His laughter pulled a chuckle from my throat that soon grew into a billowing roar.
“Holy hell, that man’s full of hot air,” Paxton said.
“He’s a fucking character,” I said.
“Shit, that man has no clue, does he? It’s like he didn’t even come up in the same Navy as us!”
“I’m pretty sure the Navy from 1940 and the Navy now are two different things.”
We laughed until our stomachs hurt before we could finish our drinks. We sat down on some chairs in the corner while people I’d grown to love ate food and came to offer me their congratulations. Soon, the raucous partying died down, and all that was left was the whispering of people in the corners.
“So, where you goin’ from here?” Paxton asked.
“Got a cabin in Tennessee I’m heading to,” I said.
“No shit?” he asked. “Since when?”
“I bought it a few years back with some of my deployment money. Got it paid off and waiting for me for whenever I made this decision.”
“Fuck. I should’ve taken financial advice from you.”
“You’re doin’ just fine for yourself,” I said. “You know that.”
“Well, it could be better. I could stop taking those trips to Vegas.”
“No, you couldn’t,” I said, grinning.
“You’re right. I couldn’t. I love the women out there way too much. Seriously man, is there a more perfect kind of woman?” he asked.
“Probably not,” I said.
“Well, on that note, what are you gonna do once you get to that cabin. Just… hide out?”
“I don’t really know. I just know that, right now, I need some fucking silence.”
A boom sounded off in the distance from the training grounds of our base, and I groaned.
“Shit, I know what you mean,” Paxton said. “Quiet sounds nice.”
“Then you can come visit me anytime,” I said.
A silence fell over us while the two of us started to reflect. Images flashed in my mind. Images of screaming bodies and soldiers with severed limbs. Sounds of people begging for help and reaching out for me - only to be left to die.
I could never reach my hand out far enough.
“Canter, I want to thank—”
“Don’t you dare,” I said darkly.
Paxton’s eyes panned over to me while I pointed my empty beer bottle at him.
“Don’t you dare,” I said again. “You wanna thank me? You come visit me. That’s all the fucking thanks I need.”
“But I really need to—”
“You don’t really need to do anything except finish that damn beer so I can get you another one,” I said.
“But I thought you wanted to blow this gasket sky high,” he said.
“Dude. The beer’s back at my place.”
“Then shit, why the fuck didn’t you say so?”
I watched him throw back the rest of his beer, finishing it in two massive gulps before he slammed his bottle down. I took it from him and tossed the bottles into the recycling bin before we clung to the shadows of the walls. Then, we dumped out into the parking lot and headed for my truck.
“You gonna get yourself a new ride?” Paxton asked.
“Why the fuck would I do that?” I asked.
“Because your truck’s a fucking rust bucket. You’re already turning into some damn mountain man. I see the muscle you’ve been stacking on in the gym. I see that beard. I see your hair growing longer. Soon, you’ll be wearing flannel and replacing the parts of that rusted old shit tank with things you find in a dumpster or some shit.”
“And what’s wrong with any of that?” I asked.
I watched him as he started up his motorcycle, and he grinned as I opened the door of my truck.
“Chicks dig bikes, Canter. It’s just a fact of life.”
I laughed at him as he rode off, turning toward my apartment to get his beer. I hopped into my truck and started it up, listening to how it was slow to crank.
Shit, I’d have to get a new battery for it soon enough. But keeping this truck running was a way for me hang on to something better. Something normal. Something good before all the bullshit that brought Paxton and me together in the first place.
This truck had been here before all that shit, and now, it was here after all that shit.
I heard Paxton’s motorcycle make its way around before coming back into the parking lot. He pulled up to my door, and I rolled down my window, watching that sly grin of his spread across his face.
“You comin’ old man?” he asked.
“Who the hell you callin’ old?” I asked.
“Hey, I’m still in my twenties. You breached thirty, two years ago.”
“That shit don’t make me old,” I said. “That just means I’m wise. Chicks might like bikes, but do you know what they also like?”
“What? Grey hair and a dick that can’t stay up?”
“Nope, the rasp of a nice thick beard between their thighs,” I said, grinning.
“Oh shit, Canter,” he said. “You’re gonna slay all the pussy while you’re out.”
“None of your damn business.”
We both laughed out load. I pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road, with Paxton in the lane beside me. He kept taunting me with his bike, trying to get me to race him after every traffic light turned green. But my mind wasn’t on fucking around, nor was it on slaying pussy or whatever the hell guys called it these days.
When I said I wanted silence, that was what I meant. No people to bug me, no woman nagging in my ear about bullshit, and no sticky fluids I had to clean up after. All I wanted was to pack up my shit, get the rest of my papers signed, and settle down in the cabin I’d bought for myself. It was tucked back into a forest of trees that cried out with innocent life, and all I wanted to do was make myself a part of it.
All I wanted to do was try to get back a part of myself that had been stripped from me.
And I wanted to do it in silence.
CHAPTER 2
WHITNEY
“You look tired.”
“Thanks, Gwen.”
“I’m just saying, if you come sit in my chair one day, I could give you a new haircut, a new hair color, a nice massage and deep condition. You’ll feel good as new,” said Gwen.
“I take it the hairdressing business is going well?” I asked.
“Girl, I got that shit on lock. I’ve almost got enough to start my own little place!”
“Wait, that’s awesome,” I said. “When the hell were you gonna tell me this?”
“I just did, bitch! By the end of this year, my Christmas present to myself will be signing the lease on the store for my own business.”
“Holy hell, Gwen, I’m so proud of you. Have you started looking at places? You need someone to look over rental contracts?”
“Girl, that law degree of yours does not relegate you to go reading over my legal paperwork,” she said. “I got this.”
“I just want to help,” I said. “Gwen, this is exciting. You’ve been talking about owning your own salon ever since we were in grade school.”
“Yep. I knew what I wanted then, and I know what I want now. The question is, do you?”
Her question hit me like a ton of bricks. We were sitting at our favorite restaurant in Memphis, waiting for the best barbecue while we sipped on the best sweet tea in the South, but all I could do was sigh. It felt like my best friend’s life was falling into all the right places. She graduated from high school and went straight to beauty school. She learned how to cut hair before jetting off to L.A. to learn all the new and funky coloring styles. Then, she kept getting certification after certification on how to do everything from neck massages to people’s toenails. She was a one-stop shop for everything spa-oriented, and it had all culminated to her opening up her own salon.
Me? I was a twenty-eight-year-old lawyer working in a corporate law firm that defended institutions from getting sued for shady practices they engaged in. We defended everything from sexual harassment lawsuits to companies that were skirting health regulations in their own damn factories. My firm defended embezzlement cases and even assisted one or two people into getting by with their Ponzi-scheme-like business setups.
It made me sick, and I was tired of defending the guilty just because it paid me a decent sum of money.