The Problem with Peace (Greenstone Security 3)

I was Polly, after all. Chester made his persona dark and black so he could have something to cling onto. It was the same with me, only I was light and happy. I had to cling to it, because I was nothing without it. Nothing I was proud of, at least.

When it was time to open the doors, Heath pulled me aside.

My body reacted with his hand on mine, he seemed to notice this and immediately let me go. With his hand, at least.

“Stabbings?” he hissed.

I blinked.

Then I realized he’d held onto Chester’s offhand comment from before, and of course he was Heath, so he wasn’t letting it go.

“This is a homeless shelter, Heath. These are troubled people. They might come here to find peace, but they don’t always bring it with them,” I said, voice low.

He stared at me and I imagined that I saw something spark in those eyes. Something that wasn’t indifference or anger or hatred.

“Greenstone is now handling the security for this place,” he said in an indifferent but firm tone.

I sucked in a breath, mindful of the eyes on us and the fact I couldn’t cause a scene. I had a no violence rule, after all. And I wasn’t a violent person.

At all.

But Heath making decisions in the last place I had that wasn’t tattooed in sorrow was awakening a rage inside of me I didn’t recognize. “We don’t need security.”

“Stabbings,” he repeated, folding his arms. “Plural.”

I hated the way he talked to me. And not just with that cold and indifferent tone. No, in that way that was full of frustration and certainty that I needed protecting, my ignorance of the horrors of the world needed educating.

“Stabbings as in past tense,” I said, slowly, purposefully enunciating. “As in we haven’t had one since we’ve found a way to relate to our residents that doesn’t require the presence of a scowling man wearing a weapon and exuding violence hovering around.” I was surprised to hear my voice had a bite to it. Something flickered in Heath’s eyes, something that told me he was surprised too.

But I wasn’t done.

“These people come here from streets where they get stared at with indifference, hatred, cruelty on a daily basis,” I hissed. “You want to look at me like that, fine, I can take it,” I lied. I pointed out the doors from the kitchen where the sounds of plates and voices were carrying. “But you do not look at them like that. This is the one place they’re treated like human beings, not trash on the streets, not criminals. I’ll not have you changing that. I may not know why you’re here, I may not be able to make you leave, but if you’re going to be here, you’re going to contribute.”

I stomped over to the counter and snatched a plate of salad. Then I stomped back to him and thrust it at him.

He took it.

“So make yourself useful.”

I then snatched a handful of plates and stormed out.

Heath did make himself useful.

He treated the people with kindness and respect. His version wasn’t full of smiles and laughter because that wasn’t Heath. It had never been him. Not even before the war had put shadows in his eyes.

So I focused on helping people find peace while he chipped away at the last of mine.

* * *

An afternoon of doing something that normally had me feeling as centered as someone like me could feel was finishing with me stopping at my car after Heath had said he was walking me to it.

This was communicated as “You got your shit?” No, wait for a response. “Let’s go.”

And the entire journey to the car was silent. He didn’t even fricking walk beside me. He was two steps behind. Trailing me physically just like he had mentally throughout Europe.

It might’ve been funny if it wasn’t so fricking tragic.

And I was done with tragic.

So I gathered my strength and turned to face him as we arrived at my car.

“This is the point where you tell me what’s going on,” I said. “As in, why are you here?”

Heath didn’t move his expression. “What’s going on is you’re workin’ in a fuckin’ place that’s had stabbings,” he seethed.

I gaped at him. “You’re still on that?”

He folded his arms and his veins were bulging. It was hard not to get distracted by how hot that was. His fury was pretty demanding of my attention. “Yeah, Sunshine, I’m still fucking on that.”

I flinched at the name.

That gave him pause.

It almost looked like his face softened. That the corners of his mouth turned down slightly.

But I was beyond that, grasping at emotional straws, trying to feed off the scraps I pretended he was giving me.

“This is my life, Heath,” I snapped. “I’m not going to stop helping people because there are others out there who want to hurt people. I’m not going to do that in spite of that. I’m doing that because of it. Because that’s who I am. A lot of things may have changed since I was eighteen years old. But that hasn’t. I could get stabbed right here, on the street.” I pointed downward. “And you know what? My sister did.” My voice broke. “So don’t try to come and make me feel bad for something that brings me happiness. And how about you educate me on why you’re here in the first place since it’s glaringly freaking obvious you’d rather be anywhere but here.”