Page 1 of Stay for Me

Prologue

Mags

Year One.

Thebellabovethedoor jingled as I stepped inside the small animal feed store, the chill of winter seeping into the space. My legs ached, scar tingling as my damaged left side radiated with pain. I bit down, grinding my teeth as the heat of the store hit me.

Fuck.

Warmth.

Never thought I would be craving heat again, but here we were.

As the skin of my cheeks began to sting, I felt the tension in my neck dissipate. My stomach growled, but I barely even noticed. I wasn’t here for food.

In fact, food was the last thing on my mind.

Three pairs of eyes landed on me, studying me for two or three seconds before the owners went back to their business. As the door behind me slowly closed, I took a moment to enjoy the heat, grateful for something so simple.

It had been a long trek to this little town, and my survival instincts were kicking me in the ass. The logical thing to do would’ve been to stay in Denver, lay low, find a job there, save up some money, then move on in the Spring.

PTSD didn’t factor into logic. It obliterated it.

A big city was the last place I needed to be. Just the sound of a car horn sent me back into a place I’d barely escaped from, drowning me in traumatizing memories. No, I couldn’t live in a city.

I needed quiet.

I needed some fucking peace.

“Can I help you find something?”

Slowly, I turned my head to find an older man behind an antique cash register, wearing a thick flannel and an old straw hat. As I assessed him, he leaned forward to look over the counter and his eyes dropped to my boots, recognition flashing in them. I let him study me, from my boots to the tan duffel on my back. Curiosity was a part of humanity, and people—normal people—loved to stare at men like me.

No matter how much I hated it, I didn’t have any say in the matter.

When the man’s eyes hit my face again, he said, “Welcome home, soldier.”

Home.

What a fucking joke that was.

I said nothing, walking to the counter, clocking the veteran’s hat on the wall of pictures and antiques behind him. He braced his wrinkled hands on the counter, pride shining in his eyes. I gave him a nod.

That was when I noticed how quiet everything was in here.

I liked it.

For the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe, and my anxiety settled in my chest, the weight lifting off me, and I felt somewhat normal.

“What can I help you with?” the man asked again. “Anything you’re looking for?”

“Work,” I answered gruffly, the sound of my own voice foreign. I couldn't remember the last time I’d spoken to anyone. The days had blended together, time not granting me a shred of fucking mercy as I tried to figure out my life, wondering what the hell I was going to do with it.

“You don’t look like the kind of man who would survive retail,” he noted.

I said nothing, only staring at him.

He clicked his tongue. “Do you know where you are?”

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