Crazy on You Read Free Page B

remote control sat on the coffee table he’d made from a salvaged old door. He’d sanded and varnished it until it was smooth as satin.
    Tucker loved working with his hands. He loved taking a piece of old wood and making it into something beautiful. He reached for the remote and turned the big screen TV to a national news channel. Pinky jumped up onto the couch beside him as he leaned over and untied his tactical boots. A deep purr rattled her chest as she squeezed her little black body between his arm and chest. With his attention on the screen across the room and the latest news out of Afghanistan, he finished with one boot and started on the other. The picture of tanks and troops in camouflage brought back memories of restlessness, violence, and boredom. Of knocking down doors, shooting anything that moved, and watching his buddies die. Adrenaline, fear closing his throat, and blood.
    Pinky bumped the top of her head against his chin and he moved his head from side to side to avoid her. The things he’d seen and done in the military had certainly affected him. Had changed him, but not like some of the guys he knew. Probably because he had his share of trauma and stress before signing up. By eighteen, he’d been a pro at handling whatever life threw his way. He knew how to shut it down and let it all roll right off.
    He hadn’t come out of the military with PTSD like some of the guys. Oh, sure he’d been jumpy and on edge, but after a few months, he’d adjusted to civilian life. Perhaps because his whole life had been one adjustment after another.
    Not anymore, though. “Jesus, Pink.” The cat’s purring and bumping got so annoying he picked her up and set her on the couch beside him. Of course she didn’t stay and crawled right back onto his lap. He sighed and scratched her back. Somehow he’d let an eight-pound black cat with a pink nose totally run his life. He wasn’t sure how that had even happened. He used to think cats were for old ladies or ugly chicks or gay men. The fact that he had a five-foot-square cat condo that he’d built himself, and a pantry stocked with cat treats, pretty much shot his old prejudice all to hell. He wasn’t an old lady or ugly or gay. He did draw the line at cat outfits, though.
    He stripped down to his work pants and the cold-weather base layer he wore beneath his work shirt. He made himself a large breakfast of bacon and eggs and juice. As he rinsed the dishes, he heard the first thud of the neighbor’s basketball. It was eight thirty. The kid was at it earlier than usual. Tucker glanced out the window that faced the neighbor’s driveway. The kid’s blond hair stuck up in the back. He wore a silver Dallas Cowboys parka and a pair of red sweatpants.
    When Tucker worked the night shift, he liked to be in bed before ten and up by four. He could wear earplugs, but he’d rather not. He didn’t like the idea of one of his senses being dulled while he slept. He pulled on his jogging shoes and a gray hooded sweatshirt. If he talked to the kid, maybe they could work something out.
    He hit the garage door opener on his way out and moved into the driveway. The cold morning chilled his hands, and his breath hung in front of his face. He moved toward the boy, across a strip of frozen grass, as the steady bounce-bounce-bounce of the ball and the sound of it hitting the backboard filled his ears.
    “Hey, buddy,” he said as he stopped in his neighbor’s drive. “It’s kind of cold to be playing so early.”
    “I got to be the best,” he said, his breath streaming behind him as he tried for a layup and missed. The ball hit the rim and the kid caught it before it hit the ground. “I’m going to be the best at school.”
    Tucker stuck his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt. “You’re going to freeze your nuts off, kid.”
    The boy stopped and looked up at him. His clear brown eyes widened as he stuck the ball under one arm of his puffy coat. “Really?”
    No. Not really.