Olivia
“Hey, check it out. Scarface is outside,” Beau says a few days later, and the three of us look at him as if he’s grown two heads.
“No way?”
“He is. Go look for yourself.”
“Who’s Scarface?” I ask, though I’m not sure I want to know the answer.
“You know, what’s-his-name? That guy who went off to war and came back all fucked up,” Beau explains, and then nervously glances at August who is so obviously clenching his teeth. “Ah shit, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Please don’t put me in another headlock.”
“Okay, that’s enough. Both of you, go get painting the kennel floors,” I say, before August can tear them both a new asshole. They trudge off toward the kennels, and I sigh impatiently, preparing to head outside. August grabs my arm and pulls me back.
“Let me go,” he says, setting his paint roller down. “I’ll see what he wants.”
“I’m perfectly capable of talking to strangers, August, especially if they’re Marines. It goes hand in hand with the job.”
“Just, please, will you let me do this one thing?”
The pleading in his gaze startles me, but I nod and turn back to my section of the wall we’re painting a soft lemon yellow. “Fine.”
I’m curious, but I respect his wishes and leave him be. After what seems like a solid twenty minutes, but is actually probably more like ten, I decide to go outside, and I find August and Dalton Brooks deep in conversation. Dalton is standing in front of August. His long beard and hair is messy and unkempt. He smells a little ripe, and he’s far too skinny for his large frame. His clothes hang off him as if he were a coat hanger made of muscle and bone.
“Well hi,” I say, trying not to startle them both.
“Liv, this is Dalton.” I do a double-take at August because this is the first time he’s called me Liv when we weren’t locked in some tense discussion.
I extend my hand. Sometimes meeting infantrymen for the first time can be awkward because you never know if a mere handshake will set them off. Of course, I’ve met plenty who don’t mind touching too, so it really depends on the soldier and where they are in their recovery.
Dalton eyes my hand suspiciously for a beat and then shakes, but the feel of his clammy palm in mine sets my teeth on edge and the hairs on the back of my neck all stand up at once. I shove the feeling down, wondering what the hell has gotten into me. Dalton releases me and takes a step back.
August tells me conversationally, “Me and Dalton were both stationed in Helmand, different outposts, but same region.”
“Wow,” I say, taken aback, because this is another rare gift—August actually giving me information on the war. On his war. “Well, if I know anything about Helmand it’s that they only send the best there.”
August’s lips curl in the corner. Not an outright smile, but not a frown either. He knows that I know that’s not true. They don’t send only the best fighters to Helmand; they send troops wherever they’re needed. If you survived Helmand Province, you got lucky.
“So, what brings you out here, Dalton?” I search the yard for his car, but there isn’t one. “Did you walk all this way?”
“I like to walk. God gave me legs, it’s what they’re for.” This isn’t stated like a dig at August, and he clearly doesn’t think much about it either way. August doesn’t rile up the way he usually does with me. “I don’t mean no disrespect.”
August chin nods back. “No offense taken.”
“I was at that town meeting—”
“You were?” I ask, confused, because I know I didn’t see his face there. I’d remember this face. At one point, Dalton might’ve been handsome. He has pale blue eyes, golden hair the color of spun sugar, full lips, and a strong nose. He would have been one of those guys you’d see on the street and maybe take a second look at because you thought he was cute. Now you’d do a double take for a different reason. One whole side of his face is ruined with scars, and tiny fragments of shrapnel embedded in melted skin. His hair is missing a fair way off his scalp, and I’d be willing to bet it’s why he kept it long and messy because it’s the perfect curtain to hide behind.
“Yes, ma’am. I heard you talkin’ ’bout me.”
“I didn’t mean any offense, and I’m sorry to use you as an example.”
“I know you didn’t mean nothing by it. I wasn’t offended. But I wanna help. I ain’t got much money, but I got strong arms and legs, and I got time.” He balls his hands into fists; they’re dusted with dirt or maybe grease, I can’t tell. “I got nothing but time.”
“I’m honored, I really am, but I can’t afford to pay you, at least not until I get this place up and running. We’re a non-profit organization, so any money we make at our other shelters goes back into that shelter, and that program.”
“I don’t need money. I have what I need, but I was thinking maybe I could work for you and you could find me a dog, put me in your program. It’s pretty lonely when you get out. All your buddies are gone, and a pretty woman won’t even look twice at you.”
I smile, but I make sure there’s no trace of pity in my eyes. “Well, I may not be able to help anyone out with their love life, but I can get you paired with a dog.”
“Okay.” He nods. “Then where do you want me?”
“You any good with a sledgehammer?”
He smiles, and it warms my chest. His coming here today and offering to help, hell, even just the conversation with August would have gone a long way to making him feel a little less forgotten.
August gets Dalton situated with the sledgehammer at the counter, and I head out the back to talk to the boys. Grabbing both of their ears the way my mamma used to do to me when I was in big trouble, I lead them out the back door and into the small fenced off yard. There’s just as much stuff that needs cleaning here as out the front, but we’ll get to that. Hopefully, with the extra hands on board, we can get this job done a lot quicker.
“Ow, ow,” Beau shrieks.
“Woman, what the hell?” Josiah pulls free of my grasp. His eyes shoot daggers at me.
“Dalton will be working with us now.”
“The crazy guy?”
“Beau, if you make it to your eighteenth birthday without someone cutting out your damn tongue, it’ll be a freaking miracle,” I snap, and he quickly shuts up. “Listen up, sunshine, because I’m only sayin’ this once. Dalton will be working with us from now on. You are to call him Dalton. Not Scarface, not crazy guy, or any other shitty nickname you can come up with and seriously, they are shitty. You two have no imagination—we need to work on that, and your social skills. You are not to call him anything other than Dalton, and you will address him with the same respect you give August, or so help me God, I’m going to kick both your asses. Are we clear?”
They mumble incoherent words, and I snap louder, “Are we clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Josiah says.
Beau nods. “Yes, Miss Anders.”
“Good, then get back to work, and I won’t tell your aunt what little punks you are.”
They back inside, grumbling as they go. Josiah rubs at his ear as he walks. I feel the tiniest pang of guilt, and then I smile to myself because it may have only been a few days, but already those little bastards are growing on me, and I think I just might be growing on them too. August stands in the doorway, and I roll my eyes. “What? You need a good ass kicking today too?”
“Nope. Just wanted to make sure you’re okay out here.”
“Yeah, the boys may be idiots, but they’re harmless idiots.”
“In my experience, teenage boys are never harmless.”
I take several steps towards him. He doesn’t budge, so I give him my best sultry stare and say, “In my experience, all men are harmless if you give them a cookie and a belly rub.”
He laughs. Honest-to-God, belly-shaking laughter that makes me chuckle too, and after a moment of awkward smiles he leans down and whispers, “You already made me the cookies, but I’m still waitin’ on the belly rub.”
Maybe I was wrong about being a hurricane. Maybe I’m nothing more than a soft summer breeze about to get slammed by Tropical Cyclone August.
I give him a snide smile. “Get back to work, Cotton.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He grins and salutes me.
God help me, but I am surrounded by jokers, vandals, and madmen, and it seems I’m the maddest of them all because I’d like nothing more than to give August that belly rub—after letting him make good on his promise to rock my world, that is.