Safe Haven (The Protectors Book 1) Page 13

  “We’re going to talk about what’s going on and I want to be able to sit down. Where do you want the trash?”

  “I’ll get a bag out of the kitchen.”

  “You’d better make it two. This place is a disaster.”

  Tank grabbed the bags. He thought he’d cleaned up yesterday, but the living room looked as though a bomb had hit it and the kitchen wasn’t much better.

  He threw half a dozen soda cans into one of the bags, then held it open for John. Two weeks’ worth of junk mail hit the bottom of the bag with a thud.

  John stood beside the coffee table, scowling at the mess.

  “It’s not that bad.” Tank picked up another box and stuffed it in the trash.

  “You’re lucky I came here when I did. If Tanner had seen this mess he would have organized a cleaning bee.”

  Tanner was a self-confessed neat freak. It didn’t usually worry Tank, but he knew what John was talking about. Tanner would have sanitized, deodorized, and decluttered Tank’s entire house if he’d seen what was behind the front door.

  John grabbed a handful of newspapers and looked at the dates. “Do you need these?”

  “You can throw them away. I’ve been waiting to see if your reporter publishes anything about David.”

  “First of all, she’s not my reporter. And secondly, it’s easier to go online and look for the story. What’s with the collection of Doris Day movies?”

  Tank picked up the scattered DVD boxes and stacked them beside his TV. “I was bored.”

  “So you watched Doris Day?”

  “It’s better than the stuff you watch.”

  “Not by much. You want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Nothing is going on.” He picked a couple of glasses off the floor and took them through to the kitchen.

  John followed with the bags of trash. “It’s just as well you’ve got a dishwasher. Did you remember to turn it on?”

  “Of course I turned it on.” Tank opened the dishwasher and frowned. He was positive he’d turned it on last night, but the powder was still sitting in the dispenser with a pile of dirty dishes inside.

  “Or maybe not,” John muttered. “Go and have a shower. I’ll get this place cleaned up and then we’ll talk.”

  “I don’t need a shower.”

  “Are you serious? I’m telling you, you need a shower.” John added a couple of dirty plates to the dishwasher and turned it on. “If you’re not out of here in ten seconds I’m going to call for reinforcements. Between us, Tanner and I could get you cleaned up in no time.”

  “I don’t want Tanner here.”

  “You’d better have a shower, then.”

  John opened the back door and a blast of fresh air hit Tank in the face. John was right. He needed a shower. “If you don’t know where to put something, leave it on the dining table.”

  John rolled up his sleeves and looked around the kitchen. “You won’t recognize this place when I’ve finished.”

  That’s what Tank was worried about. John had a way of creating order out of chaos. Whether it was a security assignment, a government contract, or a friend who’d gone off the rails. But he wasn’t a project that needed fixing. He could sort out his own life—starting with a shower.

  ***

  John’s eyebrows rose. “Wow. There really was a human under all that facial hair.”

  Tank rubbed his hand along his jaw. “It was getting itchy.” He looked around the kitchen. It wasn’t only clean, it was spotless. “You did all of this in the time it took me to have a shave and shower?”

  “What can I say—I’m a miracle worker. Have you seen the living room?”

  “I don’t know if I want to,” Tank said as he walked past his friend. He stared at the transformation that had taken place. Apart from the curtains and windows being open and all the trash thrown away, John had vacuumed the carpet and rearranged the furniture. “Are you sure you don’t have a genetic link to Tanner?”

  “Tanner is in a class of his own. I made coffee. Sit.”

  Tank chose a chair as far away as possible from the rest of the furniture.

  When John came back with two steaming mugs of coffee, he looked amused. “You’re so much like me it’s almost scary. I don’t know how Rachel puts up with my mood swings and irrational behavior.”

  “Are you calling me irrational?”

  “If the glove fits…” He disappeared into the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with a plate of toast. “It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing. I’m assuming you haven’t eaten anything today?”

  Tank kept quiet. If he had a list of priorities, food would have been at the bottom. But today, along with the rest of the week, hadn’t been about priorities—it was about survival.

  “That’s what I thought. You had a loaf of bread buried at the back of your freezer. It wasn’t moldy, so I figured it was edible.” John left the toast on the coffee table and pulled a chair closer to Tank. “So…where do you want to start?”

  Eating the toast seemed like a good way to begin a conversation Tank didn’t want to have. He sniffed the butter before taking his first bite. It tasted better than he thought it would, so he ate another piece and finished his coffee.

  John sipped his coffee, studying him like a bug under a microscope. “Your delay tactics are commendable, but you’re sitting with someone who’s known you longer than almost anyone else.”

  “You think I need rescuing. I don’t. Thanks for the coffee and the toast and everything else, but I’m okay.”

  “Have you spoken with Pastor Steven since you came back from Denver?”

  Pastor Steven ran a support group for people with post traumatic stress disorder.

  When Tank first arrived in Bozeman, he was adjusting to a different life, a life that had left him broken.

  He’d reluctantly gone with John to one of Pastor Steven’s meetings where he’d met other men dealing with their own demons; people just as damaged as he was. After ten months of therapy sessions, potluck lunches, and gallons of coffee, life had become easier. Or so he thought.

