may sound. And when you get past it, you’ll feel
better. More in control of your thoughts,” she promised me.

  “Alright,” I agreed.

  “Good, good. Okay, well, time is up for the day. I’m going to assign you some easy homework for the next few weeks until you see me next. I want you to find something you can do for yourself that is totally selfish. Totally just for you. Indulge yourself. Treat yourself. In a big way or a small way, I don’t care. But take this time to really care for yourself, Casey. Oh, and keep working on that meditation for me, too,” she added as she stood up.

  I got to my feet and nodded. “Okay. I will certainly try.”

  “Great,” she said, smiling. She opened the door and let me out. “See you in a few weeks.”

  “See you,” I replied as the door closed.

  As I walked out of the building and into the parking lot, I took out my phone. I’d had it on silent during the session, and when I opened the screen I was surprised to see a couple of messages waiting for me on the dating app I had downloaded earlier today. My heart skipped a beat. I got into my car and opened the messages, my heart racing a mile a minute. The initial message read:

  Hey, it’s Luke! From the other night. I can’t believe I found you here, man.

  I scrolled down to see the second message:

  Look, this may seem a little forward, but I was wondering if you might like to attend a charity event with me. It’s not some stuffy gala or anything, don’t worry. It’s a rock concert being held at my workplace, Sentry Casino. It’s kind of a pet project of mine and it would be amazing if you could come with me for moral support. And yes, it would be a date, if that isn’t clear already. What do you think? I would love to see you again.

  I stared at the message in shock for a few seconds before hammering out a quick reply:

  Wow, that is quite an offer. I will definitely think about it and let you know.

  CHAPTER TWELVE - LUKE

  The next two weeks had me feeling like I was in high school again, and to my surprise, that was a good feeling.

  Casey and I had been talking back and forth almost nonstop since we connected on the site. With Casey, I quickly realized I had a near bottomless supply of things I wanted to talk about with him, and he always had something to say in return that told me he wanted me to feed him more.

  Every day, I woke up with something new in my head to share.

  Some mornings, he would have something to start the conversation, but for the most part, it was clear that I was the one pursuing him. And that was fine with me—I liked being the one in control where it was possible, and Casey seemed more than happy to indulge that. The only way things could have felt better was if he was willing to meet in person.

  But that was the one thing I could not get him to do. I wasn’t being overly forward—I would never ask him explicitly to meet with me, because I figured that would scare him off. Instead, I dropped hints that were painfully obvious.

  For example, we’d talk about our favorite hangouts in the area, like cafes and restaurants. I talked about a fantastic pan au lait and espresso I had at a coffee shop not far off the strip, and Casey said that sounded amazing. So, I said that I’d have to buy him something there sometime.

  But whenever I tried to steer the conversation toward a physical meetup, he’d either pretend to get busy suddenly or change the subject altogether. I got the hint.

  And yet, he kept talking.

  He was a puzzle that got more frustrating by the day, and that just made me all the more interested in him. If there was one thing I couldn’t resist, it was a puzzle that I couldn’t figure out, and Casey was dripping with mystery.

  This morning, I had the day off, so I took my time in getting up and heading to the kitchen to start making breakfast. Within a few minutes, the room smelled like smoky bacon and fresh coffee, and I felt the stress of the week melting away by the minute.

  Breakfast was one of those times where I felt like I had sanctuary from the world around me. I wasn’t a great cook by any stretch of the imagination, but I liked time to myself to do simple tasks, unwinding from the hectic life I led.

  I pulled out my phone as I poured my first mug of coffee, and my heart skipped a beat when I saw a message from Casey on it within the past hour.

  So, what’s for breakfast on a day off? It asked playfully. I’d told him about my day off, of course, but he’d carefully deflected any offers I’d made to get together.

  I stepped back and took a picture of the kitchen layout, making sure to include the stovetop and the eggs and bacon sizzling deliciously on it. I sent the picture to him with the caption Not pictured: too much black coffee!

  Within a few seconds, he replied.

  Omg, I love that oven!

  I smirked and typed a reply. LOL is the food that bad looking?

  Hahaha no the eggs look good too. I just don’t see many retro-style red ovens these days. Show me the rest of the kitchen!

