Page 44 of Reckless Woman

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Page 44 of Reckless Woman

I hated her until I made my peace with her. Eventually, I’d let her come full circle and save me, all over again.

* * *

When they arrived,they flashed their lights and their badges and their fake sympathy. I closed my fist around my tin soldier as they dragged me from the step. My legs cramped from sitting in the same position for so long, but I never cried out once. I never made a fucking sound. It would be another year before I uttered a single word.

They threw a scratchy blanket around me and shoved me into a car, and over the next two decades I never wavered from my transformation on that step.

I was the tin soldier now, and I’d never speak of this day again.

Chapter Thirteen

Joseph

Iwake to light and dark, and a head swimming in cheap liquor.

The first thing I do is reach for the loaded gun on the nightstand. Bad move. The pain in my leg hits me like a bullet to the balls.

“Holy fuck!”

Hissing out more bad words through clenched teeth, I grab the small bottle of Vicodin and knock a handful back—washing them down with the lukewarm remnants of the vodka. The pain is red, brutal and blinding. It’s taking everything I have not to throw up.

Lying back with a groan, and a head like lead, I close my eyes and try to get a handle on the sickness. It’s a waiting game now until the Vicodin kicks in and I can resume some kind of functional normality.

It could have been worse.

Spine crushed. Skull smashed. Dismembered.

Dead.

I was lucky. So goddamn lucky.

I’m indestructible, remember?

The dying jet dodged the Blue Ridge by a hair’s breadth. It smacked down in the middle of a field in a spluttering fireball that consumed the back end, but not the cockpit. I caught a break when I skimmed a forest, losing both wings. I cheated gravity, and then the cabin cracked in half. When I finally landed in three feet of cow’s shit, it was the joystick that made ground beef out of my leg.

It’s night outside. Anna’s gone, but she’s not long left the room. I can still smell her flowery scent and her fucking moonshine. I’m not worried about her. She’s a smart woman, I know she won’t have gone far. Still, I count the minutes regardless. Time is a fucking charade when she’s not in my arms.

It’s just me, my growing painkiller addiction, and the steady rumble of cars on the road outside.

No ghosts.

No Cash.

He hasn’t reappeared since the plane crash, and I’m hoping it killed him off for good.

I’m just sinking into the mattress in a happy chemical haze when the lock on the door starts jiggling. Anna spills into the room, her river-deeps glazed with exhaustion and her messy topknot scattering tired gold strands all over her cheeks and forehead.

She looks whole.

She looks perfect.

Her gaze falls on me and her face lights up.

“You’re awake.”

“You’re fuckable.” I drag myself into a seated position with a grimace. “Two rights make for a wicked time.”

She grins.I’ve never seen her grin before.It spins her gold into something even more precious. “Extra cheesy, I like it. It goes nicely with this…” She produces the pizza box from behind her back with a theatrical, “Ta-dah!”




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