Page 41 of The Wrong Drive-
Squinting into the clearing behind the house, I spot Gunner, his tail wagging as he watches Em, swinging an axe at a small tree.What the hell is she doing? That’s horrible firewood material, and I already cut enough for a few months.
Shaking my head, I start toward her, thankful that I used the tractor to clear a lot of the snow away—minus digging out her truck. It’s still partially covered, and I probably should uncover it, but it’s the last thing on my list. She hasn’t asked and I can’t let her leave, either.
I don’t know if I’ll ever let her leave.
Em’s shoulder drops with defeat as she stares at the maybe six-foot pine tree. She eyes me wearily as I approach. “I don’t want your help.”
“Don’t waste this thing on firewood,” I tell her, chuckling. “Let it grow.”
She furrows her brow. “It’s not for firewood. It’s a Christmas tree. I just thought… I don’t know.” Em drops the axe in the snow as her cheeks flush an even deeper shade of red. “I don’t even know how to do a real Christmas tree anyway.”
“Here,” I pick up the axe. If she wants a stupid fire hazard in the cabin, I’ll give it to her. I swing the axe, and in two blows, have the little flimsy thing down. She watches me with wide eyes as I hold the axe back out to her. “Don’t take any swings at me, and I’ll dig out the shit to set this up inside.”
Sheactuallysmiles, her black gloves wrapping around the wooden handle. “Deal.”
I push away the memories that begin to creep in, as I drag the tree behind me to ready it. It’s been fifteen years since I’ve had a Christmas tree, and with it comes the memories, back when I was fucking normal. When, if I got the chance to be home, I was surrounded by my mom’s Christmas cooking, and my pop’s laughter.
And Tommy.
And Taylor.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath as I shove the barn door open, shaking my head as my hands tremble. This is why I avoid the holidays. It’s a reminder of all the ways I fucked up. I drop the tree at the door, and head to the storage loft at the back, climbing the old wooden ladder. It creaks under my weight, and part of me wishes it would just fucking collapse.
But no, I make it up to the top, and take in all the painful shit—the family keepsake boxes, my father’s hunting gear, my brother’s military uniform, and the list could go on. I deserve to have to see the reminders of the mess I made. I take a deep breath, my head uneven and light as I slip past to the old Christmas tree stand of Tommy’s when he lived here. I don’t know who he put a Christmas tree up for.
But whatever.
I grab it, knowing that the last person to touch the metal was my dead brother. My stomach churns with remorse, flashbacks threatening.
“Gunner,” I call for my dog, clambering down the ladder. My head starts to pound at the speed of helicopter blades. “Gunner,” I shout, the sounds of war fading in over the ringing in my ears.
Gunner’s clumsy steps turn frantic as he rushes me, just in time for me to drop the stupid tree stand and latch onto him. I squeeze my eyes shut as the chaos of the past erupts in my head.Dread hangs heavy on my shoulders, and I breathe in evenly, counting to seven with every inhale and exhale. Fear penetrates my entire body, rolling over me and tempting a burst of adrenaline—the same adrenaline that awakens the war-chasing, murder hungry monster in me.
‘You gotta go,’ Taylor screams in my ear, as his heavy hand lands on the back of my neck. ‘Get ‘em out of here.’
“I’m not leaving you,” I shout at him. “I’m not leaving you.”
But Taylor doesn’t say anything back. Warm, sticky liquid splatters across my neck as he spews blood in the last few seconds of life. I hang onto him, even as it slips beneath my collar, soaking my shirt.
‘Let’s get him out of here,’ Bradford comes out of nowhere, reaching down in the dark, hot building. My mouth tastes like sand, but I nod, feeling the life drain from my little brother. He’s gone, but I’m not leaving him behind.
“Turner, you okay?” Bradford asks me, but his voice sounds funny. It sounds too light. “Turner?”
“Turner.” A soft touch lands on the back of my neck. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head as the noise fades, my iron grip around Gunner loosening. My heart drums in my ears as I look up, realizing suddenly I’m in the barn with the Christmas tree stand, my dog, and the woman I’m holding captive.
And I feel absolutely gutted.
If my brother could see the stupidity, the pain, the death, he’d be so fucking disappointed in me.
“Turner, will you please say something?” Em chokes out, clearly having read the situation for exactly what it was. “We don’t have to put up the Christmas tree. I’m so sorry.” Her voice cracks, and I blink, my heart slowing.
“No.” I rub my eyes. “Just let me get it ready.” I let go of Gunner and stand to my feet, keeping my back to her. I forcemyself to go through the motions, cutting it a second time, and drilling the holes while Em watches from afar, worry on her face.
The little flashback she saw was nothing, and I swallow hard as I consider what might happen. It always starts with the little flashbacks…
Which means I’m losing my grip on reality.