  “I haven’t spoken to Pastor Steven for months. How is he?”

  “Busy. He’s organizing another pet adoption day with Sally Gray. Are you ready to tell me why Hayley is worried about you?”

  Tank looked through the window opposite him, focusing on the garden instead of his pounding heart. “I saw my parents last week. I told them about David.”

  “Hayley said you’d been to Denver. What did you tell them?”

  “That he was smuggling drugs into Afghanistan and selling them to other soldiers and civilians.”

  “How did they take it?”

  “Not well. Mom called last night. Dad still isn’t talking to me.”

  “Sounds like he’s behaving the same way he always does.”

  Tank nodded. “He said he expected more from me, as if it was my fault that David was selling drugs.”

  “He needs someone to blame. You’re an easy target.”

  “I never understood why my granddad and dad fought so much, but I did last week. Dad sees life in black and white. He refuses to back down from anything because he’s always right.”

  John leaned forward. “It’s easier to think the rest of the world is wrong than to look at your own actions.”

  “He’ll never change.”

  “Probably not, but you can change your reaction to him.” John left his coffee mug on the table. “Hayley knew I’d read the report on David’s drug activities. I didn’t get the impression that she knows the whole story.”

  Tank stared at his hands. “She doesn’t.”

  “What part haven’t you told her?”

  “The part where I shot and killed my brother.”

  John didn’t say anything.

  Tank felt like a coward. He’d gone to his parent’s home to tell them everything, but he couldn’t. He’d killed his own brother, the person he’d idolized his entire life. The weight of the guilt and r
egret for what he’d done had been too much.

  “Why didn’t you tell her everything?”

  Pain hit Tank’s chest with the force of a sledgehammer. He tried to breathe through it, but it sharpened, turned into more than he could handle.

  He heard the bang of John’s coffee cup as it hit the table and felt his hand on his shoulder.

  “Close your eyes and relax. Take deep breaths. That’s it, keep going. In and out. Slow, controlled, steady.”

  Tank listened to John’s voice, breathing through the panic, absorbing the terror as it snuck along his spine. When the worst part of the attack was over, he opened his eyes and thanked God he had a friend like John.

  “How are you feeling?”

  John’s gaze didn’t condemn him as a freak or a psychotic soldier who needed medication to control his emotions. He understood what he was going through. He was here to support him, to give him time and space to work through what was happening.

  “What did you put in the coffee?” Tank asked.

  “Not enough of something,” John muttered. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m telling you as your friend. You need help, Tank. Pastor Steven would be a start, but you should consider going back to the hospital.”

  “I don’t need a psychologist to tell me my PTSD is back.”

  “And I don’t need to tell you that it never left.” John moved back to his chair. “I know what you’re going through. Sometimes we can’t control what’s happening to us. It’s not a sign of weakness or a lack of courage or determination. PTSD is what it is, and no amount of wishing will change what you’re living with.”

  Tank’s grip on the arms of his chair increased. He felt the wooden frame beneath the layers of padding, the strips of webbing that supported the foam. “I don’t want to live with PTSD. I’m sick of being afraid, of feeling out of control. I’m terrified of telling Hayley and my parents that I killed David. But I’m more terrified of living with what happens afterward.”

  “What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “Mom and dad would never forgive me, and Hayley…” He couldn’t say the words that had filled his head for the last week.

  “What could happen with Hayley?”

  Tank let go of the chair and wiped his eyes. “She’d think I was a murderer, that I can’t be trusted around the people I love. She deserves someone better than me, someone who doesn’t fall to pieces all the time.”

  “People can surprise you, but they can’t do that if you don’t let them close. You’ve got to give Hayley and your parents a chance to be part of your life. You’ll never know how they’ll react if you don’t tell them.”

  “I could lose everything.”

  “You could, but it’s got to be better than living like this.”

  He knew John wasn’t talking about his home but, for Tank, the things that were missing from it spoke volumes about what was going on inside his head.

  Apart from a coffee table and lounge suite, the only other furniture in the living room was a huge TV against the far wall.

  After David had died, he couldn’t look at a picture of his brother without feeling as though the world was collapsing around him. So he’d packed away every photo, every memento he had of his family. Five years later, he told himself that he spent too much time away from Bozeman to go to the effort of unpacking the boxes. But that was an excuse and he knew it.

  He took a deep breath and focused on John. “I’ll give Pastor Steven a call.”

  “Do you want me to go with you when you see him?”

  “I’ll be okay.” Tank pulled out his phone. “But if he asks me to foster a rescue animal I’m calling you. I’m sure your daughter would like another kitten or puppy around the house.”

  “Bella has enough four-legged creatures keeping her company. But you, on the other hand, don’t have any pets. It could be good for you.”

  Tank held his phone to his ear. “Nice try, but it would take a miracle for me to have a furry roommate.”

  John grinned. “Miracles are Pastor Steven’s specialty and you, my friend, are a prime candidate for a little heavenly intervention.”

  When Pastor Steven answered his phone, Tank forgot about rescue animals and miracles. Coming to terms with his past was the only way he would be able to have what he most wanted—a normal life.

