The strange crunching noise made Thad roll out of bed and drop to a crouched position. Half awake, yet fully aware, he scanned the now-silent room until he found the source of the disturbance.

“You gotta be kidding me.” Custer looked like he swallowed a dog bone whole and dropped his head on top of Thad’s half-chewed boot. “Those were my best pair.”

Thad walked around the edge of the bed, grabbed his combat boots out from between Custer's paws and dropped them on his desk by the open window. The dog’s tail thump-thump-thumped on the floor nervously while Thad released a morning fart, communicating his displeasure.

“You and I had an understanding. No chewing stuff.” He dropped down to the bed, flopped onto his back, and hauled his hands down his face.

I feel like I’ve been run over by a tank.

A soft breeze moved the air in the room, bringing with it a scent of pine. The sun, barely awake, peeked over the horizon, wishing him a good morning, but he’d rather have pulled a pillow over his head and let the day slip past. However, the coffee pot called to him, and he rolled again to a sitting position.

“Maybe if I could sleep for more than twenty minutes at a time, I’d be in a better mood.” Custer leaned into the bed, pushed his muzzle underneath Thad’s hand, begging for forgiveness. “I guess I’d better take you out before you decide to destroy something else.” Custer tilted his head to the side, listening.

Thad struggled into a pair of jeans and made his way to the kitchen to confirm the coffee maker had started to brew. The rumbling noise of a vehicle making its way slowly up the dead-end dirt road grabbed his attention. His mouth curved up while he grabbed a clean T-shirt from the top of his rucksack.

The old Ford stopped in front of his place as Thad opened the front door.

“Hey, Coach. Just brewed a pot of coffee. What brings you up this way?”

“I knew you’d be up this early.” Bill Mason walked around the bed of his truck. “Tuesdays are always quiet, and my son-in-law is opening the store this morning. I came up to bring you the window you ordered, and to make sure you know how to use a level properly.”

“If I don't, it's your fault.” He scratched at his morning stubble. “You’re the one who taught me to use one in the first place.”

“True.” Coach retrieved a large toolbox from the back of his old Ford. “Coffee, you say? Is it any good?”

“I doubt it.”

The man’s belly shook with a laugh. “I guess if I add enough milk and sugar, anything is drinkable.”

Thad smirked, then glanced at the dog by his side. “Custer, mind your manners, and don’t shove that nose of yours anywhere it doesn’t belong.” Custer moped to the corner of the kitchen, circled, then collapsed on the floor with a harrumph, telling Thad exactly what he thought of his orders.

Pulling an extra mug from the cupboard, Thad poured a cup three-quarters full, then pulled the milk, sugar, and spoon from their proper places and left Coach to do the rest.

“I see you got a new dog.”

“Nope. Just on loan. Karly took it upon herself to find me a job, and brought me that furball to see if I could get him to mind his manners. Frankly, I think she just needed a place for him to stay, since her shelter has gotten a little crowded.”

“He looks as stubborn as a mule.”

“He is.”

Coach pulled out one of two chairs at the old wooden table that had a wad of paper stuck under one leg, theoretically to keep it from wobbling. He leaned back and glanced around the ten-by-ten room. The elder might have had the easygoing, relaxed act down enough to convince most folks, but Thad had known the man too many years. His instincts were sharp as a glass shard, and probably picking up more than Thad wanted to reveal.

“We should get started,” Thad purposely broke the silence, “before that sun starts to heat the day and make us both cranky and miserable.” Thad tilted his head toward where the sun broke through the clouds.

“Cranky? Speak for yourself.” Coach’s arthritic hand lifted the mug to his mouth. “Dang, that coffee is hot.” He thumped the mug, which boasted the slogan Please wait while my sarcasm wakes up, on the table. “I’ve never been cantankerous a day in my life.”

Thad’s brows hiked upward. “Is that so?”

“You always were a cocky kid.”

“Come on. Admit it. I’ve always been your favorite.” Teasing the one person who’d been more like a father to him than the father who’d given him his name felt comfortable. Easy.

The old codger scrunched his nose and mouth, and he snorted a laugh in response.

“I’d better remove that old window before you take off down the road with the new one still in the bed of your truck.”

“You’re learning.”

It’s nice to know some things never change. Thad headed out back. Coach showed up a few minutes later hauling a window, his breath a little short.

He leaned the new pane against the log siding. “You want to talk about how you got those scars on your hand and that limp?”

Sharp and observant. “Not really.” The memory of a thousand flaming projectiles penetrating his skin made him wince. Thad picked up the pry bar to remove the old trim.

“Fair enough.” Coach accepted the rotted molding while Thad removed the rotted boards from around the window. “What are the odds of me talking you into helping me coach football this coming fall?”

