by Tamara Lush
Leo’s eyes snapped open. For a moment he was confused, on edge, listening, waiting for something awful to happen. But he wasn’t in Afghanistan anymore. He wasn’t next to the compound attacked by insurgents and not in the Humvee two years later when he and Steve were hit by an IED. Where he almost lost his arm. Where he just about lost his mind. No, tonight he was on a bench in the New Orleans City Park. It was dark, but moonlight danced across the nearby slow-moving stream and shone against the stones of an arched bridge. The air felt soupy and moist, not dry and thin.
Shaking, sweating, scared now about something else, Leo struggled to sit up.
It’s happened. The night terrors. I’ve f***ing blacked out again.
He had taken the sleeping pill, and these were the consequences. He hated taking the damn things. This wasn’t the first time the pills had put him in a fugue state and led him to wander out of bed. Wasn’t the first time he’d experienced this out-of-control uncertainty about where he was and what he’d done.
He gulped in several breaths then heard sirens in the distance, wails similar to the ones he’d heard when stationed in Afghanistan. But these were ordinary American fire trucks. A lot of them, it seemed, whizzing past on City Park Drive; he spotted their red flashing lights through the Spanish moss drooping off the branches of the live oaks.
A hard swallow, and his hand went to his beard. He hadn’t shaved or cut his hair since his honorable discharge, mostly because it annoyed his father. The several months’ growth made him look like a hipster, but he didn’t give a rat’s ass because the dark, scruffy look matched his mood most days.
What was that in his beard? Something chalky. He looked down at his hand and rubbed his fingers together. Because it was dark, he couldn’t see much, but it felt like ash. Had he bought a pack of cigarettes or…?
He touched his beard again then sniffed his fingers. All he could smell was moon dust. That happened a lot, which his therapist said it was because of the PTSD. His brain wires were crossed.
Hunh. Where have I been?
Pricks of perspiration tickled his arms. They were damp, as if he’d run a marathon. Actually, his whole body was moist, rivers of sweat pooling between the ridges of his stomach muscles and down to the waistband of his cargo shorts.
Teeth chattering even though it wasn’t cold, he ran his fingers up his left forearm, over the scars. Without looking, he knew exactly where the tattoo of a mermaid was on his bicep. He traced her, something he did when anxious. Her tail, her curvy hips, her tiny waist and her big breasts. Then the five points of the starfish on his shoulder.
With a quick motion, he flicked off the sweat that had nestled near his collarbone. Why the hell was he wearing only a pair of cargo shorts while sitting on a park bench in the middle of the night?
Barefoot?
He looked down.
How did I get here?
Heart pounding, he wiped the sweat off his chest with his palm, his hand smearing across the hard planes of his pecs. More sirens ripped through the night, and Leo tilted his head and inhaled deeply through his nose. Was that…smoke?
Yes, fire. Squinting into the distance, he saw an orange flicker coming from the strip mall near the park. That’s where the Marine recruiting center was, the one that he had walked into five years earlier, changing his life forever. The one that he’d wished a thousand times had never existed.
Leo launched to his feet as fear settled in his chest.
What the hell have I done?
Acknowledgments
Thank you to the team: Marco Kornfeld, Kat Faitour, Jami Nord, Rebecca Weston, Hang Le, G.G. Andrew, and Cathryn Cade. I couldn’t have made it this far without you.
About the Author
During the day, Tamara Lush is a journalist with The Associated Press. At night, she writes fictional romance tales about complicated, sexy men and the women who love them.
When Tamara isn’t reporting, writing or reading, she’s doing yoga, cooking for her Italian husband or chasing her dogs along a beach on Florida's Gulf Coast.
She loves connecting with people on social media. Go to her website at www.tamaralush.com and sign up for her newsletter if you’d like details on new releases, exclusive content and adorable photos of her dogs.
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