Page 11 of In You
Thanks Frank. Because of you, I'm currently embroiled in a months-long nightmare sniffing behind one case that could have been open and shut at least two months ago.
My discontent is catching because a clap of thunder has Tink an anxious mess, and she leaps from her dog bed and begins yapping, as if the sounds of her little barks will chase the thunder away.
I rise from my seat as the first drops of rain hit the awning above my porch and snag up my laptop, whistling. "Come on you two."
I pull out my phone and push the front door open, letting them in first before following them inside and head to the kitchen. My boots sound loud on the hardwood right as the phone alerts me with a notification that Colin, my oldest friend, is here. He just pulled onto my property on the East side, so it'll take him roughly nine minutes to make it to my house, leaving me time to straighten up.
Propping my phone on the window sill I put my plate to the side and stop up the sink, turning the hot water on, and pouring a decent amount of soap in with a healthy splash of bleach. The familiar scent of the chemical calms me, settling my nerves.
While the tap is running, I dump my bacon grease in the stainless steel holder atop the stove, and then wipe the rest out with a paper towel.
Thanks to the surveillance set up in strategic spots throughout my property, my phone beeps with an alert at every minute Colin gets closer, and I'm done with the breakfast dishes by the time I hear his car on the gravel through the crack in the kitchen window.
Colin, who's a billionaire a couple times over, will more than likely be traveling with security. The last time he visited he was, but I think it had something to do with a threat that's no longer an issue. The prospect of having extra men roaming the propertycauses my anticipation at seeing my friend to dim just a bit. And I hate that, because I don't have much to look forward to these days and I was really wanting to enjoy some guy time with him.
I drain the sink and roughly wipe my hands on a towel, beating back the anticipation at seeing him. He's pulling in next to my jeep by the time I make it back out on the front porch, rolling my sleeves back down my arms. I smile as some of that tension within me eases, seeing he's just in the one car.
“What’s up, pendejo!” he greets me, slamming the car door. Running a hand through his hair, he bounds up the steps with a mischievous smile on his face, carrying his rifle in a black case. No umbrella. My eyes flick back to the car, seeing it’s still. No security.
Thank fuck. I hate security. The tension melts completely away.
"I can't believe you fucking wanted to visit me in a storm!" I chastise him, reaching forward to give a brotherly hug to my friend of over twenty years. I pull away, giving him a wry smile. "Have you lost your fucking mind, man?"
"Are you kiddin' me?" Colin chuckles, firming his hands on my arms as he looks me up and down in a quick assessment that has me tightening up. "This is the best kind of weather to practice in. You remember right?" His chocolate colored eyes rise to meet mine, and I scoff.
"Yeah, yeah." I laugh good naturedly. "Butyouremember I hate the rain."
He grumbles. "Stop being a pussy. I need to stay sharp! You can suck this one up for me. Are you ready? I have to fly out in three hours. Olivia's waiting for me."
At the mention of his wife, I pull from his grip and lead him inside where Tink and Ringo weave between his feet.
I leave him petting them to head to my gun room and grab my own rifle and a silencer. Just for good measure, I stop bymy medicine cabinet to take some vitamin C to hopefully stave off any sort of sickness that might incur from being out in this fucking storm like we're twenty years old. We're not. We're in our forties, a fact Colin likes to conveniently forget. A product of being with a woman sixteen years his junior.
Not that I'm judging, but I might be, just a little.
I'm also a little jealous, but that's neither here nor there. Colin and Olivia's wedding was a sweet affair, and perfect for them. Making me believe that true love really does exist out there, I just haven't found it. Not even sure I'd know what to do with it if I had it.
"No woman still?" he asks, giving my plain house a judgmental glance.
I roll my eyes and suck my teeth. "Nah, man. Sorry it's not all decorated and shit like yours."
He laughs as we make our way out of the house and jump in my jeep, and ignore the lightning and thunder in the distance as we drive to the West side of my property where I have a small personalized range set up. I ignore the rain, eager to let off some steam with my oldest friend.
He hits every target on the nose, and I look over at him, impressed. "Goddamn, man. Twenty-two years out of service and youstillgot it?"
"Whatever made you think I lost it, asshole?" He smiles with obvious glee, rain dripping off his dark brown hair and down the slight beard as he stands up in one fluid motion, tucking the butt of his rifle under his arm. Then hits me with a serious look and I fight back a groan. "I really came here because I'm worried about you, hermano."
Offf course.
That's Colin though. When the men in our barracks broke into the on-base psychologist office over twenty years ago and read my files and his clinical notes, I'd never sought out professionalhelp again. mistrusting of professionals. But Colin stays on my ass, calling me at least once every three months about it. Even sending me names of psychiatrists, and therapists in my area.
But I never take it, because what's the point when I know I won't be following through?
Even though he knows I won't, it doesn't stop him from trying. He and our former general, Frank Jackson, are the closest thing I have to family. They held me together when my sister died, but even still, I feel irreparably broken. On the rare occasion I bring it up, Colin makes a point to bring up therapyagain.
I don't trust them, he knows this.
"Don't bother, Colin," I say quietly, feeling that dead spot where my heart's supposed to be throb uncomfortably. The silence swells between us as we load our gear in the back of my jeep, the opened hatchback protecting us from the rain. Shaking my head, I shove the cases further back and slide the privacy screen in place for no other reason than muscle memory. "You need to worry about your new wife, not me."
