Page 26 of It Happened on the Lake

Breathing hard, Chase ground out, “Thanks, man.”

Rand spent several seconds breathing hard and feeling the sweat cool on his body.

Every muscle ached as he finally pulled himself into a sitting position, his knees bent.

He was exhausted, his hand throbbing. He looked up at the stars as he took in several more deep breaths of the cold, river-scented air.

“You’re a fucking lunatic,” he finally said.

“I know.” On his back, staring at the night sky, Chase was breathing so hard Rand could hear it. Chase shoved his sweaty hair from his eyes. “Damn it, I know.”

Good. Maybe his near-fatal fall sobered him up. Could it be the shock, the adrenaline rush of facing death that made Chase Fuckin’ Hunt reevaluate whatever the hell it was that he’d been thinking? In the half-light of the moon, Rand looked over at his drugged-out, scared friend.

Athletic but no longer clean-cut, a bruise developing beneath his scraggly beard, his once-clipped blond hair now in disarray, long locks fanning around his face, Chase slid a glance in Rand’s direction. “Holy Christ, that was a rush.”

“What? Nearly killing yourself in the river?”

“Yeah, I know, but hell, it makes me feel alive now.”

“You’re wasted. Too high.”

“Probably.” He pulled himself into a sitting position, the love beads glinting beneath the collar of his jacket. “Definitely.”

“Let me know when you land.” And get a cold dose of reality.

He finally rested his elbows on his knees and held his head. “Okay, okay. It’s cool. It’s all cool.”

Rand didn’t believe it for a second. He let out a long slow breath.

So this was what his last night stateside was going to be.

But what had he thought? Too young to hang out at a bar with friends, no girlfriend to cling to, nothing but his one damned strung-out buddy who had talked nonsense all night.

He kicked at a tuft of grass and wondered if he’d ever be back here again.

His whole world was about to change. He didn’t know if he’d ever see his old man, or Chase or .

. . or Harper. He’d thought about calling her, saying goodbye, but it would have been awkward.

Stupid. She was Chase’s girlfriend, whatever that meant.

He stood. Time to get going.

“Just tell me you’ll take care of her,” Chase said, breaking into his thoughts. “Take care of Harper.”

This again. Chase wasn’t going to give up. “Shit, yeah. I swear,” Rand said, just to shut him up. So that he wouldn’t have to deal with his own conflicted thoughts. “But I’m shipping out. I won’t be around.”

“You’ll be back.”

“And if I’m not? I’m going to war, man! Remember? I might not come back.” For the first time aloud, Rand voiced his own fears, and the night seemed suddenly colder.

“You will.” Chase wasn’t going to be denied. For the moment Chase was satisfied, but there had been something restless and off about him tonight, and Rand guessed it had less to do with the drugs and more with his off-the-wall mental state.

“I gotta go,” Rand finally said and found his cap near the back tire of Chase’s car. “You okay?”

Chase snorted. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“Who knows? Not your problem.” Chase dug into his pocket for his pack of Camels. “But you—you keep your ass down.”

“I will.”

“Good. Countin’ on it.” He shook out a cigarette and lit up. “Be safe, brother.”

Rand left Chase to contemplate the stars, universe, or his own damned fate and headed back to his Jeep. Disturbed, he got behind the wheel and jabbed his key into the ignition. The car was cold, the temperature having plunged.

He turned on the heater, backed up, then hit the gas, tires spinning in the gravel before the Jeep took off.

His headlights cut through the night, illuminating the potholes and weeds and bouncing off the thick gnarled trunks of the surrounding trees.

He fiddled with the radio until he heard Mick Jagger singing “Ruby Tuesday” over the crackle of static.

But his thoughts were swirling with Chase and Harper.

Shit, he had to get her out of his mind.

Except that he’d promised Chase he’d take care of her.

Oh sure.

How the hell was he supposed to do that? As if she would even let him.

As he shoved the gearshift into third, he caught the reflection of a deer’s eyes at the side of the road.

“No!” He stood on the brakes.

The Willys fishtailed.

“Don’t!” he yelled. As if the damned deer could understand him. “No!”

The blacktail leapt in front of the Jeep.

Rand cranked on the wheel and braced himself for the impact. The Jeep shuddered to a stop.

The doe’s eyes found his as it flew across the road.

It touched down just beyond his front fender, missing the headlight by inches, only to bound into the surrounding thicket. “Holy crap.” His heart was pounding, adrenaline surging through his blood from the near miss.

For a few seconds, he didn’t move. Just stared into the forest and let out his breath as the Rolling Stones kept on playing and his heartbeat slowed. He barely heard the lyrics about losing dreams and losing your mind, but somehow they seemed to fit with the night.

At least I didn’t hit the deer , he thought, then admonished himself. It was only a deer, for Christ’s sake. He was on his way to hunt other men, or boys probably younger than himself, in Southeast Asia.

The enemy.

Charlie.

A deer was nothing. “Shit.” He ground his teeth together and started again, shifting through the gears as the ruts widened into a gravel lane.

Glancing in the rearview, he didn’t spy any other headlights cutting through the night.

Chase hadn’t gotten into his car and followed.

Yet.

Maybe that was a good thing, considering how out of his mind Chase had been.

But then Rand worried. For half a heartbeat he wondered if he should pull a 180 and make certain his friend, hopped up on grass and acid, could drive himself home. Or wherever Chase was planning to go, even if it meant to break up with Harper.

Nah, this was Chase’s life.

Let him deal with it.

Rand’s conscience pricked a bit as he slowed, then turned onto the asphalt of the county road.

But Chase was his own person these days and Rand didn’t want to risk another fight. Besides, he didn’t believe Chase would go through with a half-baked plan to fake his own fuckin’ death.

No way.

No how.

Chase was just confused.

And scared.

And blowing off steam.

He wasn’t that off the rails.

Rand hit the gas again. He adjusted the radio again. The sound of Ben E. King singing “Stand by Me” filled the interior of the Jeep.

The lyrics hit hard.

He’d almost lost a friend tonight.

And all Chase had asked him to do was take care of Harper. How hard would that be? Impossible while he was in the service, but he could write her. Possibly call her. Do the best he could while Chase was . . . was what?

As he drove out of the hills and the lights of Almsville appeared through his windshield, Rand tried to convince himself that Chase wasn’t serious about disappearing.

That was just too nuts.

Right?

Well, it was his problem now. Rand had his own. He was going to fuckin’ Vietnam. So tonight, he decided, he’d celebrate freedom in the good old U.S. of A. Get shit-faced, if he had to.

He cranked up the radio, heard Jimi Hendrix wailing on his guitar.

A good start.