My phone pings in my pocket, and I pull it out.
Zara: I can be there around 5:30 ish.
Zara: Can you give me a hint what it is?
Zara: Or is this your way of getting me to make the game night snacks?
Zara: *snickers*
I close my eyes, composing my response in my head. But all I can see is Kenda standing in the mall, blood spreading across her chest. Her image is quickly replaced with Cooper and Clarke, gaping wounds in their bodies spilling blood.
I open my eyes, banishing the image that has haunted me for the past seven years.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
I repeat the words several times. The action helps. A little.
“Tell me five things you see,”a voice in my head prompts. A voice that sounds suspiciously like the therapist I saw for a few sessions after retiring from the Marines. I quit seeing him soon after, figuring therapy wasn’t for me. I’d started to write my first novel after that, which did more for me than therapy ever could.
“Tell me five things you see,”the voice in my head repeats, more insistently this time.
I roll my eyes but go with my subconscious’s prodding. “Trash can. Kids. Mall cop. Stores. Benches.”
Christ, this is so stupid.
“Tell me five things you hear…”
“Laughter. Talking.”
I ignore the rest of the exercise and walk into the store.You’ve got this under control, soldier.
If I’d felt lost in the kids’ stores, that’s nothing compared to this place. I don’t know what Athena likes to wear—other than the jeans and T-shirt she had on.
A young woman approaches, wearing a short flowery dress and a store-employee smile. “You look lost? Is there something I can help you with?”
“I, er…I need help finding a pair of sweatpants and some T-shirts. She’s about your size.”
“A girlfriend?”
“No…just a friend. It’s a birthday present.” Because buying clothes for your kid’s nanny is probably frowned upon.
Maybe I could put William Lockheart, the male protagonist ofUntold Mercy, in the same awkward situation. Of course, he would handle it better than I am.
The woman shows me the section I need. I put the bag I’m carrying down and pick up a light-blue T-shirt from the table.
I hold the T-shirt up, checking what’s on the front, but quickly realize it isn’t long enough to cover Athena’s stomach. I grip the back of my neck, deliberating the sexual harassment suit I’ll be liable for if I give her this.
“Do you have anything longer?”
The woman shows me several tops that are much more suitable. I grab two of them. Maybe Zara, Simone, and Emily have clothes Athena can borrow.
“Um, she’ll also need underwear.” I inwardly groan at how that sounded. What guy buys underwear for a female friend? It’s not like I’ve ever bought any for Zara.
Face burning hot, I tell the salesclerk to pick something. She must sense my discomfort. She doesn’t show me what she selected and escorts me to the register.
Zara, Simone, and Emily will never let me hear the end of this…once they’ve stopped laughing their asses off. That’s assuming I tell them.
Christ, if Cooper and Clarke were alive, they’d mock me about it until we were old men in wheelchairs. And even then, that wouldn’t end their ribbing.
