Page 24 of Doozer

“To family,” she repeated.

“You said you were only in Georgia until 2008. Then what?” I asked.

“In January of that year, my dad came back from his final deployment in Afghanistan and was given a permanent local post as an instructor at the sniper school. At first, I was ecstatic that he was home for good, but things started getting bad almost right away. He started drinking heavily and he and my mom were constantly fighting. By the end of the year, he’d been written up twice and his job was in jeopardy.”

Trouble took a sip from her coffee and I noticed her hand was trembling.

“Hey, it’s okay. We don’t have to talk about any of this,” I said, sensing her discomfort.

“No, it’s okay. I never talk about my dad and for some reason I want to.” Trouble’s eyes met mine. “With you.”

I set my cup down and took Trouble’s hand.

“Was it PTSD?” I asked softly.

She nodded.

“Even though he’d done three tours he’d actually been deployed six times.”

“What were the other deployments for?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. He never talked about them, but I think whatever happened between Iraq, Afghanistan, and wherever the hell else he had been, really messed him up. He was never the same after he came home. He taught me how to properly make a bed, start a fire without matches, and shoot a rifle, but never talked about what he’d seen or done while in combat,” Trouble said softly, before taking a quick sip. “Anyway, he committed suicide when I was thirteen, so I never really had the chance to ask him.”

“Oh, Jesus. I’m sorry,” I said.

I had no idea what else to say. I had no way of relating to what she must have gone through, losing her dad at such a young age. Especially since she was so close to him and I’d spent large chunks of my childhood wishing mine would drop dead.

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago,” she replied, quickly wiping the tears from her eyes.

“I’m not sure there’s any amount of time that would make any of what you went through okay,” I said, gently squeezing her hand.

Trouble’s eyes met mine. “Thanks,” was all she said, but it was said with a vulnerability I’d not yet seen from her.

“Did your mom step up after your dad died?” I asked.

“Ha! Oh, god, no,” she replied. “She wrecked the five-year marriage of the pervy gunnery sergeant who lived next door and married him six months after my father’s funeral.”

“Holy shit,” I hissed.

“Then she expected me to live with this creep and act like he was my dad, and everything was normal. All the while, his old family is living directly next door. There would be shouting matches between the houses in the middle of the night. I lost count of how many times the neighbors called the M.P.s. I didn’t blame them. I hated those assholes too.”

“So, you split?” I asked.

“Not immediately.” Trouble cocked her head, her eyes studying me deeply for a few moments before continuing. “Jim, my so called-step dad put his hands on me, and my mother didn’t do anything about it when I told her.”

My blood instantly came to a boil. The mere thought of anyone hurting Trouble made me want to hurt them back. Really bad.

“I’m sorry,” I said, softly, realizing that my grip on her hand had tightened reflexively, but as soon as I let go, she took my hand in hers again.

Trouble’s eyes met mine again. “Stephanie,” she said. “My real name’s Stephanie. Cowboy started calling me Trouble the day we met, and it kind of stuck.

“I couldn’t be happier to meet you, Stephanie,” I said, before kissing her hand. “And you’re certainly no trouble to me.”

I had no idea just how wrong that statement would prove to be.

CHAPTER SIX

Trouble

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