Page 22 of Angels & Whiskey

“Yeah,” I murmured.

“Nightmare?”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No … Just leave me alone.” I fell back against my pillow.

“Okay. I’ll be in the living room. We need some fucking food.”

“I know.”

“And coffee. Fuck I need coffee,” he groaned.

“There’s a Starbucks a few blocks over,” I called back.

“Perfect. Let’s hit that shit up before breakfast, then the store. We can’t spend all day though, I got a date. Fuck, and we need to find a gym.”

“You have a date already? We just got to town.”

“Yeah, man. Might wanna check your back-office, too.”

I groaned, grabbing my cell phone. Sure as shit, I had a date too.

When Alyssa first died, I drank like a fish. Jackson had covered for me numerous times while we were still in Afghanistan. Once we were home, I still drank enough to pass out. Over the years, it got better. Sure, some days were worse and I had to drink to shut my mind off; especially March ninth each year. It usually took me a few weeks to get my heart to calm down enough so I could sleep after the anniversary of Alyssa’s death—which was only a few days before we left for Vegas. Smelling Alyssa’s scent made it worse, but when I saw the face of who I was smelling, made it better. It was a weird feeling and when I lay in bed the night before, I thought of the stranger and not Alyssa.

After changing into jeans and a light sweater, I drove us to the Starbucks I’d discovered the previous day.

“Thank God there’s a Starbucks on almost every corner,” Jackson joked.

We stepped inside, waiting in line to order, and that’s when I sawher.