17. Chapter 17
Chapter 17
Finn
T he room floated around me as I shoved my empty rocks glass toward the bartender. I averted my gaze and ordered another round, not wanting to see the judgment that was likely written across his face. After several moments without a response, I looked up at the bartender to find him studying me. Eventually, he broke his silence. “I think you’ve had enough, buddy.”
I scoffed and turned to slide off the stool when a grizzled hand clasped my shoulder. Instantly recognizing the scar that ran across all four fingers, I did my best to shake off his touch. The old man tightened his grip over my freshly healed wound, the pain that shot through my body sobering me up faster than any coffee ever could. I internally cursed the man I once looked up to, before reminding myself that neither he nor anyone else in this town knew what happened, nor the extent of my injuries.
Since arriving back in my hometown close to six months ago, I made a point of avoiding everyone. Staying in the guest house on my parents’ property made this more difficult, but my evasion skills were effective…with everyone but my mother.
When I initially returned, everyone assumed I was on leave following a recent deployment and gave me space to reacclimate. When I announced I put in my papers and would be staying, suddenly everyone wanted to talk. Meanwhile, I just wanted to be left alone to drown my sins in a bottle of whiskey. Not even my mother, with all her tricks of persuasion, was able to get me to divulge the cause of my abrupt retirement from the Navy.
The bartender slid two glasses toward Gunner, who released my shoulder before he picked up the glasses filled with amber liquid. I inhaled deeply, and only then registered my lungs had seized up in response to the pain.
Gunner jerked his head toward a booth in the back. I sat on my stool while I debated whether or not to follow him, ultimately deciding I could tolerate the old man if it meant I got the whiskey.
I made my way over to the dimly lit booth. Gunner pushed the glass toward me as I settled my back against the wall and watched the people from a couple towns over. In an attempt to avoid anyone I knew, I did my drinking outside of Absolution. Now that I thought about it, how the hell had the old man found me all the way out here?
Suspicion weaved its way through my alcohol-infused brain, and I stared down the man across from me. Neither of us blinked, the wound on my shoulder prickling when his stare refused to break. Ultimately deciding the whiskey was more important than winning this pissing contest, I grabbed the glass and brought it to my lips. The smooth liquid glided down my throat and I vaguely registered the burn was now so faint it went down like water.
We sat in silence, each nursing our drinks. After tipping the last of the drink down my throat, I set the glass on the table, pulled a twenty out of my wallet, and set it on the table.
“Have a good night,” I said and moved to exit the booth.
“I don’t want your fucking money,” the old man growled. My head whipped toward him, the outrage in his voice catching me off guard while the world around me tilted. Gunner angrily shoved the money back in my direction.
I surveyed the man before me. The crow’s feet around his eyes were deeper since the last time I talked to him and his hair was grayer than I’d ever seen it. But while he’d aged in the time since we last saw one another, his eyes no longer held the haunted sadness I knew they did at one time.
“Alright,” I replied, slipping the money into my pocket. “Thanks for the drink,” I said, once again moving to exit the booth.
“You think you’re the only one who’s seen shit that will haunt him until they day they bury him in the ground? Huh?” he demanded. My body froze before I slowly turned my head toward him. My eyes narrowed, anger heating my blood at his refusal to let me suffer in silence.
“Well, I got news for you, son. What you’re going through is not new. It doesn’t make you special, and you sure as hell are not the only person who’s ever made mistakes that cost other people their lives.” He stared at me long and hard before he ordered, “Now sit the fuck back down.”
I swallowed hard at his words, unease slithering beneath my skin at his uncanny ability to see inside my head. Slowly, I slid back into the booth.
“What the fuck do you know about it?” I spat, glaring at the man who refused to leave me be.
Gunner shook his head before reaching inside the collar of his shirt and pulling out a set of dog tags.
“I served as a Gunnery Sergeant in the Marines back in Vietnam,” he stated. My mind tried to process what he was saying, but the alcohol was severely impairing my brain function.
“Gunner’s a nickname, then?” I asked when my brain finally locked onto what he said.
He nodded. “So, when I say I can relate to what you’re going through, you can take that to the fucking bank. Now, how about we start with why the fuck you won’t talk to anybody?”
“How the hell do you know I haven’t been talking to anyone?” I retorted, my eyes narrowing on him.
“Well, for starters, you just admitted it.”
I closed my eyes and mentally kicked myself for letting that piece of information slip.
Fucking alcohol. I knew better than to talk when my inhibitions were impaired.
Refusing to admit defeat, I held onto my anger as I opened my eyes and stared him down. “I really don’t see how that’s any of your fucking business, so what does it matter?”
We glared at one another, both of us refusing to back down. Eventually, Gunner broke the standoff.
“You never came to see me.”
My brow furrowed in confusion at his statement. What the fuck was he talking about?
“That day I found you at the lake,” he clarified. “I told you to come find me when you left the military.”
