Page 16 of Doing Life

“Sounds good.” It did, too. The truck stop was one of the few places he felt anonymous, even if he wasn’t. The truth was, the guys who passed through there were too busy getting to and from somewhere else, and they paid no damn attention to who was eating in the next booth or what they had to say.

“Cool, man. Holler if you need me.”

“So you can stare at my scarred-up ass? No way.” He took Abby with him. She knew to step out when the water started.

He turned the water on as hot as he could bear it, hoping the heat would help. Shit, he didn’t know.

Loosen something inside him?

Burn something away?

Fuck. Everybody in this goddamn town knew about them. About him.

What if that was it?

What if?

What if Sloan was all messed up, and he’d been an asshole all this time and he hadn’t even bothered to ask, “Are you all right? Did you get hurt?”

What did that say about him?

What was wrong with him? He thought he was a good man, but he wasn’t.

God, he was an asshole.

How could he—how could he have been an asshole like that and not even asked, not even thought about it.

Not once.

Notoh, I wonder if he’s okay. Oh, I wonder if he got hurt. Not once.

His chest started tightening, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe, the sound of the water hitting the shower floor like bombs. Like the sound of fire hitting the ground. Burning things, slamming into him and into the dirt. The ashes burning his eyes. Scarring his eyes, stealing his soul.

He gasped for breath, hands flailing as he tried to remember where the door was, why it was so wet, what all that noise was, what was going on. He heard barking. Loud barking. Radar? Where was the bomb dog? Where was Radar? BOMB! BOMB! He tried to scream, but he couldn’t. There wasn’t any sound left because his lungs hurt, because they were filled with smoke, and because?—

“Dude, dude, come back.” The voice snapped out, and Lance shook his head, trying desperately to see. “Come back.Tell me something that’s red. Listen to me. Listen to my voice, man. Tell me something that’s red.”

“What?” He coughed, his hands finding a wet shirt.

“What is red? Tell me something red. Tell me something that you remember being red.”

“An apple. Apples are red.”

“Good, good apples are red. Tell me something else. What else is red?”

“Cherries.” He couldn’t breathe.

“You can breathe. It’s okay. You’re right here. You’re in the shower. Pay attention. I need one more thing. One more thing that’s red. What else is red?”

“Blood? Blood is red?” All of a sudden he began to sob, and he couldn’t even think, and gentle arms wrapped around him, supporting him but not trapping.

“That’s it. That’s it. Let it go. You’re good. You’re okay, man. You’re cool.” Will was right there, and he was in the shower at therapy, and it had been Abby barking. “All right. It’s just a panic attack. You got this.”

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh man, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Hey, hey, it happens; shit happens. All of that body stuff, right? It comes out through your brain when you’re working your body and opening stuff up. It just…it happens. To everybody.”

Lance snorted. There was no way. None. It couldn’t just…happen.

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