Page 40 of The Ones We Fight For

“You’re very pretty, Talia.” Walker reached up and tugged on her ponytail playfully.

“Thanks,” she said. Her breath went shallow for a moment, the warm air of his own breath so close to her, caressing her face. The air was charged between them again, and she could have sworn his eyes dropped to her lips until a chill ran up her spine and she shivered, bringing her back to reality. “So… should we erase this beautiful masterpiece, then?”

“Now that Paisley’s here to watch us botch the next one?” Walker chuckled and nodded.

They each set their hands on one side of the eraser, pinky and ring fingers overlapping as they slowly removed the top portion, shoulders rubbing together as they leaned forward. Walker's hip nudged hers at the bottom, making her want to cut and run. As they stroked at the lettering with sweeping motions, she imagined it would be similar to how he’d move on top of her. How he’d touch her with long, tentative movements. With a final brush of his hard body hitting her side and his arms flexing beside her, she let out an embarrassingly loud sigh.

“You’re that depressed it’s gone?” Walker asked, mistaking her reaction to the loss of his body heat for something else entirely.

“I—of course I am! Paisley’s probably going to send a message to the organization gods that I have severely wronged her and therefore I will be destined to a life inside a hoarder house.”

“You don’t think you’re being just a little bit dramatic?” Walker teased, holding up his thumb and forefinger, pinching the air.

Talia’s eyes briefly traced over the arm he suspended in the air before she trained them on his face again. “Not at all.”

Chapter 14

Walker

Sprinting back to the house, and more out of breath than usual, Walker slowed when he reached the front door, placing his sweaty palms against it. He leaned forward with his head bent until his breathing returned to normal. The progress he’d made throughout the years with his exercise regimen had regressed drastically in the months following his brother’s death. His legs felt like Jell-O, if Jell-O resembled something that had just jogged three miles and was woefully unprepared for how strenuous it would be. Other than deadlifting jugs of milk into a shopping cart, he’d ignored his healthy exercise habits in favor of depression and hauling ass to get everything done.

When Walker was in shape, he had grown so accustomed to his evening run that he barely noticed how much it sucked. One mourning period later, and he was back to realizing that he fucking hated running because who actually liked running for running’s sake? That kind of behavior was for psychopaths, which he was not, though sometimes he wished he was, so he no longer had to deal with the constant upheaval of his emotions. The sweat that percolated between his shoulder blades and along his forehead was a reminder that everything post-accident was more difficult. He was just the guy scrambling to keep his head above the pool of anxiety.

A few days ago, he took one look in the mirror when he was drying off from a shower and decided it was finally time to jump back on the exercise horse. He was starting to lose muscle tone. It shouldn’t have bothered him so much because he’d already decided to swear off women and, thus, women seeing him shirtless for the foreseeable future, but it did. What finally got him out running again wasn’t the idea that he should do it for himself and for his general health. It was Talia and the sheer amount of times he kept thinking about the night she dropped Piper off. If he ever ended up shirtless in front of Talia again—for purely innocent reasons—he didn’t want to have only a flabby stomach to show her.

The only thing that had made the run better was Talia’s grunge playlist, which he blasted through his wireless earbuds the whole time. Angry, moody music was the right vibe for how the run made him feel right up until the end. He had to skip some of the slow, dramatic songs to avoid his pace turning into a frustrated strut, but other than that, he enjoyed the emo music declaring all of the things he felt without having to express a single word himself.

The truth was, Walker didn’t know what he felt. He could,however, identify the rage that often came out victorious over his other feelings. He was angry at Clifford for deciding that Talia wasn’t worth every second of possible pain, at the kid who bullied Cooper, at Piper’s ex-boyfriend for being a grade-A douchebag, at Jeff Cohen, who both killed two of the most important people in his life and laid hands on the woman Walker was starting to fall for against his will. At the world. At himself. Then there was the all-consuming sorrow that seemed to spring up at the most inopportune times. He mourned all of the things he had lost and all of the things his nieces and nephews would never have. The heartbreak of knowing that Cole and Paisley would never get to watch their children fall in love or accomplish all the things they were going to accomplish was almost unbearable sometimes. When Colin’s birthday had passed a week ago, Walker just felt guilty for getting to be a part of an important mile marker in Colin’s life while Colin's parents were six feet underground.

On top of everything else, it physically pained him that Talia was dealing with her own loss. Out of anyone he’d ever met, Talia should be able to have kids, ones that looked like her, had her smile, her unbreakable spirit. He wanted to be an impenetrable shield, blocking everything that could hurt her. The look on her face when she laid her pain bare in front of him was agonizing. He dreamt of tears and slow, healing kisses that night only to wake up to the disappointment of reality: a world where he could barely even touch her for fear of going too far. It was one or the other lately: unpleasant dreams of Cole and Paisley, or euphoric dreams of Talia. The rollercoaster of his emotions and mental anguish over what he himself couldn't have was yet another loss. His deep-seated longing accompanied by onslaughts of more guilt and more anger made him feel out of sorts. Reckless and pissed that he couldn’t control himself or have what he wanted. Her.

