The squeaky sound of my bedroom door opening jars me awake. I open my eyes and squint against the bright sunlight streaming through the window blinds. My head is pounding like a motherfucker and my mouth tastes like I’ve been chewing cigarettes. After they’ve been rolled around in cow shit.

Groaning, I cover my head with a pillow.

“Want some coffee?” Danita asks from the doorway in a perky voice. “I can make a pot before I go to work. Or even breakfast if you want it. I’m handy in the kitchen.”

I hate morning people.

And mornings.

“No,” I mutter. “Just leave me alone and let me die in peace.”

Now she’s standing beside the bed, hovering over me. She’s dressed for work in a white and pink striped waitress outfit. “You drank a lot last night,” she says.

“No kidding.”

I slowly become aware of the fact that I’m still wearing my jeans. I guess I didn’t get lucky. A pity.

“Jesse told me to follow you home last night to make sure you got here safely,” she says. “You shouldn’t have been driving at all, but you insisted.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Appreciate it.”

I wish she would go and leave me in peace. Even on a good day it takes me a while to get going in the morning, much less when I’m hungover.

My golden rule is to never let a gal spend the night at my place. Mostly so I can avoid awkward scenes like this one. I could kick my own ass right about now. I must’ve been super wasted last night to break my rule.

“Why I didn’t crash at the clubhouse if I drank too much?” I ask out loud.

“You said you needed to get home for Sadie. I tried to call your dog sitter for you. She didn’t pick up the phone. I guess she was out for Valentine’s Day dinner.”

Ahh…Sadie.

That explains it.

I try to recall the previous night’s events. There’s nothing but a blank space in my brain. “Did you sleep here?” I ask, dreading the answer. I live in fear the one time I let a girl spend the night that I’ll wake up to a bathroom full of feminine products, makeup, and straightening irons.

“No. I just followed you home and waited until you got inside. Your house is on my way to work at the diner so I just dropped by to check on you. To make sure you’re still alive and breathing.”

“Barely,” I say. “Thanks. I’m good now. Maybe I’ll see you later tonight at the clubhouse.”

Hint, hint.

“Okay,” she says after a moment. “Sadie is in the backyard running around. I fed her already. She kept hovering around the bag of dog food in the kitchen and gazing up at me with those big brown eyes.”

“Can you let her back in before you go?” I ask. “She’s been digging under the fence lately and running off to play with the neighbor’s dogs.”

“Sure, I’ll do that.”

I hear the front door slam and thirty seconds later, a wriggly ball of yellow fur jumps on my bed. I know what’s coming next, so I pull the pillow tighter over my head. When a moist nose pokes its way under the pillow and into my cheek, I can’t help but laugh.

“Stop it!” I say, trying to push Sadie off me. “Go away, you mangy mutt.”

We both know I don’t mean it. She keeps digging under the covers until both of our faces are completely under the pillow.

Her hot breath stinks.

So does mine.

At this point it would be a toss-up on which one is worse.

I open one eye to see her staring at me intently, willing me with everything she’s got to get up and play.

Damn! I love this dog.

I found her shivering on the side of the road in an ice storm back in December. Brought her home, fattened her up, and tried to find her owner. When nobody claimed her, I called her mine. Reaching up, I curl my arm around her neck and pull her down on top of me.

“Hey baby,” I say to the only love of my life. “Do you love your Daddy?”

A slurpy wet kiss is my answer. She wallows around on the bed covers until she finds a good spot then snuggles under my arm. In seconds, we’re both sound asleep.

Thirty minutes later, she’s had enough resting and is licking my face again. There’s no sleeping late when there’s a dog in the house. I know it’s pointless trying to ignore her any longer.

As much as I hate to, it’s time to haul my lazy ass out of bed. As soon as I sit up, she jumps off and lands on the wood floor with a thud. Running to the door, she turns around and play bows toward me. When I don’t move fast enough, she starts barking.

