Page 6 of Riding Dirty
Millie glances up at me. “I’d bet she was doing what she wanted to. Look at that painting. Your dad is the muse because she adored him. Honestly, my dream is to be just like that. I always imagined I’d be surrounded with love and a houseful of kids I could care for. Though, I do like writing too.”
“What kind of writing?”
“Short stories. Music. Whatever comes to my head. I used it to escape a lot when I was a kid. But enough about me… what’s that scar above your eye from?”
I glance toward her. “No way. You’re just getting started. You never told me what you’re running from.”
She glides her tongue over her teeth and stares toward me as she drags in a deep breath. “You don’t want to know my story. Trust me, it’s boring. Where’d you get the scar?”
The steaks sizzle on the hot pan as butter pops, threatening my skin. I don’t want to push her, but knowing why she’s running seems important to both of us if I’m going to be of any real value.
Is she in trouble? What if someone is after her?Should I call the guys and let them know we need to fuck somebody up?
“We don’t know each other, so I get it. You don’t have to tell me everything, but I need to know the basics.”
“Why does it matter?” she snaps. “I needed an escape. That’s all.” She draws in a deep breath and blows it out slowly. “I promise it’s better if you don’t know.”
Her choice of words only captures my attention more. “Look, I’ve seen a lot of fucked up things. This scar… I got overseas. A roadside bomb went off thirty feet from my unit while I was on patrol. I left that day with a brain that makes me think I’m in constant danger. It’s something I’ll live with for the rest of my life, but I’m lucky. I lost three men that afternoon and every single one of them had a life more worthy than mine to live.”
“You shouldn’t say that!”
“It’s true. They had families. Wives. Kids. I left alone, and I came home alone. The fact that I lived, and they didn’t, makes no fucking sense.” My tone is ragged, and I know I need to dial it back, but anxiety rises in my throat until my chest is so tight, I can’t breathe.
Fuck! Not now, brain. Not fucking now.
The room gets blurry, and I turn back, reaching for the chair. There’s no rationale for the intensity of this reaction. It’s a result of the injury itself but talking about it strengthens the symptoms. It always has, but this feels worse than I’ve had in a long time.
I rest my hands on the table bouncing my foot repeatedly in place as the steaks sizzle in the pan. The sound is overwhelming and soon the scent of burning butter is leaving a metallic taste in the air.
I’m overheating, my stomach is turning, and my limbs are numb. I’m a fucking idiot. Of all the times for this to happen, why now? My chest tightens the more I think, and my breathing is shallow as flashes of the bomb and the plume of sand flicker through my vision. It’s not a flashback per se. I’ve had those. They’re much more intense. This is panic exacerbated by more panic. Panic that I’ll never feel right again. Panic that no matter how hard I try to be‘normal,’my life will never be anywhere close to that.
I rock back and forth in the chair, attempting to self sooth, but the motion is making my eyes tight. Sweat drips down my face. Pounding ensues in my ears. My teeth grate together. If I thought I could stand, I’d leave the fucking house and deal with this behind the shed…alone.
Millie clicks off the burner and grabs a pack of frozen peas from the freezer, landing them on the back of my neck. She doesn’t say a word. Instead, she leaves the peas and disappears to the bathroom. Her movement and the cold on my skin is doing more than I would’ve expected. When she returns, she has the jar of vapor rub in her hands.
“Tip your head back.”
I do as she asks, though I have a million questions.First and foremost—how is vapor rub going to help my broken brain?
She dips two fingers into the jar and swipes a small dollop of the rub beneath my nose. The scent is overpowering and almost immediately drags me out of the spiral I was in.
“You’re fucking magic.” I let out a sigh and tug in another deep breath. The tightness in my chest loosens, and the shaking subsides. I could kiss her. “Usually, an attack like that is an all-night event. Sometimes days if it’s bad enough.”
She pulls out a dining room chair and sits beside me. “I used to get similar attacks all the time. When I could, I’d follow the train tracks out of the city to get a glimpse of the mountains.” She shakes the vapor rub back and forth. “I never go anywhere without this. A lady in the woods told me about it.”
I laugh. “And you trusted she was right?”
“The panic was awful. I would’ve done about anything to stop it.” She laughs and slaps my shoulder playfully. “I bought my own jar! I didn’t take hers.”
“That makes all the difference then.” I smile and resist the urge to pull her close. “What was your panic about?”
“Not knowing where I was sleeping at night. The worst part is, I think it was self-fulfilling. No one wanted to deal with the girl with all the crippling anxiety. So, I became dispensable.” She glances up toward me and reaches for my hand. “I’m sorry for what you went through out there. That’s unimaginably horrible.”
Her hand on mine is soft and soothing, as is the cold on my neck and the strong scent just beneath my nose. “Sounds like you were dealt some awful cards yourself.”
She stands from the chair and walks toward me, climbing onto my lap as though we’ve known each other for years. It’s the same natural ease that she had cutting potatoes. Her arms wrap around my shoulders and her head lays flat on my chest. Warmth spills onto my neck and though I don’t mean for it to, my cock goes rock hard.
Fuck.