My brain fought through the whiskey it was currently bathing in while I tried to recall the day he was talking about. A vague memory of Gunner pointing a shotgun at my head when he found me trespassing on his land flashed before my eyes, but any conversations we had continued to elude me.
Angry I couldn’t recall a simple conversation, my defensiveness increased. “What the fuck does that matter? I don’t owe you anything.”
A heavy sigh escaped Gunner before he settled back into the booth. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say you’re not willing to get some help.” Even in my inebriated state I noticed his words were a statement instead of a question.
“Any particular reason why you won’t talk to someone about what happened, or is it just the usual bullshit the military conditions us to believe?”
“I don’t fucking need any help,” I snarled and crossed my arms.
“Ah, good ol’ denial. Got it.”
I opened my mouth to defend myself, but he spoke before I could get a word out.
“Stay here,” Gunner ordered as he headed toward the bar and returned with two cloth napkins and a marker. His hand moved slowly, years of hard labor taking their toll on his joints when he began to write on one napkin before moving to the other. He signed his name at the bottom of both napkins before setting the marker on top and sliding the napkins over to me.
My wary stare met his before it dropped down to read the content of the napkins.
“What the fuck?” I muttered to myself. After reading the old man’s scrawl, I shoved the items back across the table. “Why the fuck would I even want this?”
His keen eyes studied me from across the table. “It’s less about you wanting it and more about you needing it.”
Furious he once again seemed to have a direct connection to my thoughts, I turned my stare on the other patrons. Several men flirted with women, trying to find someone to warm their bed for the night, while others clinked their glasses together in celebration when their team made a goal on the television. Such trivial bullshit, but I found myself envious of their ability to enjoy the world around them.
The bartender made his way over to us before setting four glasses of whiskey on the table. “Enjoy,” he said and turned to leave.
Still irritated he tried to cut me off earlier, I called after him. “I thought you said I had enough.”
The bartender turned and looked at me before nodding at Gunner. “He vouched for you. You’re his problem now,” he warned before walking back to the bar.
***
“What the fuck is this?” I demanded, tossing the crumpled napkin at the old man. My head throbbed as the sun radiated through his bay windows.
When I woke up on the floor of my bedroom this morning, more hungover than I’d ever been in my life and regretting the majority of my life choices, I found the offending napkin tucked into my pocket. Despite feeling like I was hit by a bus, I got into my truck and drove over to the old man’s house.
“Good morning to you too, Finn.” Gunner’s bored stare looked down at the crumpled ball of cloth in his lap. Arthritic knuckles cracked as his hands flattened out the piece of cloth.
“I’m not buying your fucking land,” I seethed. “I don’t want that shitty property, and I sure as hell don’t need your charity.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate, Finn, because as you can see, we have a signed contract that says otherwise,” he said, holding up a matching napkin.
“This will never hold up in a court of law,” I declared.
Gunner tilted his head from one shoulder to the other. “Maybe not, but that wasn’t the point of it.”
Irritated by his mind games, I ground my teeth together and demanded, “Then what was the fucking point?”
His stare bore into mine. “Have you ever heard the saying alcohol makes people honest?” I stared at him while my stomach threatened to empty its contents on the old man’s floor. “Finn, that piece of land saved me when I couldn’t save myself. And since you still don’t seem to have figured it out yet, the point is you wouldn’t have signed it if you didn’t want the land. Sure, it may have taken several glasses of whiskey for you to admit it to yourself, but in the end that’s what happened.” He paused before adding, “You’re welcome, by the way.”
What little energy I had waned, and my anger began to fade. Fuck. As much as I hated to admit defeat, he might have a point. How many hours did I spend at his lake over the years? Hundreds? Thousands? While I’d like to say it was solely for the purpose of preparing myself for the Navy, I knew deep down that was only part of it. The truth was this particular piece of land brought me a sense of calm I had yet to find anywhere else.
My body deflated, and my fight dissipated. We sat in silence before Gunner pushed a second cup of coffee toward me. I gave him a wary look, and he smiled. “I had a feeling you’d be stopping by today.”
A loud scoff escaped my mouth before I drank the coffee.
“You ready for something greasy yet?” he asked, my stomach growling in response.
Gunner headed to the kitchen where he prepared bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns for us. Over the next couple of hours, he regaled me with stories from his time in the service. His demeanor turned sorrowful when he mentioned his ex-wife, but I couldn’t find it in myself to ask about what happened to her. I peered around his cabin, noting the distinct lack of feminine touches.
When I stood to leave, he pulled a business card out of a drawer before handing it to me. I stared at him, the permanent state of confusion I seemed to be stuck in around him hitting me once more as I warily reached out and took the cardstock from him. I looked down at the writing on the card and fought the urge to toss it in the garbage.
