Page 3 of Snowed in with My Protector

I pull on a pair of sweatpants, but don’t bother with a shirt as I stride toward the back door of my cabin. The cold air batters against my heated skin the moment I step outside, but I need it. It centers me and reminds me that I’m no longer sweating in the sandbox.

I’m home. Or at least as close to a home as I have.

While I love living on my little slice of mountain, I’m not sure anywhere will feel like home. Not anymore.

As I scrub a hand over my face, I try and push away the feelingof being back there, of the scent of the gunpowder in the air. But it’s like it’s burned into me along with the copper scent of blood. So much blood.

I force myself to open my eyes and look at what is around me, at where I am now. If I don’t then I might lose my grip on the reality of the here and now.

“I’m not there. I’m here,” I mutter to myself, the words repeating in my head as a mantra, a reminder.

I’m not there. I’m here.

I’m not there. I’m here.

In the cold. On the mountain. With my cabin at my back.

There is a dusting of snow on the ground. It’s from days ago and hasn’t melted away yet. My cabin is nestled in a clearing, and while to some the encroaching wilderness would feel oppressive, to me it gives me safety.

Just because woods surround my cabin doesn’t mean I’m not protected. I have a perimeter of cameras set up and I’ve spent a lot of hours roaming my land to ensure I know it like the back of my hand, no matter the season. It makes me feel like I have a little bit of control especially when my mind tries to tell me differently.

Maybe it’s time for me to contact Higgins and see if he has a job that he can send me on. It’s been a few months since he needed me on something, but the feeling of restlessness is something that won’t go away by splitting more wood or checking my perimeter again. The need to do something useful with the skills the American government imbued me with rides me hard.

There wasn’t nearly enough active protecting to do over in the sandbox for me. But here? On my home soil? It’s a different story.

When I was serving, the help I was doing felt more ethereal. I was working to keep my country safe, but from whom? It wasn’t like I ever had enough intel to really know; that was all above my pay grade.

Here? There are people trying to hurt each other, take advantage, and abuse others every single day. Someone needs help, they need protection, they need me. I hate it, but it also gives me a sense of purpose that I need.

My heart aches in my chest because my need to protect another is selfish. It keeps me moving and it helps me to forget, but it also means that another person is experiencing real fear, something they shouldn’t have to navigate.

The cold bites into my skin and I feel like I can breathe again. The gunfire of my past, which always finds me in my dreams, doesn’t echo around me anymore. For a moment, just one single moment, I feel peace.

The sharp, shrill ring from my satellite phone breaks the silence and brings me crashing back down to reality. It’s a reminder that there is no peace to be found, not for anyone. My gut churns because I know it’s Higgins before I even step inside my cabin to answer the call.

As much as I need to take a job, for me, I hate that my help is necessary.

Blake Higgins is a legend, not only across the branches, but in the states as well. I first heard about him while I was serving. His service record and his bravery were the stuff of legends. His name was spoken with respect and pride.

But it was what else that was said about him which interested me. I heard about how when he got out, he brought men together who needed a purpose and dedicated himself to helping people, protecting them, and standing up with them when they needed someone.

When I was discharged, I went right to Denver and to Higgins Security. He wasn’t the only security firm I could have found by any stretch of the imagination. I had also heard about Sullivan Protection, but I’d never been interested in New York City; that was too much hustle and bustle for me. Colorado was more my speed.

Blake didn’t hesitate to give me a job. At first, I stayed in Denver, but it became too much city for me. When I stumbled across Alpha Mountain, I knew I needed the solitude available. My head was busy enough and I could barely stay above the din. Being out here has allowed a little bit of calm to seep in.

I’m now on-call for Higgins Security and I’ve never turned down a job. I also know Higgins probably doesn’t call me for as many jobs as he could because he saw the demons I’m battling in my eyes, just as much as I feel them clawing at my skin. He allows me the space I need while giving me the grace I don’t know how to ask for.

Seeing who is calling has me taking a deep breath and pushing away the shadows of my past; I need to focus. “Higgins,” my voice is gruff the remnants of a distorted sleep clinging to the sound, “what do you need?”

I’ve never known Blake to hesitate, but there’s a weight in the pause before he clears his throat. “I have a job for you,” he starts and before I answer something tells me to wait and hear everything. “I’ll warn you, what I need from you is a little unconventional.”

“I’m listening,” I prompt him.

“I need you to house the client in need of protecting,” there’s something in his voice, something I’m not sure how to interpret even as the thought of my peace, my sanctuary, being encroached on makes my gut churn.

I growl, “You want me to do what?”

There’s no way I heard him correctly and Higgins is asking me to allow my space, my home, to be invaded by the job. It’s not like Higgins doesn’t have safe houses set up already. What could possibly be the reason that the client needs to come here?

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