Page 6 of No First Kisses

What made me think, with everything going through my head, that I would be able to handle going into the coffee shop?

By the time I make it back down the road to the building housing Ian’s office, the one right across the street from the Birch Harbor Police Department, I have sweat pouring down my face, and my pulse races through my veins like I’ve just chased someone through the woods at midnight without a flashlight to guide my way.

My hands tremble, and any second I know I’ll drop the fuckin’ coffee that caused the entire panic attack that starts at the bottom of my feet and climbs up my body into my spine.

“Took you long enough.”

The sharp bite in Ian’s voice is barely enough to drag me out of my head, at least long enough for him to take the coffee that is still in danger of tumbling out of my hands. Without another word, he turns and walks into the building, leaving me to follow at my own pace.

At least I’m not about to dump hot coffee on myself.

Normally, I stand out front, biding my time while I try to collect myself long enough to put the crazy that lives in my head aside. But I can’t. Not when I’ve had the worst night of my career, followed by the threat of Poppy moving, again. And then, seeing one of Lettie’s best friends just sent me over the edge. Literally and figuratively. I can’t hold my shit together. Not without help.

I’m so deep in my head that I don’t even know I’m walking into the building until I find myself staring at the door to Ian’s office.

“Are you ready to talk yet?” Ian holds the door open, waiting for me with zero judgment in his eyes.

“No,” I tell him honestly. “But that shouldn’t stop me, right?”

With a smile that turns my stomach sour and definitely doesn’t reach my eyes, I walk by him into the office and plop down on his couch with my legs hanging over the side. Once there, I cross my hands over my stomach and close my eyes, breathing deeply for the first time since I left Poppy’s house.

“Please tell me that you didn’t get me out of bed at four in the morning so that you could sleep on my couch, when you’ve got a key to the building so I know for a fact you could have just let yourself in.” Ian slurps his coffee loudly before letting out a content sigh. “Although the coffee is welcome. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

“I was the first one on the scene last night,” I start, halting as images start to replay in my mind.

So much blood.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Ian doesn’t raise his voice above a whisper.

I swallow the sharp retort I have sitting on the tip of my tongue. I wouldn’t have called if I didn’t need to. But of course, I don’t fuckin’ want to talk about it. If I had my way, I’d bury the thoughts and memories and never have to deal with them again. Like a normal person.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.” I feel like I’ve swallowed a rock, and I run a hand over my beard, unsure if Ian can see it trembling or not. “We went overseas, and I thought that was the worst it could get. Watching my friends die and taking the lives of those on the other side. I thought we’d come home and any violence here would pale in comparison.”

Saying those words feels like a betrayal. Ian has been my therapist since I moved back to Birch County, and I’ve never admitted my feelings about serving in the Marine Corps. Not to him. Not to anyone.

“If it’s this bad, why would we have even gone over there? Why try to help there when it’s ten times worse in our own backyard?” I stop then because a dead little girl’s red hair haunts my vision. To escape, I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling tiles.

“I walked into the living room, and a little girl no older than eight or nine was lying on the ground, with her red hair draped over the chest of a boy who looked just like her. I didn’t realize, until I was already in the room, that their eyes were open and they weren’t breathing. That’s when I saw the blood. Little pools, already absorbed into the carpet all around them.”

Stopping as I remember the unmistakable squishing sound that escaped when I stepped too close to the bodies, I struggle to keep a tight grip on my control. When I hear, rather than feel, my knuckles crack, I know it is futile.

“They were cold, and I could see the fear permanently etched on their faces, and all of a sudden all I could see was Lettie. Dead at the hands of a monster. When I couldn’t hear anything else in the house, not even the sound of a fan blowing into the silence, I moved toward the kitchen to clear it, calling in for backup as I went.”

Pausing again, I scrub both hands down my face in a ridiculous attempt to figure out exactly what I’m feeling.

Settling on the harsh reality, I swallow down the rest of the doubt. “He used a gun on the children, but a knife on his wife. The kitchen should have been white, but it was covered in streaks of red and looked more like a Jackson Pollock painting than a kitchen. And her head… He’d almost removed it completely with a butcher’s knife. There was so much… violence. So much death, Ian. I thought for sure I was hallucinating. But I wasn’t. His face was gone. He shot his face off, after destroying his family. He could have left. Just walked away. Instead, he stole their lives.”

Ian doesn’t say a single word, which is probably for the best, because I’m ready to start diving into the real issues.

“The woman could have been her twin and her daughter. Our daughter.” I close my eyes at that admission. “Like an idiot, I couldn’t stay away from her after that.” Swallowing down the complicated feelings I’m already having, I finish. “I wasn’t going to stay, but she’s a magnet I can’t fight the pull of. She’s the only thing in this entire world that can chase away my demons.”

“We talked about that, Logan.” Ian’s voice cuts through my inner destruction. “You know that the longer you play games with her, the longer it’s going to take both of you to move on. To live.”

“I don’t want to live without her, Ian.” For a fraction of a second, I regret saying those words aloud. I want to take them back, to hold on to the only weakness I have. And then the familiar weight of what I’ve done for the last decade comes rushing back. “But I know I can’t have her because I’ll destroy her. It’s one hell of a problem, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” Ian starts to tap his fingers against the glass table at his side. “I wouldn’t think it’s a problem, so much as you’re being too stubborn to see exactly what she means to you and what you should do about it.”

“I know what she means to me.” My heart, which has just gotten back to almost normal, begins to dance in an unsteady staccato in my chest. “She’s everything, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. Even follow her to whatever godforsaken town she moves to, if she decides to leave.”

---