  I stood way back and took a picture of the whole room, complete with all the counter space, my minibar, the massive fridge, and every other amenity that I considered essential.

  Less than a minute after I sent it to him, he sent me back an emoji with hearts in its eyes, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

  Oh, so all I have to do to lure you out of your cave is show you a picture of my kitchen? I’ll trade selfies for pics of the inside of the fridge, you know.

  Nice try! My place is a studio, so basically anything is an upgrade from this. But that chef’s kitchen you’ve got going on, oh my GOD! Tell me you cook!

  I only have time for the bare essentials. Casinos don’t run themselves, haha. You?

  I’m constantly baking. I have a little bit of a problem hahaha.

  Wow, way to show me up :p

  Hey, I might not have a big cozy casino tower to look down from, but at least I have damn good muffins coming out of my oven.

  I’d barely touched my coffee all this time. My eyes were glued to the screen, and my face was stuck in a stupid grin. I liked this guy a lot, no matter what he was saying. But baking was a little unexpected. From someone as big and muscular as him, I was expecting a more intensive hobby like carpentry or something. Again, Casey was full of surprises.

  I looked around my home and thought about sending him another picture of... anything. I wanted to hear his thoughts on my living space; the way I arranged things; the way I styled the interior; and so much more. But as I raised the phone to take a picture of the living room, I frowned.

  I wanted more, and I wanted to tell him so.

  You could have a lot more than muffins coming out of my oven if you popped over here for a visit, you know. ;)

  Heart pounding, I drank my coffee in almost a single gulp before tearing into my food. With just me at the apartment, I didn’t bother with the big dining table I had, nor even taking a seat at all. I just leaned against the counter and devoured the protein-rich breakfast, gazing out the window at the morning sunlight bathing the city.

  I made a point not to check my phone while I ate, and unsurprisingly, when I checked it after I’d finished there was no new message from Casey. I rolled my eyes.

  How long was he going to play this game with me?

  I didn’t mind being played with because I knew exactly what he was doing. He was shy, and it was the easiest thing in the world for him to dance around my advances. But he never stopped altogether.

  He wanted me, and I wanted him. It was just a matter of time.

  I held my thumbs over the keypad, wondering what else to type to push him just a little further. But to my surprise, just as I was about to start typing, I saw him start to write something.

  After waiting, his message appeared, and my heart did a somersault.

  Hmm, that does sound like fun, but only if you promise baking will be involved!

  I grinned. It didn’t seem like much, but with someo
ne as hard to get as Casey, I felt like walking on clouds. I typed out a reply.

  I think I see a nice German chocolate cake in our future, or maybe something simpler, like zucchini bread. Are you a petit fours kind of guy?

  HOW COULD I NOT BE?

  I laughed out loud at his reply as I made my way to the shower and started to strip, feeling my heart pounding in my chest.

  Doing this over an app felt so strange, but at the same time, I realized it was probably the only way I’d get a guy like Casey to come out of his shell this much. It made him feel comfortable and safe, and that made me feel better about, well, everything.

  Gonna jump into the shower, but when I get out, let’s make some solid plans ;)

  I started running the hot water, my naked body reflected in the bathroom’s foggy mirror, and I heard my phone buzz on the counter just before I got in.

  Oooh, I want to see!

  I paused for a moment, thoughtfully chewing on my lip, then picked up the towel and stood at the entrance to the shower. I held the phone camera up and angled it down so it showed my naked body, rippling muscles from my shoulders to my abdomen, all just barely glistening from the humidity in the room. I held the towel so that it nearly covered my half-swollen shaft. Behind me, there was a view of the shower’s spacious interior in the shot. I wore a cocky smile on my face as I snapped the picture and sent it to him.

  I decided to leave the phone on the counter with that as I stepped into the shower to wait for his response.

  As I let the hot water run over my body and warm my muscles, all I could think about was having him in there with me. I had a big shower because it was one of those things I always wanted when I was younger, but the house my family lived in only had one of those tiny standing showers that didn’t let you spread out. So, when I moved to Vegas with the starting salary the Sentry offered, first priority was a big shower.