Crazy Girl(44)

“Do they kill it?” I asked in a hushed tone, my heart aching for the poor gorilla. I could understand the villagers wanting to protect the trees, but still.

“Nah,” Duke laughed. “They’d paint it white.”

I furrowed my brows, confused. “Why?”

Scratching at his beard, he sighed. “They’d paint it white and let it go. The gorilla would wake up, not realizing what had happened, and go back to the pack. His pack would see him painted white and not realize he was one of their own. They’d think he was a threat and run from him, then the gorilla would chase after his own pack that was fleeing from him.”

I grinned. It was a clever tactic and at least the villagers spared the gorilla’s life. “I love that story, but I still feel bad for the gorilla,” I told him.

He’d just cut the ignition so we both climbed out to head inside. Just before we reached the entrance, I turned to him, “Thank you for taking me out there and for sharing your stories.”

“You’re welcome, sug. And you keep Wren in line, okay? Kick him in the shin if you have to.”

I widened my eyes at the thought of keeping Wren “in line.” Not sure I could handle it. It was also such an official statement, as if I was someone serious enough in Wren’s life to be the one to keep him in check. Was I the first woman he’d brought to this job site?

“I’ll do my best,” I answered, my smile growing a bit.





Something Real





It was six in the evening before we got back to my house. I grabbed us both a beer while Hannah stared at my wall of framed pictures. She took her time, giving each one her full attention. There were pictures of my days in the Marine Corps, me with soldiers I’d helped through Wounded Warrior, and a few of my family. There were also pictures of time I’d spent in other countries providing security for embassies.

“Who is this?” she asked, pointing at a frame.

Handing her a beer, I stood beside her and took a swig before answering. “That’s my sister Lauren.”

“Oh,” she perked up. “You have siblings?”

“Had,” I clarified. “She’s been gone about ten years now. Suicide.”

Her dark eyes moved to mine. I glanced at her briefly before looking away. My sister’s death wasn’t something I liked to think, or talk about. It evoked emotions I didn’t like feeling and worked hard to push down.

I expected Hannah to say the thing all people say in this situation. I’m sorry. But she didn’t. Instead, she pressed her mouth to my arm and kissed it before wrapping her arm around mine and resting her head against it. “She was beautiful.” She paused a moment, then asked, “How did she get all that gorgeous red hair and you ended up a brunette?”

I smiled. If I had a nickel for every time someone asked me that question. It was always a running joke in my family. “I have no idea.” I wanted to change the subject, badly, but didn’t want to seem like a dick. “You have siblings?” I worried she’d be upset by the change in subject, but thankfully she rolled with it.

“A brother and a sister. I’m the baby.”

“Nice. And your parents…where are they?”

“Well…” She exhaled deeply. “My mother lives states away. My father lives close by. What about your parents?”

Pointing to a family photo at the top, I said, “That’s my mom. She passed away five years ago.”

Her arm was still wrapped around mine and I felt her body deflate. Looking down at her, she had a hand over her mouth as she stared ahead, her eyes hooded in sadness. I winced as I noted her expression. Was she going to cry? I hated when women cried, and something told me Hannah was a crier. She felt too much…and in all honesty, she was too much. Too much…feelings. She was doing so well, and now she was gonna cry. Damn it. I knew this based on the conversation we had on our second date, or redo first date. The way she’d watched the couple she didn’t even know, concluded the husband was a douche, and absorbed it all as if she were the one that had been wronged. On the spectrum of feelings, Hannah and I existed on opposite ends. I couldn’t deny that if I intended to be serious with a woman I’d have to make some adjustments—try harder to be softer. But on the flip side, if Hannah and I had a shot at having something real, she’d have to get some thicker skin. Learn not to internalize everything and carry it with her. Calling her on it would be a risk. She might think I’m an asshole, a man that is inconsiderate and unsympathetic to her. But I wondered if maybe she needed the exact thing I needed—someone to hold her accountable—to call her on her shit. I doubted she’d been this way her whole life, and I was certain her experiences had created this wrecking ball of an emotional woman.

“Hannah,” I said her name sternly. “Don’t.”

A small crease formed between her brows as she narrowed her eyes and looked up at me in question.

“Don’t absorb my sad shit,” I told her.

Her brow relaxed and she reared her head back slightly, dropping her arm from around mine. She stared at me blankly, as if she didn’t know how to react. Should she be mad? Apologize? “What did I do?”

“You were internalizing my…sad shit. Making it your own. Don’t do that.”