Turner
Six months later…
“I’m feeling good,” I say, peering over at Bradford as he flips through my chart—or whatever the hell he uses to keep tabs on me.
“I’ve worked through every single trigger, and I even went to the Fourth of July celebration at the lake last week.
Gunner doesn’t even have a job anymore.” I gesture to the dog, curled up in the corner on his bed asleep.
“Yeah, but it’s at the high that you’re bound to hit a low.
Recovery isn’t a straight line. It’s mountains and valleys,” Bradford sighs, raking his fingers through his dark hair.
There’s more gray there than ever before, and I’m pretty sure it has something to do with his love life and the Cade situation.
But I’m not pressing about that.
“I get that you think I’m bound to snap, but I haven’t had anything happen in months,” I reason, leaning back against the couch. “I can do this, and—”
“And you just saw that Emersyn is with Catie fifty miles south of us,” he finishes for me, shaking his head.
“That is the exact sort of trigger that I don’t know you’re ready for, Turner.
You don’t know what she’s doing with her personal life.
You don’t know if she’s seeing someone. She could’ve forgotten you, and that is something I don’t think you can handle. ”
I take a deep breath, ignoring the way my heart starts to race at the thought of someone else touching Em the way I did. “There’s no way she’s fallen for someone else.”
“That’s the kind of statement that doesn’t prepare you.”
“I can handle it.” I shove myself upward from the couch. “You’re just pissed that you’re in a situation over the AWOL Marine from Camp Pendleton, and you’re in way too fucking deep.”
“You better watch yourself,” Bradford sneers, his calm demeanor slipping momentarily. “The fastest way to fuck up is to get cocky.”
“It takes some level of confidence to get somewhere. Fake it till you make it.” I reach for my coat as I head for the front door of Bradford’s house, calling to Gunner to follow. I rip the door open, and then stop, coming face to face with the younger, much more tolerable version of Bradford.
“Hey Turner,” Molly greets me, her backpack slung over her shoulder. “Is my dad in there?”
“Yep,” I deadpan.
Molly frowns, her mirrored eyes of her dad’s rolling. “He’s in a shit mood, isn’t he?”
I chuckle, stepping to the side. “Isn’t he always?”
“Yep.” She gives me a look and then slips past. “Best of luck to you.”
“Right back at you.” I shut the door behind me, chuckling. The nineteen-year-old has way more fire than most, and it makes sense. After all, she’s the product of Bradford. I can’t imagine him having a kid that acts any other way.
I fish out the key fob for my truck and start the engine before I ever sling the door open. Part of me expects Bradford to come running out of the house to try and stop me, but he never shows.
He knows he couldn’t stop me if he wanted to.
I pull out my phone and flip through the social media updates that Em posted. Right there on her best friend’s page is a picture, tagging her at some sort of music festival fifty miles south of me. I can’t imagine Em ever going to a music festival.
But then again, heartbreak does weird things to people.
“That’s assuming she’s heartbroken still,” I reason with myself. Bradford thinks I’m being cocky, but I prefer to call it hopeful. Even if it’s a stretch of reality.
My hands start to sweat as I start down the highway, Gunner riding shotgun. He whines off and on, and I’m not sure if that’s a reflection of me or him.
“We might see Em today,” I say to him, and he tilts his head at me. “You think she’ll freak out if she sees us?”
Gunner lays down across the black leather seat, his big body hanging over the console. He starts to pant as the miles pass, and I turn up the radio, it tuned into some new song that I recognize.
Look at me, Em. Being fucking normal.
But with every passing marker, I twist my hands around the leather of the steering wheel. I can’t even imagine what she’ll think after all this time. Maybe she won’t even recognize me anymore. Or worse…
Maybe she won’t care.
Maybe after all this time of me trying to get better for her, she’ll have moved on. I can’t even blame her for that. But it doesn’t stop my head from starting the spiral downward anyway.
If she’s moved on, what am I even doing this for?
My heart rate throbs in my temple, and I can barely breathe as I pull into the massive venue, people and vehicles everywhere.
The shopping mall has nothing on this.
I got it. I can do it. I turn to Gunner. “Let’s go, Service Dog.” I reach for his harness in the backseat, slip it on him, and then slide out of the truck, clinging to the leash.
Loud music booms somewhere in the distance from one of the stages, and I start slipping through the crowd of people. I adjust my ball cap, and smooth out my shirt. This was so fucking impulsive.
