“Huh? Oh, no. Not to me anyway. Her and I aren’t really close or anything.”
His mouth twists to the side like he’s in deep thought. “Hey man, do you think you could bring her to another game for me? Or, maybe give her my number?”
“Seriously? Armstrong, what are we? In high school? Do you want me to pass her a note in science class too?” Irritation is sewn through my words like the lace on one of Mr. Star Quarterback’s footballs.
“Jeez man, who pissed in your cornflakes?” He frowns at his bottle and I watch a wave of realization wash over his face. “Oh, uh, you know what? You’re right. My bad, man. I know it’s been a shit day for you.” He looks up from his drink sheepishly.
I sigh. Obviously he knows about the incident today. I guess everyone knows. That’s a hard pill to swallow. “No, don’t worry about it,” I wave my hand like I’m trying to sweep away the bad vibes. “I’m just being pissy cause Lauren and I broke up.”
Cameron slowly swallows the beer in his mouth, and his eyebrows shoot sky high as he looks over at me. “I didn’t know, that sucks man.”
“Yeah, I’m just trying to figure out what to do. I thought I might be living at her place, but now I need to figure out a ‘Plan B’ I guess.”
“You’ll stay with me.” Cameron quickly interjects. He’s not asking me. It isn’t an invitation, it’s a statement.
“That’s nice of you, but you don’t have to do that. Trust me, that’s not why I asked you to come out or anything.”
“Fuck that. You’re staying with me. It’s done. You’ll crash at my place as long as it takes to get yourself sorted out… uh, I mean settled.” He looks up at me nervously.
“Thanks.” Somehow the word feels too small for the gratitude I feel.
“Don’t mention it,” he shrugs it off. “It sounds like you’ve had one hell of a couple days. If staying at my place helps, it’s all yours. I can never repay you for what you did for me, Captain. There’s not a lot of men who would’ve risked their life like you did to save me. If crashing on my couch is something that can help you, then you can stay as long as you need.” He states matter-of-factly.
“You’re a good man, Armstrong.” I take another drink of my girl Stella and she goes down easy, just like I like ‘em.
“Don’t mention it, but, Captain?” His eyes dart up to mine and he nervously licks his lips.
“Yeah?”
“I just want you to know that I’ll help you in anyway I can. Like, if you need a hand tracking down someone to talk to or anything, I can help with that too.
“I don’t need help, thanks.” My words cover our conversation in frost.
Cameron picks at the label on his beer as the awkwardness marinates us. He looks torn. “I think you do.” He finally answers, his voice is barely above a whisper, but the push back is undeniable.
“Listen, I don’t need help,” I stress for the third time today. “If this is the kinda strings your offer to stay with you comes with then forget it.” I thump my bottle on the table and get up to leave. Where I’m going, I have no idea, but I’m not going to sit here and listen to this shit.
On the television the five o’clock news flashes on across the bar and a shaky cellphone video of earlier today leads the day’s stories. I stop and watch in horror as I see myself, frantic, panicked and screaming at the poor man in the minivan to drive. The terror on my face in undeniable and my stomach flops like a fish on a line as I have the out of body experience of seeing myself pull the guy from his vehicle. “In today’s top story,” the crimson lipped news anchor somberly tells the camera, “Captain Mack Forrester, West Point graduate, and the famous hero veteran who lost his leg saving several lives in the Afghanistan war, was arrested for the scene you just witnessed.”
I slump back down in my seat, defeated. I drag my fingers through my hair and down the back of my neck as I try to digest what I just watched.
Fuck.
I look up at Cameron, and swallow hard to try to shake this feeling like a dump truck just dropped a ton of bricks on me and left me for dead.
“Ok, man.” I nod my head and close my eyes, forcing myself to say the words: “I need help.”
37
Lauren
2014
My cellphone buzzes with another text from Chelsea. I’ve already ignored at least five phone calls from her on the home phone. Now she’s blowing up my cell.
I pick it up from the coffee table and read her message: “call me. It’s an emergency.”