The Christmas He Loved Her (Bad Boys of Crystal Lake 2)

“You sure you don’t want any help? I could spare a few men.”

“Nah, I’m good. I’ve got Weasel coming to look at the electrical on Monday morning to get that mess sorted out, and I plan on framing and drywalling the two load-bearing walls that some jackass decided to move by the end of the week. The roofers are coming Wednesday, and the windows should all be replaced by next week as well.”

His father nodded in approval. “Sounds like you’ve got everything under control.”

Jake shrugged. “I don’t know about that, but once the main stuff is done, I’ve got a hell of a lot of work to do inside. The place has gone to shit, and most of the woodwork needs to be redone, walls replastered, floors leveled.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And that’s just the beginning.”

“You’re working real hard.”

Something in his father’s tone, a note of concern, caught Jake’s attention. He took a sip of his hot coffee and shrugged. “It feels good.”

For a few seconds nothing was said, and then his father spoke so gently that Jake had to strain to hear him. “You’re working too hard, son.”

Jake’s heart skipped a beat, heavy at the sadness in his father’s voice, and he glanced away. How could he make any of them understand that he needed to push himself? He needed the mental and physical exhaustion, because sometimes—hell, most of the time—it was the only way he could forget. The only way he could function.

“I hear you at night,” Steven said hoarsely.

Jake’s head whipped up. “What was that?”

Steven’s eyes were misty and he cleared his throat. “I hear you at night, Jake. You don’t sleep. You’re up pacing your room, or down in the gym, killing the equipment, or off for a run.”

For a moment Jake could only stare at his father helplessly. Now would be the time to open his damn mouth and get everything out into the open. Now would be the time to spill the dark secrets he’d kept. Could he seek salvation?

Was he strong enough to ask for forgiveness?

Yet his throat was so tight that he was barely able to breathe, and the demons he’d been running from for the last year and a half were suddenly here, with him, right beside him, laughing their fucking asses off.

We got you.

We’ve always had you.

He closed his eyes, his heart beating crazily as the pressure inside him built steadily. White noise erupted in his ears so loud that he winced, and he groaned, hanging his head in his hands in an effort to get a grip. He couldn’t lose his shit. Not here. Not at home in front of his father.

And yet he could taste the desert in his mouth. Feel the heat of the sun, the stinging sand in his eyes. He could hear the steady ping, ping, ping of the sniper shots, the hoarse shouts of his men. The cries of rage and retribution.

Civilians screaming in pain, children running mad. A dog named Len, the mangy critter his unit had adopted.

And he saw Jesse, striding through it all as if he wore a death wish around his neck, like the crazy fuck from Platoon.

The blackness inside Jake was so big he felt like he was coming apart. His eyes flew open, but he was still back there. Back in hell. And for a moment he was confused. Something fell at his feet. Something shattered.

His coffee mug.

And then two arms were around him, holding him tight, not letting go even as he struggled to break free.

Eventually everything fell away as it always did, and he was left trembling, drowning in cold sweat.

“Jesus, Dad, I’m sorry.”

His father’s gripped his shoulders tightly, and when he had enough balls to look Steven in the eye, Jake’s world tilted a little. His throat was so tight, his jaw clenched in an iron grip and there was nothing more that he could share.

Not now anyway.

Steven’s eyes were wet, and Jake was startled to realize his stung as well.

“I don’t want to know, Jake…what happened over there.” Steven gazed at him, his right hand gripping Jake behind his head to keep him steady. Just as he used to do when Jake was ten, and it was the bottom of the ninth, winning run on base, and Jake was up to bat. Steven would always look him in the eye and calm him down.

“I don’t need to know how Jesse died. What I need, as a father, is for you to let go and come back to us, because this family won’t survive another blow. We just…we just won’t.”