Chapter 6
Chapter Six
“ S loan. Come into my office, huh?”
“Yessir.” Shit. The police chief, who was a big, buff guy named Frank Martin, rarely called someone into his office. Sloan had learned a lot about his coworkers in the last three weeks, and he tried not to wince as Jeff closed the door and waved him to a chair.
“Is something wrong with my work, sir?” he asked, taking the damn bull by the horns. He knew there was nothing wrong, dammit. So this had to be about something personal.
“No. Nothing wrong at all. You are by the book all the way. Ex-military like me. We always toe the line.”
“I certainly try.” Not that there was much chance to screw up around this place. Not much in the way of crime. “So what’s this about, if I may be blunt?”
“I just want to get to know you a little, Sloan. I’ve barely seen you since you started work.”
He raised his eyebrows, but the ball was in Frank’s court. He didn’t want to misstep. Not even a bit.
“So, I hear rumors that you’re not here to stay.”
“Is that so?” Shit. Had someone up in Santa Fe blabbed that he was just on a leave of absence? The only person here he’d told that was Lance.
“It is. Now, as your boss, I know that’s none of my business. But as someone who’s concerned about the guys he works with, I just wanted to touch base with you.”
“Well, that’s—” He drew in a breath. “Thank you for being honest. I’ll admit, I have no idea how long I plan to be here. But I’ll do a good job for you.”
“I appreciate that. Do you want to tell me why you’re here in town?”
“I’m not sure.” He met the man’s frank gaze with his own. “How do you feel about LGBTQ folks?”
“I live my life, you live yours, Sloan. I don’t give a hoot one way or the other.”
“Then I’ll be honest. I’m here for a man. A soldier, recovering through the project at the Rocking W.” Whew. That felt like a weird sort of weight off him. Just to say it.
Frank blinked but nodded. “That’s intense. How’s he feel about that?”
“The jury is still out. He asked me to leave, but by the end of our first real talk, he admitted he still had feelings for me.” He could really be screwing himself, talking to Frank like this, but something told him the guy was genuine. That he wasn’t out to get him.
“Well, then, I wish you all the luck in the world, man. Seriously. Matt and Luke LeBlanc are good men, and Rory McConnell— that’s Luke’s husband? He’s a solid gold bastard, but smart and willing to move the earth for the ranch.”
“That’s good to know. I’m glad they’re good people.” He knew the guy who drove the van was friendly. Kind. And the den mother, as Lance called him, was a good friend to Lance.
But he still wanted to do more to help than simply hang out and wait for Lance to let him, which chafed .
“They are. They had their share of troubles, but things really seem to be going well for them now. Anyway, you let me know if I can do anything to help. And keep me posted, huh? On how long you need to stay.”
“I will. I promise. Thank you.” He stood, and they shook hands.
“Have a good one. I’ll see you later, man.” The chief waved him out of the room. “Get your ass back to work.”
“Yessir.”
He grinned as he left Frank’s office. He wanted to tell Lance, “See? The police chief knows I’m gay now. And he didn’t even have a problem with it.”
Not that he would. But it was good to know that he was right. They could have friends here. People could be on their side.
He wouldn’t do that. Not yet. But he stored it up with the rest of his ammo. Because he had a feeling that with Lance he was going to need all he could get.
"So, Lance.” His physical therapist, Will, handed him a towel after a grueling session with the leg machines.
“What?” His eyes moved, automatically trying to find Will’s face. Which, naturally, didn’t work worth a good goddamn.
“I hear you had coffee with someone.”
Damn. Word traveled fast in a small town, didn’t it?
“Did I? I didn’t see…”
“Oh, you fucker. Come on. The new cop? Really? He’s hot as hell.”
“The last time I saw him, he sure was.”
“When was the last time you actually set eyes on him? ”
“Before I got hurt. We were in the same unit.”
“Damn.” Will put a water bottle in his hand. “Did he get hurt in the same attack?”
“I—” Hell. He had no idea if Sloan had been injured. If he had, it hadn’t been life-threatening. But it had to have given him some serious PTSD. Jesus, he was an asshole, wasn’t he? “He was there. He was a dog handler for the unit.”
“Shit. That has to be a mindfuck. So what? Were you two a thing?” Will asked a lot of super-personal questions. He did it, most likely, without thinking. But maybe he did it to break down mental walls as well as physical walls.
All therapists were sneaky bastards, physical or mental.
“That’s my business, man.”
“Sure. Okay. But you might as well know that word is he came down here chasing after you.”
