Hard Beat(3)

“Amen, brother. So, tell me what the hell has been happening while I’ve been gone.” The need to change the subject is paramount for me right now. I know Stella is going to be everywhere here, but I need a way to make her not so present in my mind so that I can focus on doing my job.

At least it’s a good theory.

“I’m hearing that some new players have moved into the game and that there’s a high-official meet in the works, but we can talk shop later. Right now, we need to welcome you back properly.” Pauly raises his voice to shout the last few words. In agreement, the crowd of people around us, mostly men, raise up a glass and call out a few aye, ayes.

The excitement around me feels palpable. It doesn’t take much in this place to give people a reason to celebrate. We all live on that razor-thin edge of unpredictability, so we take the chances we get to party because who knows when we’ll get another one? For all we know, tomorrow we could be on air-raid-siren lockdown in the hotel or out in the field in an embedded mission with a military unit.

When I turn back around, the bartender is busily filling the row of shot glasses on the bar top in front of me with Fireball whiskey. History tells me that this row is the first of many in tonight’s welcome-back celebration. My inclination is to chug back the first shot and then slowly work my way out of the bar and to my room.

It’s been a long ass few days. Between flights through multiple time zones and then a transport into the heart of the city, plus trying to reconnect with my sources to let them know I’m back in town, and grease their palms some, I’m exhausted, exhilarated, and feeling a little more like myself back in the thick of things, doing exactly what I love.

“C’mon, T-squared,” Carson yells with a slap of his hand on the counter. Hearing the nickname referring to the initials of my first and last names is like a welcome mat laid before me, and right then I know there is no way in hell I’m skipping out on this party.

“I’m game if you’re game!” I raise a glass up to him and wait for everyone close to us to grab a shot. The jostling of more people patting my shoulders accompanied by welcome-back comments causes the amber liquid to slosh over the sides of the shot glass.

“Shh. Shh. Shh,” Pauly instructs our friends as he stands on the seat of his chair, holding up his own glass. “Tanner Thomas… We are so glad to see your ugly ass back in this shithole. I’m sure once you hand our asses to us time and again by getting the story first, we’ll want you to leave, but for now we’re glad you’re here. Slainte!” As soon as he finishes the toast, the room around us erupts into cheers before we all toss back the whiskey.

I welcome the burn and before the sting even abates, my glass is already being refilled. When I look up from the pour, my eyes lock on a woman I hadn’t noticed on the other side of the bar. The momentary connection affords me a glimpse of dark hair and vibrant eyes as she lifts her drink in a silent nod to me, but as soon as I register she’s doing it on purpose, someone moves and blocks my view of her.

But I keep my eyes fixed in that direction, wanting another glance of the mysterious woman. She doesn’t look familiar, but at the same time something more than curiosity pulls at me. It’s been four long months – she could be anybody – but for a guy like me always in the know around here, it bothers me that I don’t have a clue who she is.

“Ready, Tan?” Pauly’s glass taps against mine, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Bottoms up, baby.” God, it feels good to be back. Listening to the guys’ war stories, getting up to speed on the shit that’s happened at the grassroots level that no one back at home has any clue about.

The whiskey goes down a little smoother the second and third times while our crowd gets bigger from people coming in after fulfilling their assignments. And each wave of people joining us ushers in another round of shots.

Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the familiar atmosphere, but soon I feel like I can breathe easier than I have in months. I think of Stella intermittently through the night, mostly how much she’d have loved this show of unity amongst all these people competing for the next big story, and for the first time in forever I can smile at her memory.

“So how long you here for this time?” Pauly asks.

“I don’t know.” I blow out a long breath and lean back in my chair, tracing the lines of condensation down the glass of water in front of me that’s still full. Whiskey tastes so much better tonight. “This might be my last time…” My own words surprise me. A confession from the combination of the nostalgia and my own mortality examined through the alcoholic buzz.

“Quit talking like that. This shit is in your blood. You can’t live without it.”

“True.” I glance across the room while I nod my head slowly in agreement. “But dude, a dog only has so many lives.”

“I guess that’s why I prefer pussies. They’ve got nine of ’em.”

“Christ, Pauly.” I choke on the words. “I prefer to eat it rather than live it.”

His arm goes around my shoulder as his laugh fills my ears. “I missed the f*ck out of you, Thomas. Speaking of…” His hand grips me tighter before he lifts his chin to direct my line of sight. “The hottie at two o’clock has been eyeing you all night.”

I shrug the comment away, even though a small part of me – one that I’m not too happy with right now – hopes that he’s referring to the woman I’d glimpsed earlier. I’d told myself that she’d left. But secretly I want to be wrong. “I’m sure as hell hoping when you say ‘hottie,’ you’re referring to a woman and not an IED.”