It's Complicated: A Reservations Story

He was jerked forward several steps before he planted his feet on the ground, causing Woofer to only make it so far without Julian having to walk the rest of the way toward the patch of grass close to the curb.

“Make it fast.”

Julian had no idea why he always averted his gaze to give Woofer privacy, but he did by turning his back away from the dog, looking down the street as a car’s headlights came around the corner. He let his thoughts shift back to Beckett’s mesmerizing eye color. They really did look like iced whiskey.

A smoke-colored Charger drove slowly by, flexing its muscle by giving a rev to the engine. The color caught his attention seconds before a sharp pain pierced his brain, sending an icy chill racing down his spine. Brief flashes of multicolored lights zipped and zinged through his mind while confusing images played like a slideshow behind Julian’s eyelids. He was dancing and felt woozy. Loud thumping music and the stench of cigarettes and booze assailed him.

Something was very wrong.

The dance club’s lights blur as dizziness overwhelms him.

Julian stumbled backward from the weight of the memory.

A barrage of images crashed over him like waves during a storm. As one ebbed another flowed forward with unrelenting impact.

A dimly lit dingy hallway.

Ugly wallpaper.

Men’s voices—several of them.

Julian couldn’t catch his breath.

The here and now slid back in place in slingshot fashion, sending Julian’s balance reeling. Back in the early morning, standing outside his condo. His building was on one side of him, Woofer on the other. The paralyzing pain in his head left his vision blurry, while darkness danced around the edges, making him so unsteady.

Shit, he was about to pass out.

“Dude, are you okay?” The voice sounded a million miles away. Julian’s knees gave out, and the world tilted as he swayed backward, helpless to stop his fall.

Julian jerked, startled awake by the motion. He struggled to lift his head, snapping his eyes open, disoriented as to why he was lying on the ground.

His neighbor, a guy he’d nodded at a couple of times, hovered over him, his cell phone at his ear. The guy looked worried as he pushed at Woofer with his free hand. Woofer didn’t budge a single inch as he stood guard on Julian’s other side, peering directly into his face.

The throb in his head had grown tenfold since opening his eyes. Julian tried to push himself up off the hard concrete beneath him. He could only manage to turn to the side as his stomach roiled.

“Stay down,” his neighbor instructed, concern lacing his words. “You took a hard fall. I called 911. They’re on their way.”

“What happened?” Julian asked, his voice weak and raw. He reached for the back of his head, a hard knot about the size of a golf ball protruding from his aching skull. “Am I bleeding?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“What happened?” Julian asked again. Woofer crowded against Julian’s body, whining beside him as he offered his own brand of support.

“I don’t know. I just saw you teetering and down you went.”

Yeah, Julian got that much. He fought the rising nausea and forced himself to a sitting position. Saliva flooded his mouth, and he prayed he wouldn’t vomit on top of everything else. His head hurt so damn bad, though. The barrage of sirens barreling toward them didn’t help the pulsing pain thumping through his head.

“Can you cancel the police?”

“They’re bringing an ambulance. You hit your head pretty solidly on the concrete. You should be checked out.” His neighbor reached for Woofer’s leash. “Let me take him inside.” He pulled, but Woofer stayed planted in his spot. The dog didn’t budge one single inch as he hunkered down beside Julian. “Come on, big guy.”

Julian reached for the German shepherd, petting his head. “Go inside for me.”

Woofer knocked his nose into Julian’s shoulder, urging him to follow. His neighbor tried again, giving another solid tug on the leash, but the dog fought to stay by Julian’s side. It was endearing even though he didn’t like the damn dog at all.

“Let him stay. He’s a support animal. This is what he does. He won’t leave willingly.”

A police cruiser pulled to the curb, followed by an ambulance. This wasn’t the first time he’d been intimately involved with either of those vehicles.

Julian lurched forward, throwing up in the dew-damp grass beside him. So much for avoiding that humiliation.

Luckily for Beckett, he and the group of newbie survivalists had only had to hike up the side of the mountain for about three miles before his father had stopped and made camp for his introductory survival training course. Surprisingly, his father had a solid read on his students and had preplanned the area for their arrival. He’d chosen the perfect distance for the beginner group: close enough to the main lodge for anyone who might need to be taken back but far enough away to discourage anyone in the class from leaving on their own.