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“PTSD,” he said. “I’m a certified nut.”
“From being in the Marines?”
“From being a POW, yeah.” He was silent a moment. “Why are you such a dick to your girl?”
“I just…have a nasty temper. I used to drink to make up for it.”
“Not anymore?”
“That’s the one thing she’d leave me for,” I admitted. “If I drink, she’s gone.”
“And that’s enough to keep you off it?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Well, mostly. I’ve fucked up but just once.”
“She forgave you?”
“She did.”
Arden pondered a minute.
“I don’t think Lia would be so forgiving if she knew I was still in the business.”
“If she’s anything like Raine, she’d have your balls.”
Arden laughed.
“Sounds like they are a lot alike,” Arden mused.
I had the feeling we were both thinking it, but neither of us said anything about how that probably meant he and I were a lot alike as well. I thought about how he fought—as if none of the blows I’d made to his face mattered. Arden really believed that as long as he was alive, there was still a chance.
If we were so much alike, why wasn’t I thinking the same thing? I wasn’t dead yet, dammit. I was just in a totally fucking hopeless situation with no conceivable way out. I’d been in similar situations before.
“Fuck that,” I muttered.
“What?”
I didn’t answer him.
Reaching down with my hand, I dug at the space near my hip. It was nearly frozen solid, and I couldn’t get much of the ice awa
y from my body. I placed both hands against the frozen ground and tried to push myself out of the hole, but I couldn’t get enough leverage, and my legs wouldn’t budge.
Pain rippled through my left calf as I tried harder. As I attempted to move, it became clear that my leg was not only broken but also turned backward at a nasty angle, further securing itself inside the bank of ice and rock below.
Exhausted, I dropped my head back in the snow and tried to breathe through my nose. I could hear Arden behind me, shuffling against the ice, but he wasn’t trying anymore either.
He kept thinking about giving up; I could see it in his eyes.
Normally, that would have been good news for me, but I didn’t feel particularly happy about his predicament. Maybe I was just too tired to give a shit anymore, but the idea of beating his head in wasn’t as attractive as it had been an hour ago.
“I want a fucking cigarette,” Arden said suddenly.
I laughed. I paused for a moment and then dug through my pockets. I had three smokes wrapped up in a plastic baggie—my usual emergency supply—and I pulled two of them out. Moving my torn facemask to the side, I stuck both Marlboros in my mouth. I grabbed one of the matches from the bag and leaned down into the hole and away from the wind to strike it against the rock. I ran the flame across the ends of each cigarette until they blazed.
Reaching out over my shoulder, I handed one to Evan.
“Damn,” he said, genuinely surprised. “Thanks.”
