Chapter 4
four
Cole
After my run-in with the fiery resort owner and her giant sidekick, I sit at the shore for what feels like a small eternity.
I watch a couple of hawks soar through the air for a while, but end up staring at the mountains with unseeing eyes for most of it.
I try to keep the memories from creeping in, desperate to let myself have this one peaceful moment and simply enjoy the incredible view, but it’s no use. My brain refuses to cooperate.
By the time dusk arrives, I’m beyond ready for a drink. I don’t have my watch or phone on me, but it must be an acceptable hour by now. Not that I give a shit about something as trivial as time. If I want to knock back a stiff one or two, I damn well will. Who’s gonna stop me?
Heading back to my cabin, I heave a sigh of relief when I find my neighbor’s front porch blissfully deserted.
I unlock the door, push inside, and immediately grimace.
I’d hoped the redneck decor would look more appealing at second glance, but it still makes me feel like I’m an extra on the set of Deliverance.
I pass the sitting area and enter the bedroom to the sound of an imaginary banjo before I hit the light switch and tug on the string dangling from the antique ceiling fan.
No one is more surprised than I am when it instantly starts to turn, but the annoying rattling sound that now fills the room makes me want to rip my own ears off.
I’m tempted to turn it off again, but cracking the single window open doesn’t help, and it’s hotter than the devil’s asshole in here, so I do my best to ignore it.
Unzipping my duffel, I rummage through my meager belongings and snatch up the half-empty bottle of bourbon I’d purchased somewhere in Iowa.
I carry my contraband into the kitchen and begin opening cabinets in search of glassware.
When I find a lone tumbler hidden behind the coffee mugs, I give it a lackluster rinse and pour myself a generous amount.
I knock the amber liquid back in a single swallow and breathe through the burn before I repeat the process twice more.
Then, I carry my emotional support items over to the hideous floral sofa and sink into the cushions trying to swallow me whole.
Dropping my head back, I force myself to relax, but the incessant buzzing sound of my phone vibrating across the coffee table makes that pretty much impossible. I blow out an irritated breath and snatch up the device, swiping my thumb across the screen to read the incoming messages.
Maddox
Hey dipshit. Hope you arrived safely in whatever godforsaken part of the country you ended up in.
I know you’re a big boy and all, but if you could find it within yourself to shoot me a quick text to let me know you’re still alive, I’d really appreciate it.
This isn’t the first time I’ve tried to reach you, so fuck you very much for making me worry.
I’m supposed to be getting some shuteye right now, but Mitch had chili for dinner and is farting up a storm.
Guess who got the cot right beside him? I swear to Christ that guy is rotting from the inside out.
If the enemy doesn’t take him out tomorrow, I might shoot him myself.
It would certainly cut the greenhouse gas emissions in half.
I could call myself an environmental activist.
Anyways, I hope you find what you’re looking for. Text me, you prick. Love ya…
I huff out a sound that might pass as a chuckle before I switch off my phone, not bothering with a reply.
I know it’s a dick move. Maddox has been my best friend for over twenty years, having met him in a group home when I was just a gangly teenager with a giant chip on my shoulder.
We clicked instantly and stuck to each other like glue until we aged out of the system, and I left for Penn State, where I obtained my bachelor’s degree in criminal justice on a football scholarship.
I was a great player with a natural talent, or so I’ve been told many times by the differing coaching staff.
Probably could’ve gone pro had I applied myself more, but playing in the NFL was never the goal.
It was simply a means to an end. Playing ball was my ticket to getting what I really wanted.
And what I wanted was a career in law enforcement.
Shortly after graduation, I moved back to New York, where I became a police officer with the NYPD.
I was well on my way to becoming a detective when the FBI approached me, and the rest is history.
Mads wasn’t as fortunate and hadn’t been able to afford college, so he’d done the only thing that made sense to him at the time and enlisted straight out of high school.
As it turns out, he’d made the right choice for himself, considering he ended up climbing the ranks at an impressive rate.
Now, he’s the leader of a special ops team so secret it may as well not exist, and he’s damn good at his job.
Life may have taken us into two completely different directions, but we never lost touch.
Through years of training, deployments, and the difficulties of our high-risk jobs, we managed to maintain our friendship.
I trust this guy with my life. He’s my brother.
My person. But if I text him back, he’d call in two seconds flat, and I don’t have it in me to convince him I’m doing okay right now.
Maddox Lawless is a perceptive motherfucker, and I’ve not been able to pull one over on him yet.
Goddamn it, he’s annoying sometimes. Even his stupid fucking name is badass, which irritates me even more than his inability to take a hint and stop hounding me.
Mads has seen me at my absolute worst since the day that stripped me of my reason to live, and I know the way I fell apart scared the shit out of him. Hell, I scared myself.
I vividly remember the way I felt following the horrid discovery I’d made in my own damn home.
I’d sat, staring at the loaded handgun on my living room table for three whole hours, reduced to a sobbing, quivering mess.
I can still hear the sounds of anguish ripping themselves from deep within my soul as I reached for the weapon that held the power to end my suffering with a trembling hand.
Still remember how the cold metal had felt pressed to the underside of my chin as I sucked in gulping breaths while my finger twitched on the trigger.
Revenge had been the only thing keeping me from pulling it that night, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about ending it all since.
Taking the life of the son of a bitch responsible for blowing my entire world to smithereens, leaving me nothing but an empty shell of a man—simply going through the motion’s day in and day out for the sake of living—didn’t feel as satisfying as I thought it would.
It hadn’t helped me heal. It hadn’t helped me move on.
Almost two years later and I’m still a goddamn mess, and sometimes I get so fucking tired of the struggle. But I made a promise to someone I once loved more than life itself, and on the days when the darkness threatens to pull me under, it’s the only thing keeping me going.
“There’s a lot of suffering in this world, Cole. You know that better than anyone. But there’s also so much beauty. We only get this one life. Promise me you won’t waste it.”
I was a man of my word back then. Prided myself on being honorable and trustworthy.
I’d like to believe that guy is still in there somewhere, and maybe my time here will help me find my way back to him.
The sole purpose of this trip is to sort my shit out.
To claw myself out of this hole that keeps threatening to swallow me up.
Dig deep and find something that may spark a desire to keep living this life that feels like nothing but purgatory.
But at this moment, all I feel is a bone-deep exhaustion.
I tell myself I’m done fighting, at least for now.
I’ll try again tomorrow when the dawn of a new day brings new opportunities to do better.
At ease with my decision to let my demons take the wheel, I refill my tumbler and glare at the bottle in front of me.
Liquor seems to be the only thing that gives me a small reprieve from my tortured thoughts.
I know it’s becoming a problem, but it doesn’t keep me from consuming every last drop anyway.