Page 54 of High Velocity

Seventeen

Jackson

She’s understanding, but it would almost be easier if she was straight-up pissed at me.

I would’ve deserved that more than the gracious way she welcomed me.

I take the steaming mug from her hand as she sits down beside me. She seems comfortable with the silence as she carefully sips her hot tea and stares out at the creek. It takes me way too long to think of the right words to say.

“I spent the afternoon digging a hole on top of a hill at High Meadow. An eight by three foot hole, about six feet deep. Sometime tomorrow I’ll be putting the dirt back, except Thomas will be in that hole.”

In my peripheral vision I see Stephanie put her tea down and I feel her eyes on me, but I keep mine fixed on the view.

“I barely remember my father’s funeral. I only have vague memories of uniforms, a lot of pomp and circumstance, and a ton of strangers wanting to shake my hand. But I do recall being angry. So damn angry. It was my coping mechanism at thirteen years old.”

I snort at myself, thinking of the shit I put my mother through. Not only back then, but as recently as a few years ago when, once again, rage was my go-to response to pain.

“I was still in the hospital and missed the funerals for my fallen brothers, but I was angry then too. I guess at the unfairness of it all. But this time, with Thomas, I can’t bring myself to be mad. He lived a long, good life, he loved fiercely, and he died on his terms.”

My eyes burn when I turn to look at Stephanie.

“It’s easier when I’m angry. Somehow, it hurts less.”

The next moment her arms are around me and I bury my face in her neck. All the rioting emotions that have been ripping at my insides these past few days erupt. I toughed through the death of my father, those of my best friends, and yet I lose my shit over an old man who left this life glad at the prospect of seeing the love of his life again in the hereafter.

I’m not sure how long we sit like this, arms around each other, my hot tears leaving a wet spot on Stephanie’s shirt. When I lift my head, I notice hers have left tracks down her face.

I probably should be embarrassed for the meltdown, but I’m not. Not even when she lifts her hand to my face and wipes the wetness from under my eyes.

“Thomas may have triggered them, but something tells me these tears held a lifetime of repressed emotions,” she whispers, pressing her lips to mine.

“Probably,” I concede in a hoarse voice.

“They say purging is good for the soul.”

I bark out a dry laugh and joke, “That may well be, but it’s hell on the reputation.”

She smiles. “Your reputation is safe with me.” Then she tilts her head to the side. “How do you feel?”

I shrug. “Exhausted, a bit empty, but lighter.”

Stephanie slaps both hands on her knees before getting to her feet.

“You probably haven’t had dinner yet. Let me put something together.”

“I came prepared. Picked up a couple of brisket sandwiches at Foxy’s but forgot all about them in the truck when I saw Vallard’s vehicle out there. Let me go grab them.”

The outside air feels good on my face, and I take a few deep breaths in as I walk to my truck.

Only to find all four of my tires flat.

What the fuck?

I bend down to inspect one of my front tires and notice a deep slash in the rubber. The other three received the same treatment.

Un-fucking-believable.

Pissed off, I snatch the bag with sandwiches from the passenger seat and stalk back inside.

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