Soldier's Choice (12 page)

Dr. Emerson looked at him strangely. “Reese…do you mind if I’m straightforward with you?”

“Go for it.”

“Okay,” he said. “I’m sure you know a lot of vets suffer from post-traumatic stress—PTSD. It can make them angry, or confused, or withdrawn. Sometimes all of those things and more. But PTSD is manageable. Do you understand what I mean?”

Reese frowned. “You’re saying my father could’ve managed it, but he didn’t.”

“No. I’m saying your father doesn’t have PTSD.”

“What?”

Concern filled the doctor’s face. “You’re afraid that you’re like him,” he said. “I can see that, hear it in the way you talk about your father. And maybe—probably, you are suffering from PTSD. But that isn’t going to turn you into him.” He paused and folded his hands on the clipboard. “What you’re going through is unfortunately normal for combat veterans. Your father is a different case. He doesn’t have PTSD, or bipolar, or manic depression, or even garden-variety depression.”

His throat tightened, and he wasn’t sure he could speak. “Why?” he said. “I mean, if it’s not some disorder…”

“If you’ll pardon my bluntness again, James Mathers is your classic example of a mean, miserable son of a bitch. A schoolyard bully who wore a uniform once.” Dr. Emerson smirked. “And as far as medical science and case evidence knows, that’s not hereditary.”

Reese blinked at him. “What kind of doctor are you?”

“Technically, I’m an MD and a clinical psychologist, specializing in stress-related disorders. I also happen to be a Marine Corps vet. I served in Vietnam.”

He couldn’t help grinning. “Semper Fi, man.”

“Oorah.” The doctor held up a fist, and Reese bumped it. “So don’t go thinking you’re beyond help, son,” he said. “And get yourself to enrollment on the way out. We’ve got your back.”

“I will.”

They stood and shook again. Dr. Emerson left, and Reese drew a deep breath before he opened the door and entered room 428.

His father lay on the bed closest to the door—slightly propped up, eyes closed, hands folded on his chest. For one breathless moment, Reese thought he was dead. Then he noticed the slight rise and fall that said he was still breathing.

Other than that, he looked horrible.

He’d lost weight. His hair, which had been a salt-and-pepper buzz cut when Reese left, was yellow, patchy and stringy. His face had a sunken look, and his eyes bulged slightly. One side of his mouth seemed to be fixed in a permanent sneer.

A surprising sense of pity washed through him at the sight of the wasted figure. Despite all the terrible, unforgiveable things he’d done, the man was his father. And a Marine.

James Mathers opened his eyes. If he did have early Alzheimer’s, he wasn’t experiencing any symptoms right now. His gaze locked on Reese and filled with recognition—and fury. “Well, isn’t this special,” he drawled in a broken old man’s voice. “You finally bothered to drag your ass out here. Think I don’t know how long you’ve been back?”

“I’m sure you do, sir,” Reese said through clenched teeth. “I’ve been busy.”

“Too busy to visit your father.”

“Actually, yes.”

The man’s eyes widened briefly. “I see they gave you a spine in the Corps,” he said. “But did you get the balls to match?”

Reese glared at him. “Do you really want to find out?”

A rusty laugh crawled from the man in the bed. “Think I just did,” he said. “I knew the Corps would be good for you, boy. You were always so weak.” He leaned back with a grin. “Now you know what it’s like to crush someone. To be the most powerful man in the room. That’s what they teach you in the Marines—you’re the strongest, and you know it.”

“No.” His hands curled into fists. “That’s not what they teach you.”

His father raised an eyebrow.

“You want to know what I learned in the Marines?” he said. “I learned that it’s not about being the strongest. It’s not about pushing people around. It’s about
protecting
them—from people like you. Bullies. And it’s about knowing that when you’re not strong enough to handle it, somebody’s always got your back.”

His father sneered. “What, did the Marines turn into another bunch of pussy liberals since I’ve been in?”

“No. Things are the same as they’ve always been. It’s you that’s different.” Reese shook his head. “Goodbye, Dad.”

Without another word, he left the room.