“Of course it is.” He sighed, reaching automatically for Abby’s harness. She always sat in a corner away from the machines when he was working out, but now she came right to him, putting her back under his hand.
“So is he?”
“That’s what he says. I’m gonna hit the shower.”
“Okay. I’ll hang out and clean the equipment. You want to grab some lunch?”
“Only if you’re not going to talk about Sloan Ferguson.”
“Ouch. But yeah. I can keep my mouth shut. We’ll go to the truck stop.”
“Sounds good.” It did, too. The truck stop was one of the few places he felt anonymous, even if he wasn’t. The truth was, the guys who passed through there were too busy getting to and from somewhere else, and they paid no damn attention to who was eating in the next booth or what they had to say.
“Cool, man. Holler if you need me.”
“So you can stare at my scarred-up ass? No way.” He took Abby with him. She knew to step out when the water started .
He turned the water on as hot as he could bear it, hoping the heat would help. Shit, he didn’t know.
Loosen something inside him?
Burn something away?
Fuck. Everybody in this goddamn town knew about them. About him.
What if that was it?
What if?
What if Sloan was all messed up, and he’d been an asshole all this time and he hadn’t even bothered to ask, “Are you all right? Did you get hurt?”
What did that say about him?
What was wrong with him? He thought he was a good man, but he wasn’t.
God, he was an asshole.
How could he—how could he have been an asshole like that and not even asked, not even thought about it.
Not once.
Not oh, I wonder if he’s okay. Oh, I wonder if he got hurt . Not once.
His chest started tightening, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe, the sound of the water hitting the shower floor like bombs. Like the sound of fire hitting the ground. Burning things, slamming into him and into the dirt. The ashes burning his eyes. Scarring his eyes, stealing his soul.
He gasped for breath, hands flailing as he tried to remember where the door was, why it was so wet, what all that noise was, what was going on.
He heard barking. Loud barking. Radar? Where was the bomb dog?
Where was Radar? BOMB! BOMB! He tried to scream, but he couldn’t.
There wasn’t any sound left because his lungs hurt, because they were filled with smoke, and because?—
“Dude, dude, come back.” The voice snapped out, and Lance shook his head, trying desperately to see. “Come back. Tell me something that’s red. Listen to me. Listen to my voice, man. Tell me something that’s red.”
“What?” He coughed, his hands finding a wet shirt.
“What is red? Tell me something red. Tell me something that you remember being red.”
“An apple. Apples are red.”
“Good, good apples are red. Tell me something else. What else is red?”
“Cherries.” He couldn’t breathe.
“You can breathe. It’s okay. You’re right here. You’re in the shower. Pay attention. I need one more thing. One more thing that’s red. What else is red?”
“Blood? Blood is red?” All of a sudden he began to sob, and he couldn’t even think, and gentle arms wrapped around him, supporting him but not trapping.
“That’s it. That’s it. Let it go. You’re good. You’re okay, man. You’re cool.” Will was right there, and he was in the shower at therapy, and it had been Abby barking. “All right. It’s just a panic attack. You got this.”
“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh man, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Hey, hey, it happens; shit happens. All of that body stuff, right? It comes out through your brain when you’re working your body and opening stuff up. It just…it happens. To everybody.”
Lance snorted. There was no way. None. It couldn’t just…happen.
Will clicked his teeth. “Seriously. Everybody. Every single fucking person. Old ladies come in, and they’ve had a knee replacement.
They come in, they work, they do their therapy, and all of a sudden they’re sobbing over their first boyfriend that they lost when they were in high school sixty years ago.
You got way bigger trauma to cope with. It’s gonna be a way worse body thing.
Way bigger mind thing. I can’t imagine the amount of scars your soul is hiding. ”
“Me either.” He wasn’t sure his soul hadn’t been blown to bits, torn asunder, leaving a hole where his spirit has been.
“Okay, buddy. You got this. You need help getting out of the shower?”
God no. He’d been enough of a titty baby as it was. “No, no, I still need to wash my hair and all.”
“All right, you do that. I’ll be out here.” Will chuckled softly. “I’m not looking, just want to be here in case you need me. Abby’s a trouper, you know?”
“She’s my best friend. That’s fucking sad, huh?”
“Are you kidding? That’s fucking amazing.” He could hear the raw emotion in Will’s voice. “Nothing loves as good as a dog. Man, a dog is the best. They love you forever.”
He couldn’t deal with whatever loss he heard out of Will. In a few minutes, sure, but not yet. He had to put his own shit back together before he could be anything for anyone else. “Right. Right on. Okay, let me get clean.”