Page 8 of Protected

“Is that right? This isn’t Sky, is it?”

He swallows hard as though there’s a lump in his throat. “It’s fine. It’s a week. We’ll get along for a week.” I’m all for convincing yourself of things that aren’t true, I’ve been doing a lot of that these days, but Carson has been in love with Sky for as long as I can remember. This feels like trouble.

“You sure? You’ve avoided her like the plague for years because of all the feelings you have. Now you’re going to lock yourself in the truck with her?”

“It’s been a while. I need to get over it. This’ll be good therapy, and she needs my help.”

I laugh. “If you say so. I’m happy to go in your place if you change your mind. I’d hate for things to go sideways with you and your buddy because you can’t keep your hands off his sister.”

“Dude, I got it,” he snaps. “Believe it or not, I called with good news. The Evergreen brothers, the guys that run that Christmas tree farm in the valley, they had a bunch of materialsleft over from a cabin build that they want to donate to the mission here.”

“Yeah? Fuck, that’s incredible.” I’m not a hundred percent good with taking donations, but I know it’s for a great cause and denying the materials would mean an even longer wait time for the veterans we could be helping here. “I’ve gotta do something to thank them. They need anything? I could trade them goods.”

“The guy mentioned he’s looking for reindeer for the season. Ya know, to play up the whole Santa Claus thing.”

I laugh. “Shit, I can glue antlers on some horses, but I don’t have reindeer.” I muck through the stall and reach for a bale of hay as I talk, tossing some along the inside of the enclosure. “What about feed? I’ve got loads of that. Oh fuck, I know a guy with deer. I’ll get back to you on that.” For some reason, this act of kindness has me feeling even worse about last night. Not only am I a piece of shit, but I’m a piece of shit that people are doing nice things for.

“Sounds good, bro.”

I drag in a deep breath and blow it out slowly as my phone alerts me that someone is on Dot’s property. I shouldn’t know this either. I should’ve taken her login information off my phone.

“Hey, I’ll catch you later. I’m getting another call.”

We disconnect the line, and the alert goes off again. I shouldn’t look. I should delete it right now. Unfortunately, the itch to see who’s on her property scratches at me from the inside out. I’m not sure I’ve ever been so desperate to look at anything in my life. It’s a pull I can’t control, and my brain is using every possible excuse to get me there.

What if she’s in trouble?

What if this is the asshole from Seattle?

What if she needs me?

What if she’s about to masturbate again?

I click over to the camera and zoom in on the door. There’s nothing happening. Dot is home from town. She has a canvas bag on the counter and she’s unloading some vegetables and fresh bread.

I huff out a sigh and close the screen again. She’s unloading fucking vegetables. She’s doing normal fucking people things because she’s a human being.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I toss down more hay and step out of the stall, latching everything up before I wheel up the hose and make my way through the knee-high grass up toward the cabin.

A cold shower is what I need.

My skin prickles under the steady stream of water and I force myself to stay beneath the icy blast. There’s no amount of oats and hay I can donate to rid myself of this darkness. I see that now.

What I’ve done is wrong. What I’ve seen can’t be unseen.

The phone rings and I ignore it in favor of the water. In the military, ice baths were used for clarity and mindfulness, along with a plethora of other things. This water isn’t nearly as cold as an ice bath, but it still gets my heart rate up and has me focusing on that instead of Dot.

I drag in a staggered breath as the water prickles at my skin. My eyes close and I focus on standing directly under the cold as I attempt to blank my mind. It’s a fruitless effort because even with my focus on my breathing, I’m still thinking about Dot’s moans, her hair, the way she leaned up from the bed, how alone she is, how she might need my protection.

The ringing continues. It’s probably Carson again. He’s the only one I know that won’t hang up after the first few rings.

I hit the knob and turn off the water before reaching for my phone. So much for mindlessness. “Hank here.”

I realize now I haven’t checked the screen. I just grabbed the phone off the towel and answered.

“Hey.” Dot’s voice is soft and sweet.

---