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Or at least that’s what I’m going to keep telling myself. I don’t want to admit how many things everyday bring him to mind.
I peek through the blinds of my office window, and he’s still standing there, talking to my father. There’s a pang of jealousy, that my dad can just talk to him like that, without any of the baggage or anger that’s between us. There’s that niggling thought again, that if I accepted his offer to talk, maybe we could talk like that too. NO.
I drop the blinds closed again. My brain needs to get its shit together. I don’t have a place in my life or my heart for Wallace Monroe. Not anymore.
2
Wallace
Well…that went well. I suppose it went as well as I could have been expected. Not sure what made me think that I could just show up at her work and she would just listen to me without any good reason. At the bare minimum, I can consider it an upside that she saved me from dying, though I’d like to hope that anyone would have done that. I could have died, or at the very least had some broken bones if she hadn’t pulled me out of the way.
I thought I’d had a good plan. I wanted to surprise her, ask her to dinner, make it seem spontaneous. Yeah, that didn’t work. I’m not sure why I thought it would. Tia’s always been a really up-front kind of girl, and I don’t think that time has changed that. But I haven’t been able to get her out of my head. Not since Frankie and Annabelle got together.
They had so much shit that drove them apart, and they got over it. It got me thinking that it could be the same with Tia. I guess I was wrong. But maybe there’s still a chance. I sigh, rubbing my neck and stretching, assessing whether there’s any damage from that fall.
Almost dying aside, I want to be back there lying with her on top of me, because that felt so good. Better than my imagination and memories combined. Those have been plaguing me lately too. She’s so soft and curvy and I had to hold my hands back from sliding down to her ass. For a split second when we were that close, I was going to kiss her. God, I’ve been dying to kiss her again. Kissing her feels like breathing. If her father hadn’t interrupted, I would have without question. She probably would have slapped the shit out of me.
It might have been worth it, though.
“You okay, son?”
Speak of the devil, Tia’s father Charles speaks from behind me, and I turn to face him. “I believe so, sir.” He holds out a hand, and I shake it.
“Been a while since I’ve seen you up close. Although I’ve seen you around town here and there.”
“Yes, sir. Got back from deployment a few years ago.”
He gives me a long, hard, look. “Where from?”
“Afghanistan,” I say swallowing. I thought everybody knew. My business seems to be everybody’s business now. The three owners of the First Shot bar franchise—one of the only things Green Hills is famous for—don’t get much privacy around here. But Charles was never one for gossip.
“Some buddies of mine are still out that way,” he says. “Not an easy place to go to or come back from.”
“No, it’s not.”
Charles slips the clipboard he’s holding under his arm and clasps his hands in front of him, like by talking about the military he’s falling back into old habits. “How are you holding up? I had a rough time re-entering civilian life, and I never faced anything like what I’m sure you faced over there.”
There are flashes of screams and death in my head, followed by the inevitable wave of guilt. I shouldn’t be here. Not in Green Hills, not anywhere. I should be dead. I can’t say that out loud, though. People think that you’re crazy when you say stuff like that out loud. But there’s no reason that I should be alive when everyone else died. No reason but luck. But the universe did try to drop a pallet of bricks on my head, so maybe my luck’s running out.
Clearing my throat, I manage to put on a smile. “I’m fine. It’s a little strange, and even being out for a while doesn’t seem to make it any easier. But I’m all right…considering.”
Charles gives me a look again. “You know, Wallace, when I said I’ve seen you around town, I meant it. You’ve been everywhere, doing a lot of different things. Doesn’t seem like you’ve settled into any kind of routine.”
I look away, out of the loading dock where people are checking the rest of the pallets to make sure there aren’t cracks in it like the last one. He’s right. I don’t have a routine. Not like I haven’t tried. Nothing seems to stick. I’ve wanted a job, but nothing’s felt right or fulfilling. I’m not a guy who’s going to wear a suit, and there are some jobs that trigger me. There’ll be something that reminds me of them. My unit. Or a smell that takes me back, and suddenly I’m in the desert, and nowhere near Tennessee.
