“What happened?” Colton asked, and Henry could still hear a trace of panic in his voice. “I heard a gunshot. Are you hurt?” He looked worried, eyes skating across Henry’s body.
“I’m fine,” Henry tried to reassure him. “Everyone is fine. It was just an old truck. It backfired…” Colton shook his head and seemed to regain control of himself. He began to wipe at his wet cheeks.
“I’m sorry…” He mumbled while looking away from Henry. “I… this hasn’t happened in a while. I feel better now. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Henry tried to regain eye contact with Colton, who in return continued to avoid it. “Do you think you’re alright to stand? Here, let me help you.”
He let his right hand fall away from Colton’s chest and grabbed his hand instead, while he helped Colton in an upright position. He squeezed Colton’s hand briefly, looking towards his clinic.
“Are you okay to walk? I’ll get you some water once we’re at the clinic…”
“There’s no need,” Colton interrupted him abruptly and pulled his hand away from Henry’s grasp. “I’m okay. I’ll just head over to Hank’s now,” Colton nodded his head in the direction of the auto shop.
“I’d really like to make sure that you’re okay before you go anywhere. It’s really no bother.” Henry attempted a smile.
“I’m okay,” Colton repeated, and Henry could feel waves of stress coming off the other man, clearly feeling uncomfortable.
Just leave him alone,he thought to himself even though everything inside Henry screamed to hold Colton as close to him as possible. Collecting himself, Henry slowly took a step backwards while he nodded at Colton. Then he turned around towards his clinic.
Once Henry was inside and had closed the door behind him and was out of view from the street, he sank to the cold, linoleum floor. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t shake the urge to hold Colton close to him and not let go. It was ridiculous really, but somehow, he couldn’t ignore the feeling that Colton needed someone. Likereallyneeded someone. That it could be him was, of course, absurd. He’d only just met the man a few hours ago. He was basically a stranger. Only, Colton didn’t feel like a stranger. There was a familiarity he couldn’t quite explain when he was near him.
He squeezed his eyes shut and mumbled to himself.This is ridiculous, Henry. You don’t know the man. He could be a serial killer, for all you know… Okay, he’s probably not a serial killer. It’s because you’re lonely. Desperately seeking a connection where there isn’t one.
Henry felt angry at himself. He just needed to get laid. That was it. He hadn’t had sex in ages. He needed to go to the nearest city with a gay bar and have some uncomplicated, casual sex… And then get the hot stranger with the tormented look in his eyes out of his head. Sure thing, he could do that.Fuuuuck,he groaned, burying his head in his hands.Fuck my pathetic life.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Colton
EVEN THOUGH COLTONhad spent the walk back to Hank’s place trying to regain his composure, it didn’t take his uncle more than one look at him to know something had happened.
“Are you okay there, son?” Hank asked while studying him closely with his steel grey eyes. Walter’s eyes.
“Yeah, everything is fine,” Colton answered him while clenching his fists at his sides. He didn’t feel like explaining the panic attack to his uncle. The fact that Henry had been there to witness his pathetic meltdown was bad enough. He just wanted to forget about it.
“You don’t look fine, kiddo. What’s up? Were you attacked by a horde of single, white females in the main street?” His uncle grinned at him while wiping off his greasy hands on his stained, navy coveralls.
Colton couldn’t help smiling back at him. He liked his uncle. Already felt comfortable around him. Strange that this man was so different from his father. Walter had never made Colton feel at ease unless they were working on the truck together. Then he’d seen a different side of Walter. The cheerful side he remembered from the time when his mother had still been alive.
“No, nothing like that…” he laughed. And then a sudden urge overtook him, and he thought that maybe it would be okay to tell his uncle about his recurring anxiety. “I… They say I have PTSD… Was diagnosed three months ago. That’s why they let me go. No good anymore.” Colton looked away but felt his uncle’s burning look.
“PTSD, huh?” Hank scratched the back of his neck where the outgrown hair brushed against the neck of his coveralls. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. I mean with all the stuff you must have seen overseas. Gwen’s oldest has it too. You remember him? Derek?” His uncle looked at him questioningly.
“Yeah, I remember him. I think he was a couple of years behind me in high school. Ran track, I think. Real good at it too. Where was he off to?”
“I think it was some place in Africa. Don’t quite remember. Somalia, maybe. He’s doing pretty good though. He’s seeing some head doctor in Chadron once a month, I think. Some smart fella with a college degree,” Hank winked at him and another smile escaped Colton. “Maybe you should go see someone too, you know.”
“Yeah, it don’t bother me too much…” Colton mumbled as he kicked at a rock in the yard.
He’d thought about it in the beginning when the nightmares started – those were the worst. They were so goddamn vivid that they sometimes stuck to him like a fucking parasite for the rest of the day. And the military doctor had also strongly advised him to seek help. But he didn’t want to talk about everything that had gone down. He didn’t see the purpose of revisiting all the bad stuff. The screams, the smells, the blood and the blown off body parts. The goddamn children’s shoe.
Colton couldn’t imagine what good it would do to talk about it with some fancy doctor in a polished office with a framed psychology degree from some Ivy League school on the wall behind his desk. He’d only want to fill him with drugs like the military psychiatrist, and he was not going down that road. No way.
“Yeah, thanks. I’m fine. Once I get started in the shop and get to use my hands again doing something useful, I know it’ll be fine.”
Hank nodded. “You get some rest now, son. Later I’ll show you around in the shop. I made up the guest room for ya. Feel free to use the bathroom if you want to. I’ll see you later, alright?” Hank patted his back fondly, the simple touch soothing Colton like a balm. He nodded in agreement, relieved that his uncle didn’t push him any further on the topic of getting help.
The guest room was pretty big for a bedroom in a smallish bungalow, and it seemed to have been unused for a while. He didn’t think that Hank had visitors very often since he didn’t know of any other relatives. Against the wall stood a whitewashed dresser and in the other end of the room was an old wooden desk with a chair. A queen-sized bed took up most of the space in the middle of the room and appeared to have been made up just recently since he could smell the laundry detergent. It wasn’t lavender but more citrusy. It smelled nice. Clean and fresh. The bed was covered in a light blue comforter, which looked soft to the touch.
