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Kevin is right. No therapist or support group can help men like us.
I finally break my thoughts and shake my body of the temporary tremors. I throw on some shorts and sit staring at my dresser where the phone sits. The one with Reese’s texts and photos.
I’m lost in time, thinking of the idealistic future I wish I could have. She would make a perfect wife and mother. Loyal, honest, and hardworking. She exemplifies the very definition of what perfection would be. She is a fantasy and only makes it more unattainable the more I know about her.
Screaming from the basement disrupts my thoughts, and I run to the bottom of the stairs. There Kevin lies in a puddle of sweat. Deep in memories that he will never escape. I sit and watch until he calms down. You can never determine how long these episodes will last and you should never try to interrupt them or wake that person up. Memories show themselves and the mind filters through them how it sees fit.
I walk upstairs, grabbing a cold bottle of water and aspirin, only to return to the basement and place them on the bucket next to his bed.
Leaving, I quietly shut the door behind me to allow him the privacy he will need once he wakes up from his nightmare. I lay my head against the basement door and think of how my life has become a constant battle to see the next morning.
I pull myself back to my bedroom. Lying on top of my covers and staring at the ceiling, I let my mind fantasize about her. She is a momentary relief and distraction from the rather harsh truth of reality.
I know my fate and I will work to make sure Kevin does not leave Reese to deal with this life alone.
Demons can come from what you do in this life, as well as from what you don’t do. Kevin and I are facing the consequences of our actions.
CHAPTER 10
SHOOTER
Adam
This woman is strutting up to me, and my fingers tap my thigh in anticipation.
The constant movement distracts my thoughts from the mission I need to focus on. I am taking off today to spend time with her. Inadvertently, Reese has created a whole side mission for me. She is a task, a project for me, an operation to protect.
Those goddamn barely there shorts… thank you, the devil, for creating the masterpiece before me.
I am staring at her legs, imagining how they would feel against me.
“Hey, John!” She waves, knocking me out with her smile.
“Garbage woman!” I tease. She dips her head and I can see her shoulders shake.
“That is going to stick, isn’t it?”
“You bet!”
She drops a bag at her feet and stands in front of me. Her hand sneaks into mine, the one that was tapping my thigh, and a soothing feeling falls upon my soul. I lift my other hand to cup her face, bringing her lips to mine. My eyes roll in the back of my head with that perfect scent of espresso and light cream. My tongue searches for every taste of her. Her body shifts in front of me, causing me to regret pulling away. We are here for a lesson.
I back away and she drops to the ground, pulling out her new “European football” shoes. She squats and laces them up, then digs around in her bag. I look down at her, confused. Turning to face me, she holds up a badminton rackets.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” I laugh.
“Where’s the basketball court?” She looks around.
I grab the badminton racket from her hand and toss it to the side. I shake my head at this crazy woman. She is laughing, and it’s the most carefree sound this world has heard.
“Okay, Shaq,” she tries to say. “Show me how this soccer stuff works.”
I laugh while hovering my lips over hers. “Say it right before you get a foul.”
Her breath catches. She opens and closes her mouth before she leans forward to give me another taste. I pull back from her to shake my finger in her face.
“Nope, none for you until you say it correctly.”
She rolls her eyes and pretends to be offended. She grabs my collar and pulls me close to her. “football,” she whispers before sweetly assaulting me. I’ll take it.
