Page 22 of Angels & Whiskey
“Yeah,” I murmured.
“Nightmare?”
“Yeah.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
“No … Just leave me alone.” I fell back against my pillow.
“Okay. I’ll be in the living room. We need some fucking food.”
“I know.”
“And coffee. Fuck I need coffee,” he groaned.
“There’s a Starbucks a few blocks over,” I called back.
“Perfect. Let’s hit that shit up before breakfast, then the store. We can’t spend all day though, I got a date. Fuck, and we need to find a gym.”
“You have a date already? We just got to town.”
“Yeah, man. Might wanna check your back-office, too.”
I groaned, grabbing my cell phone. Sure as shit, I had a date too.
When Alyssa first died, I drank like a fish. Jackson had covered for me numerous times while we were still in Afghanistan. Once we were home, I still drank enough to pass out. Over the years, it got better. Sure, some days were worse and I had to drink to shut my mind off; especially March ninth each year. It usually took me a few weeks to get my heart to calm down enough so I could sleep after the anniversary of Alyssa’s death—which was only a few days before we left for Vegas. Smelling Alyssa’s scent made it worse, but when I saw the face of who I was smelling, made it better. It was a weird feeling and when I lay in bed the night before, I thought of the stranger and not Alyssa.
After changing into jeans and a light sweater, I drove us to the Starbucks I’d discovered the previous day.
“Thank God there’s a Starbucks on almost every corner,” Jackson joked.
We stepped inside, waiting in line to order, and that’s when I sawher.