Any time Talia made him laugh, chewed on one of her coffee stir sticks, helped him organize the chaos of his life, or wore her hair in that goddamned ponytail, the bottomless pit of guilt loomed under Walker, a dark reminder that joy was tainted for him now. The only reason she was in his life at all was because Cole and Paisley died. It was like some sort of sick sacrifice, a game show host pointing at two doors from which he never had the option to choose.

“Through door number one, we have Talia! She’s beautiful, kind, and funny, adores your family, and is everything you’ve ever wanted! But, when you open that door, your family will also be left destitute!” At which point, the live studio audience would gasp in shock at a producer’s cue card, telling them to act surprised. “Let’s see what we have through door number two! It looks like your family will be left intact, but you will never find love.”

A sigh of pity from the crowd.

I think I’ll take door number two, please.

“I’m sorry, but our producers already decided that door number one would make for better television. Therefore, please enjoy some life-shattering pain and an excruciating run on us!”

Insert the laugh track from any sitcom where the punchline didn’t quite hit right.

It was possible Walker hated his evening runs less when they actually took place in the evening instead of at 5:30 a.m., but it was the only time of the day he could be alone. Sleeping in later would result in either no time to shower or no time to make breakfast for the kids. Both options were unappealing and unacceptable. He and Talia had put an extensive amount of effort into coordinating meals and schedules. If he didn't commit to it all, he would’ve just wasted her time. Plus, he doubted Talia would want to sit next to his dried-on sweaty skin and matted hair during their usual morning coffee. Both a shower and breakfast were mandatory.

Usually working out had the perk of relieving sexual frustration, but Walker found that recently, the only things that relieved him were cold showers and masturbation. Unfortunately, the latter heightened his sexual thoughts about Talia first before relief, which added to the stack of guilt he had built up like a teetering Jenga tower. It wasn’t enough to keep himself from doing it, though. He wasn’t a bad guy. Really, he wasn’t!He wasn't so obsessed he planned on stealing away into Talia’s house when she wasn’t home and rooting through her underwear drawer. His mind was just a jumbled mess of thoughts, and he was having trouble redirecting it to more wholesome pursuits.

That morning, Walker opted for a cold shower because he had satisfied (a poor choice of words considering it hadn’t been very satisfying) the other option after a graphic dream woke him up twenty minutes before his alarm went off. Doing that twice in one day seemed a bit excessive, not to mention it was a sure-fire way to magnify his guilt to the point where he could bottle it up and sell it. So, he was standing ass-naked in a glass box under a rainwater shower head, surrounded by custom gray tile and already shivering.

Walker found out the hard way a few weeks before that cold showers were not as easy as they seemed. The characters in his novels were always taking cold showers to ward off sexual tension, but the true reason they worked at all was because the ice water made his third leg want to retreat back into his body like a hermit. Anything less drastically cold than freshly melted glacier water on the verge of freezing over again wasn’t enough to expel the dirty thoughts from entering his mind, so his shower was set to the coldest setting, causing a slew of curse words to escape his mouth.

"Fuck everything,” Walker hissed. He could freeze his dick and snap it off after it became an icicle. Problem solved. "Shit. Shit. Shit."

While becoming a eunuch would solve all his problems, the thought was unappealing. On the bright side, he had conserved a lot of water in the shower recently, speed-washing himself to get the hell out of there. The other happy lining of each polar plunge was that it was even more effective than coffee as far as wake-up calls went. Ring, ring, you literally have blue balls now, but at least you’re wide awake?

The rest of the morning was devoted to Walker testing out hisnewfound ability to use the coffee machine. The week before, Talia showed up on his porch with the girl from the coffee shop, whose name was… something that started with an “H”… Harper, so she could train him on how to use the coffee maker. Unbeknownst to him, the thing made espressos, too. It was a fine enough lesson, but he could have gone without the brazen flirtation on Harper’s end. If she had shown up months before, he would’ve more than enjoyed her company. He kept trying to convince himself to like Harper just to stop daydreaming of Talia. Harper was very pretty, and dating her wouldn’t ruin anything for his nieces and nephews.

She had even laughed at his jokes. Even the stupid one he made about always using the same mug every day even though it looked like Chip from Beauty and the Beast. It was mildly funny, but it was also far from his best joke. Nothing to call home about. It definitely wasn’t good enough to elicit the forced laugh Harper attempted to pull off as real to make him feel better.

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