“Amazing. I still can’t believe they did that.”
“I meant your head.” Actually, I’d meant a lot more than that. No matter how hard she was trying to play it off as nothing, she’d been attacked in a place she perceived as safe. There was no way in hell she was okay.
“It hurts, but I’ll live.”
Professionally, I’d agree. I’d been watching her for signs that her symptoms were changing, but so far she seemed in the clear. Still, head wounds were tricky, and I worried about her not taking it seriously enough. “You sure I can’t talk you into going to the doctor?”
“Yes. I’m fine, but thank you.”
“You’re not going home alone.”
“Landon, I—”
“Why don’t you let Landon come over for a while and keep an eye on you,” Mom suggested. “We’d both feel much better if you weren’t alone.”
“But you haven’t seen him all day,” Mercy replied. “He should be spending time with you.”
“I’ll be baking pies and preparing the food for tomorrow, so I won’t be much company for him. Landon, what are you looking for?”
The question surprised me, because I hadn’t consciously been looking for anything. Subconsciously… that was a different story. Seeing Larry draw his gun in the preschool was fucking with my mind. Memories of combat zones—some with children—kept playing through my mind. I’d searched through rubble more than once, looking for anyone, any age, with a pulse.
And Larry had brought a gun into a preschool.
On US soil, we shouldn’t have to deal with this shit, but here we were. I thought about Randy and Sammy, Mom and Mercy, that little red-headed girl who jumped into her dad’s arms and cheered that Santa was coming, forcing myself to face the reality that any of them could have been killed today.
It made me desperate to protect them all, which was why I’d been unintentionally scanning the sides of the road the entire walk home.
I was watching for IEDs.
In Washington state.
And I wasn’t about to admit that shit to my mom or Mercy. No sense in letting them see my crazy and making them worry. “Found a needle on the side of the road during my run. Just watching for more. You two need to be careful on this walk. Who knows what kind of shit you’ll find in this neighborhood.”
Mom didn’t look like she bought it, but she didn’t question me, either. We stopped by the house to drop her off, and I made the excuse that I had to go to the bathroom so I could go in and check the place for intruders. When I was sure the house was clear, we said goodbye to Mom, and I followed Mercy home. She unlocked her door and pushed it open, and when I moved to follow her in, she didn’t slam the door in my face. Either she was beginning to trust me, or she was more worried about her head injury than she let on. Deciding either reason would suffice, I closed the door behind me and took in her apartment.
The space was small but cozy and warm. Mercy shed her coat and shoes, putting both in the entryway closet before heading to the sofa where she set her laptop bag down, so it was leaning against the coffee table.
I wanted to search her rooms to make sure we were alone, but knew that kind of behavior would raise all sorts of red flags. I didn’t need her wondering whether or not I was mentally stable.
“Come in and have a seat,” she said, patting the cushion beside her as she picked up the remote.
I was still looking around, forcing myself to see the décor, and not the possible hiding spots. “Nice place. I like what you’ve done with it.”
“Thanks.” She turned on the television. “I need to unwind and be distracted for a while, and then I’ll make us some dinner. How do you feel about romantic comedies?”
Probably the same way every man felt about romantic comedies: they were a means to getting laid, basically a gateway to the panties, and men who watched them for any other reasons were pussies. Mercy was injured, and I had no intentions of getting in her panties until she was better, but she’d been through a lot and if a manhood-slaying movie would distract her from her shitty day, I’d bite that bullet.
If I had to. “You know, you’re not really supposed to watch television when you have a concussion.”
“I’m aware of that, but I have a rental that expires tonight, and I’m going to watch it.”
I didn’t miss the fact she hadn’t phrased it as a question, leaving no room for discussion. There was something to be said for picking your battles, and I could already see this one wasn’t worth fighting. Besides, it was her house and she was a grown ass adult. “Fine. I’ll watch a chick flick with you if you let me order dinner. You should relax tonight. You don’t need to be cooking anything.”
“Are you always this bossy?” she asked.
“No. You bring out my bossy side.” And my protective side. “Also, I want a volunteer packet.”
She turned, watching me as I sat down. “Why?”
Knowing I needed to tread softly, I thought about all the shit I’d gone through today and tried to put it into words that wouldn’t sound crazy. “My job… what I do in the Army… is to protect and heal. We protect our own. We anticipate and watch for threats, and we keep our brothers and sisters safe. Bold Beginnings Preschool needs protection.”
She started to argue, but I held up a hand.
“Not for you, necessarily. But for kids like Randy and Sammy. That innocence, that purity, it needs to be protected. Let me protect them, Mercy. Let me protect all of you.”
She studied me for what seemed like forever before finally nodding and reaching for her laptop bag. “All right. Let’s get you a volunteer application.”
