Page 24 of Doing Life

And he hated that so many guys were coming back from all over the world with these damn traumatic injuries.

“They sound like a hell of a crew.”

“Do you like the folks you work with?” Lance asked.

Sloan pondered that. “The chief is a good guy. Ella, she’sthe dispatcher, she just hired on before me to replace a lady who retired, so we’re learning together. I’ve met like three of my fellow deputies and one animal control officer.”

“I did want to apologize in person. I can’t believe that I never asked you if you were okay. I mean, I can because I did it. I was caught up in some deep shit though, and I didn’t know. I wasn’t able to process it. I’m not sure that I’m able to process it now. But at least I’m not a prick. I hope that you’re all right, and that if you’re not, you can get help.” Lance rubbed his forehead then scratched his scars. “One of the mandatory things if you’re here is therapy…you know, going to see a therapist and talking?”

“Is it helping?”

“Sort of, I guess? I mean, I don’t know that talking about it helps, but some of the things I’ve been showed, I’ve learned, have helped. Does that count? Like I’ve learned when I have a panic attack, what to do, like tools.” All of a sudden, Lance grinned, and it was as if the sun peeked out through the clouds. “I got to tell you, there are a lot of fucking tools in this place. A lot of tools.”

Sloan started chuckling, and that chuckle turned into a full-out body laugh. That was one of his favorite things about Lance, that shit-eating grin, and the way he could drop a turd in a punch bowl. Bang. Just as dry as the desert itself.

Lance chuckled with him, the sound a little rusty.

“I had therapy for a while. I think maybe I told you that.” Sloan caught his breath from laughing. “I’m not sure I learned anything. I mean, I tried to, but it didn’t keep from waking up at night in a cold sweat.”

Or from being angry at everything he’d lost, especially with Lance.

“I get that. My stuff’s all more… practical. I get panic attacks. I freak out, then I forget how to breathe, and it wigs people out, so I remember things.”

“Remember things? How does that help?” He couldn’t imagine. He did everything he could not to remember, to push it out of his memory.

“No, no, not that kind of thing. Not like that at all. I don’t remember what happened during the attack. I remember things like—name three things that bubble or name five things you remember being red or name three Beatles songs. Name three movies that made you laugh. That kind of thing. It just stops everything from staying where it’s at and helps you go somewhere else.”

He knew he was looking all scrunchy-faced and disbelieving, but he couldn’t help it. Thank goodness Lance couldn’t tell. “Does it work?”

“About eighty-five percent of the time, yeah, it does. Nights are the worst, because you’re pretty much by yourself in bed unless you’re screaming. Then it’s embarrassing. But during the day, yeah. About eighty-five percent of the time it does.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

“Yeah, try it. Next time you find yourself getting totally freaked out, look for, I don’t know three things that are round or three things that are pink. It doesn’t matter what it is. What matters is that you’re thinking about doing that instead of what panics you.”

“That could be handy at work.” He’d passed the psych eval, but he’d found at home when things got tense at work, he did have a tendency to get stressed as fuck. He’d never frozen, but he would have nightmares for a few days, and the cold sweats would hit at weird times.

“Yeah. I bet.” Lance seemed to search for him, eyes moving.

“Sometimes it gets intense, though I rarely get shot at. But the noises…” Sloan shuddered. “Anyhoo, you gonna come sit inthe kitchen with me while I make supper?” The guac, to his surprise, was almost gone.

“I’d love to.” Lance grinned at him. “The guacamole rocked. Thank you.”

He took Lance’s plate and grabbed his beer. “You want my arm again?”

“Please, thank you.”

“Not a problem. Abby is following us like she’s hungry,” he teased.

“She’s always hungry, but to her credit, she works hard.” Lance walked with him easily, and he sat Lance at the kitchen table while he went to pull out ingredients.

Tortillas. Hamburger. Cheese. Onions, enchilada sauce, lettuce and tomato…

He could do this in his sleep.

Lance sat, head cocked as if listening, his body relaxed. Abby leaned on his legs.

“She really is good. Should I let her out?”

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