  ***

  Tank walked up the path toward Pastor Steven’s home. He should have been happy that Pastor Steven could see him straight away, but he wasn’t. He felt like a man whose life was hanging by a thread and one strong gust of wind could knock him to the ground.

  “I’m around here, Tank.”

  He looked across the yard and saw Pastor Steven waving from the corner of the house. “How are you with heights?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Rescuing a kitten that should know better.” He pointed to the orange ball of fluff meowing from the roof. “I know she can come down on her own, but you try telling that to a ten-month-old kitten.”

  “How long has she been up there.”

  “Long enough that she’s hungry.

  Tank looked at the rickety old ladder leaning against the side of the house. “I hope you’re going to use that for firewood instead of a way to get on the roof.”

  Pastor Steven patted the wooden rungs. “This was my dad’s. It hasn’t let me down once.”

  “There’s always a first time.”

  The kitten’s meow sounded even more desperate.

  Tank looked down the side of the house, then stepped back to get a better look at the roof. “There has to be an easier way to get up there.”

  “The roof over the kitchen is lower, but this is the fastest way to the kitten.”

  “Until the kitten decides to run away. You could be here all night if she starts playing hide and seek.”

  Pastor Steven frowned. “What do you suggest?”

  Tank walked along the side of the house, stopping when he saw the beginning of the retaining wall. “This looks better. You could climb on top of the wall and pull yourself onto the edge of the roof.”

  “But it’s further from the kitten than where we were before.”

  “It’s safer than using your ladder and not being able to get down.” Tank looked closely at Pastor Steven. In all the time he’d known him, he thought he was bullet-proof. “Don’t you like heights?”

  “Not particularly. I’m only doing this because my wife thinks the kitten is in mortal danger. She’s buying some special grits to see if we can tempt it down.”

  Tank gave Pastor Steven his satellite phone. “Hold this.”

  “You’re going up there?”

  “Apart from talking to you, I’ve got nothing else planned for today.” Tank didn’t miss the look of gratitude on Pastor Steven’s face. “If she climbs up there again, I might not be in Bozeman to rescue her.”

  “Tomorrow will take care of itself. I’m more worried about today.”

  Tank climbed onto the retaining wall. “Start praying that your kitten likes the look of me. If this doesn’t work, we’ll wait for your wife to arrive with the grits.” He held onto the edge of the roof and hauled himself onto the wooden shingles.

  This wasn’t how he thought the meeting with Pastor Steven would begin, but he wasn’t complaining. Rescuing a kitten was a whole lot better than talking about his brother.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Hayley gave the last patient she was looking after their medication. Her shift had been incredibly busy, with three new people moving into their apartments and a never-ending stream of friends and relatives walking along the corridors.

  For the first time in years, she wasn’t working with dementia patients. The nursing position she’d accepted was based in Birchwood, an assisted living community beside Bozeman Deaconess Hospital.

  As she passed the nurses’ station, she smiled at Elena Costello.

  “It must be time for you to go home,” Elena said with a grin. “If you don’t leave now,
Mr. Harris is going to ask you on another date.”

  Mr. Harris was a lovely man who had become a resident of Birchwood three years ago. He was the sweetest flirt Hayley had ever met.

  “Mr. Harris asks everyone for coffee. He only asks me because I’m new.”

  Elena handed Hayley a small bouquet of roses. “But he doesn’t give everyone flowers from the hospital’s garden.”

  Hayley sighed. “He did the same thing last week. I’m going to have to tell him he can’t pick the flowers.”

  “You could always let him take you out for coffee.” Elena looked behind Hayley and smiled. “Can I help you?”

  Hayley didn’t need to turn around to know who was walking toward the nurses’ station. Goosebumps prickled her skin and her breath caught in her throat.

  “I’ve found who I was looking for.” Tank’s blue gaze connected with Hayley’s. “I was heading home. I thought you might like to have coffee with me, but it looks as though you’re already busy.”

  Hayley looked at the roses. “Mr. Harris is eighty-three years old. He asks me for a coffee date at least once a week.”

  “Have you ever taken him up on his offer?”

  Hayley’s mouth tilted into a smile. “I’m not allowed. Besides, Mrs. Locke, his neighbor, wouldn’t be impressed. I think she likes him.”

  Elena handed Hayley a folder. “Remember to sign out. Enjoy your coffee with your friend.”

  “But I don’t—”

  “Yes, you do,” Elena said quickly. “It’s past five o’clock. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

  “I can’t leave. Mrs. Rooney wants a cup of coffee and Mrs. Gibbs can’t find two library books.”

  “I’ll help them.” Elena held her hand out to Tank. “It was lovely meeting you. Take Hayley away before she finds another excuse to stay.”

  Tank looked at Hayley. “Ready?”

  “I’ll give Sophie a call and tell her I’ll be a little late.” She passed Elena’s clipboard back to her. “Wait here, Tank. I’ll get my jacket and be back in a few minutes.”

  She moved quickly toward the staff area, called Sophie and took everything she’d need out of her locker. Hayley didn’t know where Tank had been this week, but she definitely wanted to find out.