Page 37 of Warrior's Walk

Mandy sighs and I realize his fingers are playing with the strands of my hair. “Love stinks.”

“Damn! We should have sung that at karaoke instead of the friend song.” “I could never outsing Adam Sandler,” he jokes.

Eventually, Mandy rolls his weight off my body, and I can breathe again. “What happened to your face?”

“Same thing that happened to your legs. War.”

“I hate war.”

He turns on his side to face me, and there’s no laughter in his eyes anymore, just sadness and pain. “Me too.”

I think about Brian, his face flashing through my mind, and my lids grow heavy. The mental snapshot turns fuzzy around the edges until it fades to black.

When they open again, I’m face-planted in a puddle of my drool. Bright sunlight streams through the kitchen and living room windows, burning my retinas. Everything hurts. Cold, hard linoleum is no substitute for a soft bed. Beside me, Mandy groans and raises his head.

“Tell me we didn’t fall asleep on the floor.”

“We fell asleep on the floor.”

“I told you not to tell me,” he curses.

“I’m too tired to take orders.” It takes all my strength to roll to my back so I’m not breathing my drool. “Help me up.”

“Shit, I need help myself.” He struggles to sit up, his back popping in several places. “Damn, I pissed myself.” Mandy gives a tired laugh, but can’t execute it fully.

“You’re moppin’ that shit.”

“Whatever,” he mumbles, huffing and puffing as he rolls to his knees to get his feet beneath him.

When he’s standing straight and tall, he offers me a hand. “Come on, let’s get you to the couch.”

“Fuck it. I’ll just crawl there. It’s easier than standin’.” I crawl on my belly like a wounded soldier, pulling my weight with my arms across the carpet. When I reach the coffee table, I brace one hand on it and one on the couch cushion and pull myself up. “The fuck did we drink?”

“I don’t remember,” he says, shaking his head. “This is why drinking is bad.” He wags his finger at me.

“No shit. That was a terrible idea you had. You’re a bad influence on me.”

“It was your idea!” Mandy argues.

“I don’t think you can prove that, so I can blame you if I want.”

Mandy huffs. “I’m going home to shower. Are you gonna be okay?”

“I guess. But you’re comin’ back later to mop my kitchen.”

Before he leaves, he shuffles to the kitchen, opening the cabinet where I keep my meds, and takes out a handful for me. Then he grabs a cold bottle of water from the fridge and places everything on the coffee table. “Here, this should help. You want coffee?”

“Nah. Maybe after my shower.” He nods and moves to the door. “Hey.” When he glances back over his shoulder, I add, “Thanks for bein’ my buddy when I needed it.”

“Don’t mention it.” He opens the door and turns back. “Seriously, don’t mention it. Especially the part about the piss.”

This day started off great,with news that I got the full-time position at BALLS. I even received a bump in salary. Then I had breakfast with Brewer, and things went to shit after that. It’s been one problem after another, and I’m losing patience. It’s not even three o’clock and I’ve got a headache starting to pound at the base of my skull.

When I walk into the classroom where I hold the Bitches with Stitches support group, I’m the last to arrive. Nine men fill the circle.

“All right, everybody listen up. I want to know who is responsible for the incident in the pool.” Their shared looks of confusion don’t produce any confessions. “Despite your nicknames, you’re not bitches. You’ve got balls. So speak up.” Nothing but snickers from around the group. Losing my struggle, holding onto the last thin thread of my remaining patience, I glare at each and every one of them with narrowed eyes. “I’m listening. I want to know who was responsible for turning the pool water brown.” The snickers turn into outright laughter, with Jax being the loudest. I fix my glare on him. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for it, but if you did it, come clean.”

“I didn’t,” he wheezes through his laughter. “Honest to God.”

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