Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 34800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
“We’re almost there,” I said, cupping his elbow too. “What branch are you in? You’re not on deployment. You’re home.”
He coughed and clenched his jaw, and he went back to rubbing at his chest.
I ushered him behind a large thicket of conifers before I put my hands on his shoulders. I didn’t know why, but something told me he needed to be grounded rather than given more personal space.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
He was a big guy, taller than me by at least two or three inches, and he had the muscles to go with it. Maybe a little older than me too.
He swallowed and coughed again. “G-Greer.”
“Okay, Greer—you havin’ a flashback?”
He nodded jerkily.
“Active duty?”
Another nod.
“I want you to hold your breath, Greer,” I told him. “Just hold it. It’ll shift your focus.”
He hauled in another breath.
“That’s great.” I rubbed his shoulders firmly. “You don’t strike me as Navy or Air Force, so I’m gonna guess Army or Marines. Another guess—you’re seein’ desert or mountain terrain everywhere.” He reacted when he was sprayed with beach sand. “No matter. You’re outside DC right now. Plenty of cute guys in the pool. You smell the grass? Can you hear the sprinklers just turned on next door?”
He exhaled harshly and scrubbed his hands over his face.
“One more breath, Greer,” I coaxed. “A deep breath—hold it. And if you can, let it out slowly when you need to.”
He was getting there.
I rubbed his arms next, keeping my touch firm and measured. “That’s it. You’re at a pool party with a ridiculous Christmas theme. There’s a cold beer with your name on it as soon as you’re up for it.”
A breath gusted out of him, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is f-fuckin’ stupid.”
Oh boy. He was not going down that road on my watch.
“I know,” I replied. “Who the fuck uses sprinklers in the middle of the day?”
He huffed and took a step back. “I’m okay. I’ll be okay.” He swallowed and hung his head, and his hands ended up low on his hips. “Fuckin’ hell.”
I folded my arms over my chest and kept watching him. I wasn’t leaving until he felt okay. But he was heading in the right direction, so that was good.
He let out a long breath and tried to relax. He rolled his shoulders a bit and loosened his stance.
“Want me to go get you somethin’ to drink?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Maybe later. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
He inhaled deeply through his nose and tilted his head up, eyes closed. The sun shone down on him.
“I’ve been lucky,” he said, his voice warm but hoarse. “I haven’t had a nightmare since my first deployment. But every now and then—fuck, it’s like I’m right back there.”
I got it. The flashbacks could suck ass.
A while later, he was back in control. He blinked and glanced around us, then met my gaze. He was definitely tired.
“You seem to know what you’re doin’.”
I offered a one-shoulder shrug. “I know my way around flashbacks.”
He nodded with a dip of his chin. “You still in?”
“Oh no, I got out.” Kind of. Technically. I extended my hand. “I’m Reese.”
“Nice to meet you.” He shook my hand. “I appreciate you gettin’ me outta there.”
“Anytime.” I scratched my bicep absently. “Do you have a partner here you want me to go get, or…?”
“Nah. I was supposed to come here with a buddy, but he had to cancel,” he answered. “I don’t think I’ll stick around much longer. Watchin’ brats get sand up their asses is only fun for so long. I was hoping there’d be more for Sadists here.”
Dude. Tell me about it.
“I feel you. The majority of the events I go to are a disappointment in that area,” I said. “But we gotta keep lookin’, right?” I nodded toward the backyard, not quite ready to let him go yet. “Come grab a beer with me. I’ll introduce you to my brother and a buddy of ours. We’re lurkin’ in the back.”
He only hesitated for a quick beat, and I couldn’t blame him. But we could probably shield him from social interaction if that’s what he worried about. Then he could head out and get some rest when I knew he was in a better mood.
“A beer doesn’t sound bad,” he answered.
“Fantastic. Where are you stationed, by the way?” I assumed he was home on leave or something like that.
“I just left South Carolina,” he replied. “Started my three-year-stint as a DI in ’04, but the place was a shitshow and I was transferred back so we could head overseas.” In other words, he was a Marine. “Things have settled down a bit now, thankfully.”
I nodded in understanding. “But you’re not from the South originally, am I right?” There was no mistaking the New York accent, though he’d definitely been influenced by his time in South Carolina.