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GRAYSON
Anxiety sucks.
It comes up out of nowhere, unrelenting and disabling. I can’t even put one foot in front of the other, let alone draw in a stable breath. I don’t know when it started. Maybe seeing the sheriff pull Evie aside or the look of fear she’s constantly wearing. Maybe it started there. Maybe it’s been present since I left Iraq and I’m only now becoming aware of it.
My dad confronts me once more while Evie uses the bathroom with Frankie. I had a feeling after the shit I pulled on the field today, he’d be talking to me again once the girls weren’t within earshot.
“How’d the interview go?”
He’s stalling. That’s not what he wants to talk to me about. “Good. I got the job. Working with Ethan’s crew doing dry wall.” I had the experience they wanted from working for them all through high school.
And then he lets me have it. The real reason he wanted to talk to me. “You need to be careful about this,” he tells me, his face adopting a somber edge I recognize.
I start walking toward the parking lot with my bag over my shoulder. “I know.”
He raises an eyebrow, stopping me from walking, his hand on my forearm. “Do you? Because out there—” He pauses and gestures to the field with a flick of his wrist. “Didn’t look like you were being careful.”
I don’t like to be told what to do. I can’t think of many young men that do. Especially when you’re old enough to be making your own decisions. But I do understand where he’s coming from. “I hear you. I won’t provoke him anymore.”
Evie and Frankie exit the bathroom and Dad smiles, watching them. He pats my shoulder. “Glad to see you still have your aim.”
I snort but don’t say anything. I’m too busy trying to breathe right. And if I had better aim, I would have gotten his face, which I’d been aiming for. Instead, I hit the helmet he was wearing.
Wanna know the worst part?
The crack the helmet made. I hate the way the sound vibrated through me, a reminder, a flash of a scene I’m trying so hard to erase.
When I woke up in that hospital in Iraq, I thought, fuck, get me out of this shithole now. And then the days that followed, after a few surgeries, I began to realize getting out of there wasn’t an option. At least not mentally. Through memories, or rather nightmares, I’d forever be brought back to a place where I had no control.
When I made it back to the States, the doctors threw at me the term post-traumatic stress disorder. They said I had it, as did many war veterans returning from war. They described it as combat stress after experiencing a life-threatening event. How about months of life-threatening events? That’d be more accurate. They told me that being in shock is normal, but with PTSD, your nervous system gets stuck. Your body doesn’t recognize that you’re no longer in danger and you’re trapped in a state of immobilization. Constantly reliving a certain, or series of events.
I’d argued with them that I didn’t have that. I couldn’t. But I did. I just didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to believe that one event in your life could alter you to the point where you can’t sleep, can’t tolerate loud noises, or hell, even pick up a bat without shaking.
The half-empty bottle of anxiety medication, muscle relaxers and pain medication wouldn’t argue that clinical term, would it?
I do believe you can distract yourself though.
The first night I didn’t wake up screaming and crying since I’ve returned home was the night I fell asleep with Evie.
She’s my distraction. A way to think about something other than my personal battles in my own head.
And watching her the last few days, she needs that too. She needs a way to relax and not have to be reminded of Shane. I feel like a complete asshole letting her come here, knowing there was a possibility he’d be here too. It was irresponsible of us to allow it.
“I’m really sorry about all this,” I tell Evie as we walk to Frankie’s car. “You didn’t need this shit.”
She reaches for my arm, her steps slowing and lingering, as if she’s stalling. “It’s okay. I needed to get out today and yeah, it sucks he was here, but I’m glad I got to see you play.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “Brings back a lot of memories being here,” I hint, knowing she’ll understand. First time I kissed her was behind the bleachers. I can still remember the way her body felt in my hands when I backed her up against the posts. I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing but it’s crazy how I remember every detail about the night. She tasted like sweet tea and smelled like strawberries.
Her cheeks warm with the faintest pink added to her sun-kissed skin. “It does.”
Frankie closes the trunk of her car. “Ready?”
Evie backs up from me. “See you back at the house?”
“Yeah, I’m parked in the upper lot.” I hesitate, wondering if Ishould hug her, or more. “I’ll be there soon.” And though I want to kiss her goodbye, I resist.