“I get it more than most, Finn,” he said while I refused to look at him. “If you’re not ready to go, then don’t go, because you won’t get anything out of it if you’re not ready to do the work. But just…don’t throw it out, alright? Put it in a drawer and forget about it until you’re ready to make the call. And if that day never comes, then use it as kindling, but just in case you do get to a point where you think you might want to have something…” he paused, seeming to search for the right word. “Something more than what you’re living with right now, he can help.” Jerking his head toward the card, he waited until I was looking directly at him, his words shocking the shit out of me. “That man is the only reason I’m still alive.”
I dropped my eyes and stared at the writing on the card, nodding lightly and tucking it into my back pocket. I turned to leave, but Gunner stopped me as he spoke.
“Figure out what you want from this life, Finn. Even if you don’t understand why you survived, I can tell you right now it was for a reason. If you want a family one day, build the house that will give them shelter when they find out the hard way just how cruel this world can be. But don’t you fucking give up. That would be an insult to every single brother of yours who didn’t make it home. Because I guarantee if they saw the way you’ve been wallowing in self-pity, they’d kick your ass themselves.”
I swallowed hard and grunted, the hard truth of his words one I already knew but refused to admit.
My eyes met his one last time before I headed for the door.
He called after me as my hand closed around the doorknob. “And take it from someone who learned this lesson the hard way, if you ever find a woman who quiets the demons, don’t ever let her walk away.”
My eyes flew open, the inky darkness and quiet of midnight filling my senses. I sat up, running my hand through my hair before tossing my covers back and setting my feet on the chilled hardwood. Pressing my hands against my face, I tried to clear my mind.
I hadn’t thought about that night in years. Why the fuck was I dreaming about it now? Although I had to admit, the dream was a nice change of pace from the usual nightmares.
Knowing sleep was likely to elude me for the rest of the night, I decided to spend a few hours in my shop.
Before leaving for the Navy, I volunteered with the local chapter of Habitat for Humanity. One of the fellow volunteers was a master carpenter. He taught me a variety of skills I used when I built my own house. After discovering the therapeutic affect working with wood provided me while building my house, I built a wood shop.
In the years since, I built all manner of furniture I then donated to charitable organizations to help those in need get a fresh start. Something about the rhythmic motion of sanding a piece of wood managed to quiet the voices residing in the deepest recesses of my mind since that last mission. And since I had a seemingly never-ending supply of timber on my land, I continued to spend as much time in the shop as possible in the years since I made the discovery.
Turning toward my closet, a soft cry met my ears, momentarily stilling my movements.
My training kicked in, and I lunged for my nightstand, quickly removing the gun I stored in the top drawer before checking my phone for security alerts. Finding no indication of a perimeter breach, I hugged the walls as I made my way toward Tessa’s bedroom. Soft whimpers grew louder the closer I got.
I slowly opened the door, the soft glow from the fireplace illuminating her form on the bed. Her body thrashed beneath the bedding like she was trying to fight off an attacker.
My eyes landed on Luka laying at the foot of her bed. His tail wagged, his head lifting in response to my presence. Realizing the only threat was in her mind, I set the gun on her dresser before sitting on the edge of the bed.
The bed dipped beneath my weight, but her subconscious was so thoroughly wrapped up in her nightmare she didn’t wake. Her subconscious torment scraped against the broken shards in my chest. Unsure what to do, but unable to allow her to continue to suffer, I brushed her cheek with my fingertips. Her body instantly quieted at my touch, and I pressed my entire palm against the side of her face.
God, her skin was so soft. I held her like this once before, but in this moment, I was thoroughly consumed with the desire to comfort her while she relived the real-life nightmare she escaped.
Eyes remaining closed, her dark eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks as she pressed into my touch. Her instinctual response to my comfort wrapped around my lungs, squeezing so tightly I could barely get any oxygen.
Her nightmare quieted, and I pulled away, freezing at the tiny whimper that left her lips at the loss of contact. Knowing I needed to get out of there before I did something stupid, like climb into bed and hold her until all her broken pieces fit back together, I lightly snapped my fingers at Luka before pointing at the spot next to her.
Luka dutifully rose from his spot, and snuggled into Tessa’s side. I rubbed his head, only narrowly pulling away in time as Tessa rolled over and wrapped her arm around her four-legged guardian.
I rose from the bed and stared at her, allowing myself one last moment of weakness before forcing myself from the room. A combination of longing and regret filled me for what felt like the thousandth time since family dinner the night before. The idea someone who had done the things I had could ever be deserving of a woman like her was ridiculous. It didn’t matter I did everything in my power to make up for my sins in the years since my separation with the military. There was far too much blood on my hands to ever truly atone for my actions in this life.
No. I’d do what I set out to do. I would keep her safe, help her figure out what her next move was, and then I would let her go. Even if it killed me in the process.
I grabbed my gun from the dresser before exiting the room. The soft snick of her door latching echoed through the quiet hallway.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I rubbed my hand against the stubble covering my jaw.
Fuck the shop . I needed to go for a swim.