I wince at the loud sound and rub my temples.

“Sadie! Not so loud. You’re killing your Daddy. C’mon girl. Out you go.”

She runs down the hallway in front of me. I open the back door and toss a tennis ball as far as I can throw it then wince in pain. Ouch! My shoulder hurts like a motherfucker from hitting the tile floor yesterday.

After the fifth time of me tossing the ball as far as I can throw it and her retrieving it, I quit to go inside and take a shower. If I waited on her to end the game, I would be waiting forever.

They don’t call them Golden Retrievers for nothing. Sadie would willingly chase tennis balls as long as I was willing to throw.

In the bathroom, I step out of my jeans and into the shower stall. Closing my eyes, I turn on the hot water full force and let it pound onto my back. The old football injury aches painfully in my shoulder. I think about how lucky I am to walk away with nothing more than aches and bruises.

Other people fared far worse.

I vaguely remember watching a news update on my cell phone after my fifth or sixth drink last night. The news report listed several names of people who had been shot. Everyone was still alive at midnight, which is a miracle all by itself. A couple of the victims were still in intensive care. The cameraman Bill was one of them. I hope he makes it. He was a decent enough fellow. Maggie was certainly concerned about him.

I’m dreading checking my phone to get an update. I don’t want to see any bad news. I already feel guilty enough as it is. If anyone dies, it will be my fault.

I should have done more yesterday.

Moved faster.

Thought smarter.

Every second I stayed down and did nothing gave the shooters more opportunities to injure an innocent bystander.

I hated hearing everyone at the clubhouse talk about what I did when all I can think about is what I didn’t do.

As always.

Same old story. Time after time I’ve walked away when others didn’t. There’s a fancy name for it. Survivor’s guilt, they call it. The constant gnawing, guilty feeling that threatens to rot me from the inside out.

I’ve done my time with counseling and talking it out with the so-called experts. The Marines forced me to go. The counselors said all the right things and tried to reassure me that I’m not alone with my issues.

But I am alone.

The demons are mine to fight all by myself. The crazy thing is sometimes I think maybe I don’t deserve to beat them. I never told any of the counselors that. They wouldn’t understand. How could they?

They weren’t there.

They’ve probably never even been to the Middle East. Or maybe even held a gun. It wouldn’t surprise me. How could they understand what it’s like to have to make split-second decisions that sometimes have irreversible and horrible results?

I’m good at hiding what I’m going through, and that’s the way I want it to stay. I’ve become an expert at putting a big smile on my face and pretending as if everything is fine. Talking it out sucks. It only brings the pain to the surface. As long as I keep the emotions all packed down tight inside, I can make it through another day.

Keep moving. One foot in front of the other.

After all, today I’m a fucking hero, and I need to start acting like one.

I stay in the shower until the hot water finally runs out. When I turn off the shower, I hear someone knocking loudly on the front door. Sadie hears them too and is barking frantically in the backyard.

“Fuck!” I mutter. “Can’t a man get any peace around here?”

Who would be knocking at my door? I live out in the middle of nowhere. Any of the Steel Infidels would just come right on in and make themselves at home. The Sweet Butts too. Which is the same thing I would do at their house. We have an open-door policy among the club members. What’s mine is theirs and vice-versa. When the knocking continues, I sigh and step out of the shower.

Maybe it’s something important. After what happened yesterday, it might even be the police. I hope not because I’m not in the mood to be talking to the police, and Flint isn’t here with his lawyer skills to keep me out of trouble.

“Hang on!” I yell toward the door. “I’m coming.”

Grabbing a towel, I wrap it around my waist and tuck in the ends. If it’s the police and they’re offended by my lack of clothing, I can use it as an excuse to come back inside and call Flint. I hurry to the front door and throw it open.

The person standing on my doorstep is definitely not the police and not someone I ever expected to see again, much less this morning.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I say in surprise.