“I saw that one too. I still think it’s bullshit,” said Jake, taking another step into the room.
“Probably. It’s damned inconvenient either way.” Liam led the way to a booth on the far side of the wall, nodding to the pretty blonde behind the bar on the way.
There were two guys holding up the scuffed bar but it was late for lunch and early for dinner so they had the place mostly to themselves.
“What can I get you guys?” asked the bartender, slapping vinyl-covered menus down on the scarred wood tabletop. She put a little extra effort into her smile and Liam imagined she didn’t get that many patrons she didn’t know better than she wanted to. Small-town bartenders couldn’t help but be in everybody’s business. It was the nature of the job.
“I want a cheeseburger, medium rare, fries, and a Rolling Rock draft. And the check,” he said, wanting to get that one check thing out of the way before Jake ordered. He still had no idea how Andy afforded the stipend she paid the vets, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be much, and Jake was going to need every dime he could get to rebuild his life.
“I’ll have the same,” he said so fast, Liam wondered for a moment if he’d ordered what he actually wanted or if he didn’t care. Not caring was dangerous. It was the same thing as not engaging.
“How long are you planning on staying at the farm?” Liam asked after the pretty blonde dropped off their beers.
“How long are you?”
Liam saw the flash of something that looked like panic in the other man’s eyes but he covered it fast with the smart-ass crack.
“Fair point,” said Liam, raising his bottle in mock toast. “Do you want me to get out of your way?”
“Hell, no,” said Jake fast enough to convince Liam he was telling the truth. “I’m just surprised you can take this much time away from work is all.”
“I’m kind of on a forced vacation.”
“You got fired?” Jake asked, the crease in his brow clear even in the dim light.
“No,” Liam said, letting out his breath in a huff. “A case I was involved with is getting ready to go to trial. My boss wanted me to lay low until things quieted down.”
“You’re not worried about it following you here?”
“I wouldn’t have come to Sourwood if I was.” He wouldn’t have done anything to put Andy in danger before he met her. Now that he knew her, the last thing in the world he’d do was take a chance with her safety. “I was a very minor player. My boss is exercising an abundance of caution. Actually, that’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about,” he said, taking a swallow of his beer. “Have you thought about what you want to do?” He left off thewith the rest of your life. That was too damn much pressure for someone in a better mental state than Jake. Better to baby step it until the rest fell into place.
“My goals don’t extend beyond sleeping through the night,” Jake said with a surprising bit of candor.
“Night terrors are a bitch.” It was the understatement of the century but the absurdity of the statement was enough to get a laugh from Jake.
“How long did yours last?”
“A long fucking time. It took a lot of damn therapy and a lot of damn time.” He shook his head, remembering for a moment the way it felt to not be able to trust his sleep. His subconscious had been the worst enemy he’d ever fought, waiting for him to drop his guard at night and then replaying every horrific thing he’d lived through in Technicolor. “I’m not sure it ever goes away completely, but it does get better. Easier,” he said, catching and holding the other man’s gaze. Jake locked onto him like he was gripping a lifeline. In some ways, he was; knowing someone who’d walked through the hell before you didn’t necessarily make things easier but it made it possible to believe things could change. When hope was a microfilament thread, sometimes that was the only thing standing between despair and possibility.
“You seriously went to a therapist?”
“Fuck yes. What? You think I set my broken leg by myself? Did you put the pins in your knee on your own?”
“Don’t be stupid.” Jake shook his head and took a long pull on his beer.
“You think it’s less stupid to try to deal with the stuff going on in your head on your own?”
“I don’t want to spill my guts to a guy with a tie and an office and no idea what it’s like to be out there.” He set the bottle down too hard and had to grab it when it started to rock over.
“I don’t blame you.” He’d done the sameI can fix it on my ownroutine. In the end, it had been Gabe who held his feet to the fire until he got some help and then gave him a job that made him feel like he had purpose again. “So find a guy who knows what it’s like, but you’ve got to talk to someone. Get that shit out before it eats you alive.”
He paused long enough to let the bartender set their food in front of them.
“Listen,” he said, after she left again. “I get the desire to muscle through it. Believe me, I do, but your head is way more complicated than your leg. That’s mostly mechanical. And you’d never try to handle those injuries by yourself. I can give you the name of the guy who helped me.”
Liam took a huge bite of his burger and waited for Jake to speak. He’d said what he could; it was up to the other guy to decide whether to take the steps toward healing or not. No one, not even a good therapist, would be able to do that for him. In the end, the rest of them were guides—Sherpas maybe—but despite his talk about getting help, Jake was the one who had to do the work. But he didn’t have to do it alone. He wouldn’t, not as long as Liam was around.
“Okay.” Jake gave a curt nod before picking up his burger and digging in the way only a guy in his twenties could.