But that doesn’t stop me.
I pull out my phone once more, and check Catie’s social media page. She’s the type who literally posts her every movement—which is really fucking stupid. You should never do that.
Well, unless you want everyone to know where you are.
I check her story with my anonymous burner profile, and I’m able to see immediately that Catie is at the farthest east stage, about to see some indie artist I’ve never heard of, and probably don’t care to.
Thank God this event is free.
I make it through security without an issue and keep my breathing even as I follow signs to the stage that’s listed. As I get closer, my boots crunch the grass, and a bass drum thumps for a sound test.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
My head starts to buzz, and Gunner spins, pawing at my leg. “I’m fine, buddy,” I tell him, grounding myself in reality with steady breaths and acknowledging where I am. I’m at a free music festival. I’m here to find Em. I want to see her.
And I can do this.
I swallow the knot in my throat, as I approach the crowd gathered. It’s one of the furthest out, and obviously the least popular, as the crowd is less than twenty…
And I see her immediately.
My chest constricts at the sight of Em, her dark hair pulled up in a ponytail, and she’s in dark wash jeans, a T-shirt, and Vans. She’s everything I remember. My knuckles grow white as I cling to the leash, suddenly feeling more overwhelmed than I intended.
She’s standing there next to her friend, her eyes fixated on the stage. She’s smiling, yeah, but something about it feels forced.
I don’t think she wants to be here.
She turns and says something to her friend, and her friend nods vigorously. I stand there, about fifty feet away, watching her as the band comes onto the stage.
All I have to do is walk up, touch her shoulder, and tell her I’m better.
I bite down on my lip and take a step forward, but then my phone starts to buzz in my pocket. I shake my head in frustration and pull it out.
Fucking Bradford.
Bradford: What the hell are you doing? Why are you there?
“Controlling asshole,” I mutter, and then look back up to Em. However, as my eyes land on her, my heart instantly drops.
Who the hell is that?
A guy in a black beanie is suddenly beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. He leans down and says something to her. Way too closely.
The music isn’t even fucking playing. There’s nothing to yell over.
I take a deep breath and wait, hoping he’ll leave. But the longer I stand there, the longer the guy stays, and the angrier I start to get.
Here comes that people trigger.
I shut my eyes, trying to block out the fact I’m here—and suddenly my mind is back at the cabin, with Em beneath me, her face contorted with pleasure. When my eyes flutter back open, she’s still there.
And so is this guy. They have their phones out.
Are they exchanging numbers?
The smile on her face isn’t directed at me. And I’m about to fucking lose it.
This is my worst nightmare.
Breathe, Turner. Breathe. My head starts to spin. What am I supposed to do when the mission isn’t going to happen? What am I supposed to do when shit hits the fan, and the whole fucking reason I’m doing this isn’t even real?
She didn’t love me.
Every demon that I’ve suppressed rears its ugly head. My mind starts to spin out of control. My hands are shaking. Gunner is whining.
‘Ground yourself,’ I hear Bradford’s voice in my head.
I look back at the guy, and he’s walking away from Em. He’s heading for the Porta Potties behind the stage.
And my feet are moving before I even realize where I’m headed.
“What the hell, man?” the guy croaks as my fist wraps around the collar of his shirt.
Gunner whines incessantly.
“What the fuck were you doing to my girl?”
“Who? Em?”
Em. My chest hurts. Why does he know her so intimately like that?
His brows raise. “Do you know her…?”
I don’t give him a chance before I slam his body against the metal pole of the pavilion covering the bathrooms. “You fucker.”
He lets out a grunt as I do it again—this time with more force.
“Fuck,” the guy mumbles. “Em’s my girl’s best…” His voice trails off as his eyes roll back in his head.
Uh oh.
I give his collar a good shake. “What did you say?”
He sputters back to life. “Emersyn is my girl’s best friend. Chill the fuck out. I didn’t even know she was bringing a date. We aren’t even from here.”
Oh shit.
My eyes drop to blood oozing from the guy’s nose, and instantly release him.
This is bad. This is really fucking bad.
“Who are you?” the guy asks, stumbling toward me as I take a step back. “I feel like…” His voice trails off and I already see the concussion written all over his face.
My phone starts buzzing again, and the guy falls to the ground.
“I fucked up,” I say, as soon as I answer the phone. “I gotta get out of here. I’m not good… I’m not good.” My voice starts to break.
Bradford grimaces. “Already on my way.”