The sounds of whistles, the crash of helmets, the roar of the crowd, and the thrill of victory gave him a pump of energy, but his unsettled future put a kibosh on accepting the offer. “Let’s talk closer to the start of the school year, when I have a better idea of what’s what.”

Coach picked up a stray nail from the ground. “There's some money in it. Not much, but some.”

What is this? A pity party? First Karly. Now you? “Whose money? Coaching high school sports has always been a volunteer position.”

“Now, don't go getting the wrong idea. The administration created a budget for the football team a few years back. You would be doing me a favor helping me handle the hostiles.”

“What hostiles?”

“You know, the kids who think they can show up to games without practicing. Parents who are sure they know more than the coaches on the field. Administrators always on your back to watch the budgets.”

When Thad tried hiding a chuckle and failed, Bill gave him the coach’s eye.

“You think that’s funny, do you? If you decide to take the job, you’ll earn every penny. Those administrators can be quite stingy. Heck, they wouldn’t even allow me to buy jockstraps for the guys who couldn’t afford them.”

Coach went quiet while he watched Thad remove the old sideboards. After a few minutes, he leaned over Thad’s shoulder. “I brought an electric saw to cut out that frame if you don’t have one.”

“I found an old jobber in my grandpa’s shed. Before you ask, I’ve got the nails, insulation, and sealing tape as well. I should be good.”

“Seems like you know what you’re doing. You finish up here. I’m going to relax, drink some coffee, enjoy the morning.” He lifted the window off the ground. “This will be easier to install from the inside.”

“I’ll be in in a minute.”

Fifteen minutes later, Thad set his toolbox on the counter. “That was the easy part.” He brushed his hands down his jeans, retrieved a mug from the cabinet that said Ask someone who cares before filling it with dark roast.

Coach lifted a finger toward Thad’s face. “Those black circles under your eyes tell me you're not sleeping. Do you have nightmares?”

“Nope. I’ve just never been a sound sleeper.” He sat on the other worn oak chair.

Coach rotated the coffee mug in circles. “You know, some guys when they come back don’t do so well. Flashbacks. Angry all the time.”

“I might not be sleeping, but I didn’t get insomnia from being in the military. I suppose you’re assuming I have post-traumatic stress disorder.”

“You’re not sleeping, and those scars have a story behind them.”

“Yeah, well. I haven’t slept well since I was a kid. You knew my dad. Just because my childhood sucked doesn’t mean I’ve got PTSD.”

“Maybe you should—”

“Look. I appreciate what you’re trying to do. I do. And I appreciate your concern.” He gulped back the self-deprecation that would prove Coach had a point, which he didn’t. “I already talked to the military shrinks before they allowed me to discharge.” For all the good it did. “She reviewed the symptoms: intrusive thoughts, flashbacks, feeling disconnected, hypervigilance. I know the full list—trust me. A couple of guys I know lost their shit over there. It wasn’t pretty.”

Coach folded his arms, crossed his feet, and leaned back. “Maybe you don’t have PTSD, but—”

“I don’t.”

“But you're definitely avoiding life.” He tapped his fingers on the reclaimed-wood table.

“Excuse me?” Thad pushed a thumb into his palm to relieve a throbbing ache, then leaned back in his chair. “I’m not avoiding people.” Well, not all people.

He waved a hand, dismissing his indignation. “Some people call it numbing. Soldiers are trained to be tough. To suck it up. We don’t talk about things.”

“I talk.” The words came out a bit faster and sounding more defensive than he’d like. “I’ve just never been one to splash my past all over the internet.”

“Sure you do. By phone. Email. People can’t see you that way. I know the tricks.”

Stop pushing, old man. Why does everyone have to poke? “I just need time, that’s all.”

“Yep, I get it. When I came back, I avoided family. Friends. Anything that would trigger the past.”

He rubbed his fingers together like he was rubbing a stress stone. Back and forth, the motion continued, reminding Thad the subconscious habit had started when Coach quit smoking all those years ago.

“You’re trying to get numb,” Coach looked him directly in the eye. “Stay numb.”

The truth sank in like a mosquito penetrating the skin. He tried squashing it, but couldn’t. After a few seconds, the poison started to itch.

He’d been trying not to think. Seeking silence, a refuge from his failures.

“I’m good.” Thad worked hard to make the statement sound legit. He didn’t want people caring too much. He didn’t want the burden.

“Good, my ass. Avoiding the things you love to do and the people you like, whether you believe it or not, will lead to depression. Isolating yourself, pretending everything is good, is worse than having PTSD. Avoiding living is close to not living at all. You don’t want to go down that road. Trust me, son.”

“Why does everyone act like I’m still in high school? I can take care of myself. The military taught me how. I’m just busted up a bit, that’s all. I’ll heal. I just need time.” Although I sometimes wonder if living this way is worth it.