Chapter 12

Luka made it through all of Tuesday and so far, Wednesday, without breaking down and trying to rationalize that it would be okay to see Reese one more time. But she wasn’t about to break her arm patting herself on the back just yet. He was still around, always in the back of her mind and sometimes right up front.

It would take a while. But the longer she went without seeing him, the easier it would get to stop thinking about him all the time.

She had to believe it would work that way.

After work, she headed straight home with grand plans to take a long bath, climb into sweats and watch Netflix until her eyes burned out. She might even make popcorn, if she could sneak it past her brothers without demands to share. Mindless relaxation was exactly what she needed right now.

Just as she shut the door to her bedroom, her phone rang. It was Sydney.

“Hey, woman,” she answered. “How’s the bride-to-be?”

“Luka, are you home?”

“Yes,” she said slowly. “What’s up?”

“I need your help,” she said, a little breathlessly. “This is going to sound totally weird, but bear with me.”

She smiled and sat down on the bed to take her shoes off. “Coming from you, weird is normal,” she said.

“Okay, here’s the thing. I completely forgot about a wedding present for Cam, and I definitely can’t give him what I got for Tommy. That’s just icky, and he’d hate it anyway.”

“Agreed. And?”

“And I found out that he—Cam, not Tommy—really likes art.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, I know. It’s weird,” Sydney said. “But not all art. Just stuff by this one person, some old English guy who painted a lot of horses.”

She frowned. “George Stubbs?”

“That’s it! So I called MoJo Station, and they said they have a reproduction of Cam’s favorite from this guy. A horse and a white dog. Now I have to go to Greenway tonight to get it, and I need you to come with me. Because you know art.”

Luka groaned and fell back on the bed. Going all the way to the city and visiting the art gallery was exactly the opposite of bumming around in sweats and stuffing her face with popcorn. “Does it have to be tonight?” she said.

“Yes. I’m going to freak out until I take care of this, I just know it.”

Damn. She knew Sydney meant it. This was the girl who panicked for a full day because the bridal store wasn’t sure whether it would take three days or four to get the veil she’d special ordered—a month before the wedding. “All right,” she muttered, throwing an arm over her eyes. “I’ll go. But you owe me.”

“Thank you! You’re the best, I love you!” Sydney paused a moment, and then said, “Oh, one more thing. We have to dress up.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. They have some big event going on tonight, a local artist spotlight or something, and there’s going to be tons of fancy people. If we don’t dress up, we’ll look like kitchen help or something and everyone will ignore us.”

“They don’t have kitchens in art galleries.”

“Well, caterers, then.”

She groaned again. “Fine. You
really
owe me.”

“Awesome! I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”

“Yeah, sure. Bye.”

Luka ended the call and threw her phone on the bed. So much for mindless relaxation. At least going on another wedding-panic adventure with Syd would keep her thoughts just as occupied—but now she’d risk thinking about not painting anymore, and being miserable over that. She missed it already. But she was determined to go for at least the rest of the week without painting, since doing it only reminded her how worthless she was.

Well, she was still going to take a long bath. And use all the hot water before the boys got home, just so she could laugh when they tried to take cold showers. After all, what was the fun of being a little sister if you couldn’t annoy your brothers?

The idea put a smile on her face, and she still wore it as she headed for the bathroom.

* * * *

When Luka came downstairs just before seven-thirty, wearing a little black dress that was the extent of her formal wardrobe besides the bridesmaid dress, all three of her brothers were sitting on the couch in the living room. Together.

Her eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?”

They turned in unison to look at her, and she could practically see the haloes. Now she was definitely suspicious. “That new action movie just hit Netflix, so we’re gonna check it out,” Gage said. “Wow, you’re all dressed up. Where are you going, a funeral?”

“Ha-ha.” At least that sounded normal. “I’m going out with Syd. Don’t wait up.”

“Like we would.”

“Well, not when you’re with Sydney, anyway,” Mark said. He shifted and held his phone up, looking at something on the screen.

Suddenly, the flash went off.

“Mark! Did you just take a picture of me, you jerk?”’

He grinned. “Hey, I need blackmail material. Who knows when we’ll see you in a dress again?”

