Page 27 of No Second Chances

Kassy steps away from my arm after applying the clear Saniderm plastic so that my tattoo will heal.

“It’s my dog tag.” Linc’s voice breaks on the last word, but no one else but me notices. “I gave it to her before my deployment.”

Kassy smiles at that and then steps away. “You two are so freaking cute it kills me.”

I can’t contradict her because once upon a time, I thought the exact same thing.

“Yeah, we are.” Linc’s voice pours over me again, wrapping me in a warm blanket of longing. “Did it hurt?” His eyes are on the tattoo, and he is still too close for comfort.

I bite my tongue, trying to clear my head of all things Linc. Because if he stays that close to me, I’ll combust.

When I finally feel like I can breathe, I slide away from him and off the tattoo chair in the opposite direction. Once I’m on two feet again, I grab my bag and walk out since I already paid Kassy before she started.

“You know.” I look back at Linc, who has already started to follow me toward the door, and give him my best mocking expression. “Strangely, it didn’t hurt as much as you breaking my heart with your vanishing act.”

12

LINC

“Remember, Linc. Therapy doesn’t mean you’ll wake up one morning and be cured. This is ongoing, it’s going to hurt, and it’s not going to be easy.” Ian Keller, one of the Marines I’d been deployed with, stares at me expectantly from the chair on the other side of the room. “Your first breakthrough was coming in. Asking for help, that’s the first step. And it’s the most important.”

A nod. That’s all I manage to give him.

“You’re here because of Kennedy, aren’t you?” The blunt question takes me by surprise, and I look up from my folded hands to see him holding a pen between two fingers and waiting for my answer.

“Yeah,” I admit. “I want to be able to… I don’t know.”

“Post-traumatic stress isn’t anything to mess with. It strips those who have it of any confidence in their decisions. From employment, to love, to finding happiness in our lives.” He sighs and puts the pen down on the notepad in his lap. “I remember you holding her photo and talking to her while we were overseas. Do you talk to her like that now?”

The photo he brings up sits in my wallet, and every shift I pull it out to make sure I still have it. But I didn’t think he’d remember that.

“No.” My throat burns as I tell him the stinging truth. “I haven’t.”

“Maybe you should.” He trails off for a second and then clears his throat with a small cough. “Don’t miss therapy with me, of course, but talk to her. Tell her about your worries. Let her in, because that’s the only way you’re going to be able to get past it.”

The soft bell indicating the end of our session goes off, and I sigh. Whether it is one of relief or regret, I’m glad I don’t have to answer. But when I leave his office, conveniently located across the street from Birch County Sheriff’s Office, I don’t head home.

Instead, I start toward the building where Kennedy works and is just about to get off shift. Ahead of me, there is a small red coupe that pulls into a parking spot and I groan inwardly.

Mallory, the same nurse that Parker has problems with, and the same one who I know for a fact is currently dating Royal Prince, gets out of her car and smiles broadly at me.

“What are you doing here, Linc?”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes at the fake saccharine tone of her voice and instead walk right by her.

“You know,” she says while dropping the act, “Royal isn’t gonna let Kennedy go. There’s a reason he keeps manipulating her. She’s nothing but a game to him.”

That has me stopping in my tracks to turn around and look at her, and from the look on her face, she knows exactly what she’s done by saying what she did.

Her arms cross over her chest, pushing up her already impressive cleavage, but my eyes don’t stray from her face.

“Didn’t you know?” Mallory doesn’t even bother to pretend that I know what she is talking about. “All the trouble with your brother’s widow? All of that was Kennedy’s fault.” The spiteful woman walks away, leaving me standing there with my mouth hanging open in shock. “Why don’t you go ask her about it?”

I always thought the filter of red that people in a fit of rage describe as descending over their eyes wasn’t a thing, but as I stand there watching her retreating back, I see red. Dark and pulsing, it obstructs my entire field of vision until there is nothing but the hatred. And then the red shifts, changing even as I stand unblinking in the parking lot. Instead of rage, I see Danny’s blood on my hands.

Danny!

My mind calls out for him, even though I know I can’t be there. I can’t be in the desert. The smell is wrong. Everything is wrong. But my body won’t listen to logic. And just like that, I’m there again.

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