Coach’s eyes narrowed, the same way they did when a player said something stupid. “The best solution is to keep busy. Get your body tired so your mind can rest. Work like you did every day on that battlefield.”

Thad crossed his arms and leaned back in the spindle back chair. “A long time ago you asked me about my biggest fear? You wanted to know what I was afraid of.”

“Yeah.” He pushed his cup back. “Sorry, I can’t remember what you said.”

“I don’t remember either, but I remember what you said, because it stuck.” Thad picked up a measuring tape off the table, pulled, then let it recoil with a snap. “You said your fear was never being able to slay the past. You wouldn’t explain what you meant, only that someday I might understand.”

“Ah.” Coach’s whispered response didn’t need any clarification. “There are certain things soldiers see or do or experience during a war that, unless they’ve been there, you can’t explain to someone else. And if you've been there, there is no explanation necessary.” He pushed his thumb into his shoulder to massage a pain.

“Exactly. I’ve seen things. Experienced things. Now I just need time to decompress.”

“Yes, but in order to decompress, you need to fill your days.”

“Is that what you did after you returned?”

“No.” Coach lifted a spoon to stir his coffee, which he’d already stirred. “Don’t do what I did. I had to hit bottom first. Take my advice, stay away from drugs and booze. There are no answers in the bottom of a bottle. And if you ever get to a spot where you want to dive deep into one or the other, call me. I’m here.”

Thad looked out the hole in the side of the house, appreciating the offer, and even the unsolicited advice, though he wouldn’t mind getting a little less of both.

“I had better get that window put in, it smells like rain’s coming. Want to help?”

Coach rolled his wrist to look at his well-loved Swiss Army watch. “Weatherman said a storm was moving in, but I didn’t believe him. He hasn’t been right all week.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve turned into one of those old poops who sit down at the café talking about the day’s weather, the national news headlines, eating pie, and drinking coffee.”

The middle finger of Coach’s right hand flipped up.

Thad chuckled and let the flippancy ease the tension tightening his neck muscles. “Well, then, it’s official. I’ll start calling you Grandpa.”

“Might as well. The title fits.”

“No kidding?”

“Last summer. That's why my son-in-law’s helping run the business. The boy doesn't know a finishing nail from a drywall nail, but he’s getting there.”

Thad chuckled. “Sounds familiar. Remember the time you sent me to pick up some wood screws and I ended up bringing back a boatload of metal screws? You were hopping mad. You made me run a couple of extra miles at practice that day.”

Coach’s whole face shifted into a smile. “Served you right.”

Thad gestured to the window. “What do you think?”

“You turned into a fine man. Oh, were you asking about the window?” Coach gave that old familiar wink, stood, and then gave Thad a gentle slap on the back. “I’d help, but I’d just be in the way. You know what you’re doing. Just remember, you aren’t alone. As a matter of fact, I just had a thought. Look up Chase Daniels. He runs a handyman business here in town. You might remember Ashley Bryant. They just had their first child, with another one on the way.”

“Chase Daniels, huh?” Thad worked to glue the pieces of information together.

“Chase’s best friend was killed by an IED blast, and he came here to find his peace.” He chuckled. “I think he found more than he bargained for. Ashley’s a handful.”

“I can’t believe the high school party girl is now a mom.”

“People change. Sometimes life gives you challenges that make you even stronger. Better.” Coach took a couple of gulps of his coffee and set the mug in the sink. “How about you stopping by my place next week to help me fix my deck?”

“Be glad to help. Just let me know when.”

“I’ll text you. I know how to do that now,” he said before heading for his truck. “Like I said, don’t stay away from town or be a stranger.”

Stranger? That he was. He didn’t know the guy inside his brain anymore.

“I’ll see you soon.” Coach wouldn’t let him hide. In fact, he’d scratch at him until he was raw—vulnerable—exposed enough to surrender to the change life had forced on him. “Maybe we can get some breakfast on Friday.”

“I’d like that.” Coach started his truck. “Take care, son.”

Coach completed a U-turn, and the truck backfired as it rounded the bend of the rutted mountain road.

Custer whined and licked Thad’s palm. “It’s okay, buddy. You’re going to have to get used to those noises.” He scratched the furry mane at the dog’s neck.

Custer nudged him again.

“Let’s go for a quick walk and see if we can’t get you tuckered out so you stop chewing on my stuff, and while we’re at it, get this leg to loosen up a bit. Then I need to see if I can get that window installed.” He gave the dog a signal.

“No, not sit. That was get your halter. I-yi-yi.” Thad reached over and snagged the nylon cords. “You are one stubborn-ass dog.” We’re both too stubborn for our own damn good. “Now I know why Karly put us together.”

Custer stood while Thad attached the leash. “Just wait until I load you down. Then we’ll see how funny you think you are, because one way or another, you’re going to learn to help a little girl, and I’m going to help Karly get her money.”