it’s more than that. We have an almost spiritual connection. I felt it the moment he walked up to the bar, and by the way, he stared at me, I know he felt it too.
I see stars as the world around me splinters into a million pieces and it’s a while before the tremors in my body cease. Ace goes to the bathroom and when he returns, he wraps me in his big arms and I lie on his chest as if we’ve been sleeping together for years.
I’m exhausted after that session and I feel my eyelids growing heavy. We don’t make an attempt at conversation which suits me just fine. We can talk when we wake up. I sleep with a smile on my face.
It’s the silence that wakes me up. I blink at harsh sunlight burning my eyes. I feel my side, where Ace had lain. His side of the bed is empty. I listen to his sounds in the kitchen or bathroom. Nothing. When my vision clears, I look around the bedroom.
The closet doors are flung open like someone was packing. Heart thumping, I sit up and peer into the open wardrobe. It’s empty. I jump from the bed, dragging the covers with me. I peer into the bathroom and the guest bedroom.
He’s not in the living room or kitchen either. And there’s no note. I let out a nervous laugh. He’s probably gone out to get us some breakfast. Two hours later, after I’ve showered and dressed, a knock comes on the door.
Relief floods me. I fling the front door and come face to face with a man with a badge pinned on his shirt that says Pinnacle real estate. He’s carrying a file.
He narrows his eyes. “I’m sorry. Mr. Carter said he would vacate the apartment by today.”
Chapter 2
Two Years Later
Ace
“Dive for cover!” I scream to my fellow soldiers. I manage to dive into a trench before it goes off.
The stench of burning flesh pulls me from my hiding spot. A scream works its way up my throat when I see the damage from the grenade. I crawl closer and recognize Jareth…and scream.
I sit up with my breath coming out in gasps. I can still smell the smoke. I look around wildly and recognize my surroundings. I’m not in Afghanistan. I’m in my newly bought condo in LA. It’s over now. No more grenades and smoke and loss.
No more pain. Except that is not true. I have left the battlefield, but the battlefield has not left me. What kind of fucked up life am I living?
I fall back into bed and look up at the ceiling. My body is coated in sweat and it takes a few minutes before my breathing returns to normal. I glance at the clock on my nightstand. Three am. A couple more hours before I need to wake up and get ready to go to work.
There's no chance of falling asleep again so I get up and tread to the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. I open the French doors in the kitchen and step out into the balcony.
The night air is chilly but refreshing. It makes me feel alive to feel cold instead of the numbness that I’ve lived with since I came back from Afghanistan. The firefighter training helped to keep my mind busy and sometimes I am able to fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.
Knots of anxiety form in my stomach and I inhale deeply to dispel them. I can’t afford to fuck up now. Not when I've come so far. I aced the fire training course. It was child's play, to be honest. Everything is easy after you've faced bombs and witnessed unimaginable human suffering.
I’m back in California and no one knows. Not my parents, not my brother, or my best friend, Park. Guilt surfaces in my gut. I should have let Park know that I was back. Knowing him and his wife Rachel, they would have organized a big party to welcome me back home. The very last thing I need.
It’s still odd to be among people. To walk down the streets without ducking every so often. I feel exposed when I go out, but we’d been told to expect that. It’s harder than I imagined to blend back into civilian life. But time will take care of that. If only these fucking flashbacks would stop.
I bring my thoughts back to Park. I make a point to call