“Gimme that.” She lunged for the phone, but Mark pulled back and shoved it in his pocket. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll just snap a picture of you in the shower.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Watch me.”

A sharp knock at the door made her jump a little. “My ride’s here,” she said. “Goodbye, you cretins.”

“Bye, Luka,” they chorused in unison. And Gage added, “Say hi to the deceased for me.”

“Oh, shut up.”

She went to the door and slipped outside fast before Sydney could come in. “Don’t go in there,” she said. “They’re being really weird.”

“Aren’t they always?” Syd laughed and hugged her. “You look amazing.”

“You too.” Sydney’s midnight blue cocktail dress clung to her curves in all the right places. “Did Cam see you going out in public with that?”

“Yeah, and you know what he said? That I look better without it.” She rolled her eyes and smiled. “Come on. Let’s go.”

It was a bit of a challenge climbing into Syd’s pickup with this dress on, but she managed. Sydney vaulted into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and pulled away. “God,” she said. “Is there anything more redneck than driving a pickup in a cocktail dress?”

“Sure there is. We could have a box of wine in here.”

“Hey, I like that idea.”

“Let’s save it for after driving.”

“Yeah, I like not dying in a car crash better.”

“Me too.” Luka shook her head and stared out the window a minute. “Hey, Syd. Do you know if my brothers are planning something…I don’t know, colossally stupid?”

Sydney blinked rapidly. “Why would I know that?”

“I have no idea. They’ve just been acting so strange lately. Like they’re keeping some big secr—wait a minute. Does this have anything to do with your arch?”

“My what?”

“Your garden arch, for the wedding. The one Mark called you about because he supposedly forgot the numbers.”

“Um. What does a garden arch have to do with getting a painting for Cam? Well, besides that they’re both for the wedding.”

“Oh, God, you’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m freaking out.” She sighed and sank into the seat a little. “I’m so confused about…everything. Reese. Painting. My whole life.” Her hands twisted together restlessly. “But I shouldn’t be talking about this now,” she said. “We’ve got a wedding to worry about.”

Syd gave her a sympathetic glance. “You know you can talk to me any time, about anything,” she said. “So talk.”

“No.” She shook her head and smiled. “I don’t want to sort through this mess right now. I
want
to worry about your wedding, and help make it perfect for you, and have the biggest damned party this town has ever seen.”

“All right, but
then
we’re worrying about you.”

“It’s a deal.”

They rode the rest of the way chatting about everything and nothing. When MoJo Station came into view, Luka’s jaw dropped a few inches. “Holy crap,” she said. “Is every person in the city here?”

“Wow. That’s a
lot
of cars.”

Vehicles packed both sides of the main street and the side streets, as far as they could see. A huge banner across the front of the gallery, lit with colored spotlights, read LOCAL ARTIST SPOTLIGHT:
Featuring Brand New Talent!

Sydney turned carefully down the street after the building. “We’ll try the parking lot first,” she said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

The parking lot was just as packed, but somehow Syd found a spot in the second row. She pulled in neatly, killed the engine, and flashed a broad grin at Luka. “Let’s go in,” she said. “I’m so excited, I could die!”

Luka’s brow furrowed. “About a horse painting?”

“Well…yes,” she said, clearing her throat. “Cam really loves that painting.”

Her earlier suspicions flooded back, filling her stomach with butterflies. Something just wasn’t right here. Whatever her brothers had been keeping from her, Sydney was in on it too. They must’ve told Syd to get her out of the house for some reason—but what? And why did she pick such a flimsy excuse?

Before she could demand to know what was going on, Sydney popped the door and slid out of a truck. Luka sighed and got out, too. She’d get this over with, and grill her on the way home.

She followed Syd through the glass back doors and up the long hallway leading to the main room. God, there were so many people here. The air practically buzzed with excitement. Whatever local artist they were spotlighting, it must’ve been incredible stuff.

When she finally got a glimpse of the main gallery, she realized they’d spotlighted more than one artist. The room was dotted with a bunch of small display groupings, and one huge area set off by portable fabric walls, with a big banner over the entrance. She couldn’t read it from this angle, but that was where most of the people were.