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Chapter Ten
Niko
My fists poundon the heavy wooden door of a house I visited once about ten years ago. Regardless of that fact, I could find it in my sleep. Not because it’s in the same neighborhood I grew up in, but because I’ve found myself driving past it on more than one occasion when I visited home. I never found the courage to pull over and stop by for a chat, though. My words ran together in my head so fast they made me sick; I didn’t think I could get them out.
I knock again. This time harder—the echoing boom more than loud enough to wake the sleeping resident. As my fist swings to make contact a third time, a voice calls from inside.
“You’d better get the fuck back in your vehicle and drive off if you know what’s good for you. I’ve got a gun, and I’m not afraid to use it.”
My throat dries at hearing a voice I’ve only heard through a cell phone inbox for nearly a decade. So much so, when I respond, only a single word scrapes up my throat. “Reece.”
Metal scrapes on metal and then the heavy door swings inward a foot.
“What do you want?”
“You gonna shoot me?” I ask. I don’t know why. I’m not trying to be funny, but the mood is too damn tense.
Something stops him from slamming the door in my face. Could be the way I look or the sound of my voice, I’m not sure. Whatever he perceives is enough to make him swing the door open farther and lean out. “Are you all right?”
“There were gunshots.” That singular thought is enough to make my stomach cramp again. Something that troubles me at the same time it ticks me the hell off.
Reece rolls his eyes and scoffs. “You’re a police officer. That’s nothing new.”
“At our old house. Reece, I haven’t heard gunshots there in at least a decade. It just… fuck.” I reach back and run a hand over the back of my neck. I’m tense again, and the sweats have returned.
He regards me without giving away a hint of what he’s thinking. Without acknowledging what I said, he swings his front door open the rest of the way and turns into the house. “Want a beer?” he calls back to me, and I take that as my cue to follow him inside.
I shut the door gently behind me and flip the lock. “Um, sure. Whatever you have is fine.”
As the sound of bottles clanking comes from the kitchen, I use the moment alone to unobtrusively take in his living room. Pictures line the mantel over an old brick fireplace. I can’t tell if it’s been updated to look old or if it is so old that it’s back in style. I can’t remember what the fireplace was like the one time I was here. Hell, if I’d been asked, I probably wouldn’t have remembered he had one. I take a step closer to inspect the pictures. Our family. Every single one of them holds members of our family. Even my face is present, which shocks the shit out of me. You’d think after not speaking for as long as we have, he wouldn’t have put them up.
The sound of his footsteps serves as an early warning, and I step back from the photographs. He hands me a cold beer, and I give him a chin lift. “Thanks.” I take a swig, the cool liquid soothing my dry throat.
“PTSD,” Reece announces abruptly. I suddenly suck my beer down the wrong pipe.
“What?” I barely manage to choke out.
“You’ve got PTSD.”
I straighten at his words, and even though I’m still catching my breath, I manage, “Who made you a psychiatrist?”
He shrugs, taking a pull off his own beer. “Don’t need to be one to see that’s what this is. Why else would you wake me in the middle of the night because you heard gunshots?”
“It’s not that. I’ve been on the force for twelve years, first as a cop, now as a detective. If I had PTSD, I’d have quit my job a long time ago. Hell, I wouldn’t have even been able to do it.”
Reece shakes his head, that fire I used to know so well lighting up his eyes. “That’s not the case. It’s different when you’re chasing a criminal who’s shooting at you and you can see exactly what’s going on. Not so easy to put it in a box when you hear random gunshots right outside your house in the middle of the night.”
I clench my teeth, trying to hold back from going off. “How’d you know they were right outside my house?”
With his beer, he gestures toward the end table in the corner of the room near the couch. I follow his direction with my eyes, and there, on the top, sits an old police scanner.
“Dad’s?”
Reece just nods.
“Right. Back to the matter at hand, I’m still not going to agree with you.”
“Yeah?” he challenges. “Why’re you here then?”
