Blue to the Rescue

Blue

I went to bed early; I desperately need a decent night’s sleep.

Half an hour later, though, I’m still staring up at the stained ceiling, sweating and cursing Hunter’s stepfather.

Even with a member of his family living in the house, the sonofabitch won’t spring for decent air conditioning, or do much else to fix this place up. It’s literally falling apart.

Maybe it’s because Hunter lives here that his rich AF stepdad is such a cheapass.

The two of them seem to despise each other. The one time I met him, the tension between him and Hunter was so thick, so weighted with contempt and hatred, that it made my relationship with my father look good.

That kind of blew my mind.

I sit up and switch on the lamp next to my bed, then grab the guitar leaning against the nightstand.

The instrument’s dinged wood has almost as many battle scars as I do. But it’s kept me sane, or at least saner than I would have been without it. No doubt in my mind about that.

Plus, it was the last communication I’ll ever have from my old man, his wordless attempt at a peace offering.

I never even thanked him for it. I figured I’d have plenty of time later, after I let him suffer for all he put me and my mother through.

But all of us ran out of time.

Sweat is soaking my back. I can’t stand to sit here any longer.

“Fuck this,” I mutter, jumping off the bed, guitar clutched in one hand, and heading out to the porch.

Maybe I can play for a while out here where it’s cooler; maybe that will soothe the craziness in my brain enough that I can finally fall asleep.

Slumping onto the porch swing, though, I shake my head at the screeching army of cicadas in full concert.

It’s too noisy out here to be able to focus on my music.

Frustrated, I swing back and forth for a few minutes, risking splinters by dragging my bare feet over the rough boards of the porch.

Then I realize I’m hearing noises above me.

Still holding the guitar, I step off the porch and look up toward Keegan’s room.

And there she is, sitting on the roof near her bedroom window, dressed in some flimsy little pajama thing that, all by itself, is threatening to give me a hard-on.

I don’t know exactly what it is about this girl. But damn, she gets to me.

I take a deep breath, staring up at her. It looks like she’s writing something.

“Hey,” I call up, crossing my legs in what I hope is a casual, not-trying-to-conceal-the-front-of-my-boxers kind of way, “you discovered the best spot in the entire house!”

My words seem to echo in the night air, even over the cicadas.

Keegan closes the notebook she was writing in.

“Hey,” she responds slowly, sounding less than thrilled at my interruption.

“Feel like some company?”

I hadn’t planned to say that; it just popped out.

“Um...sure,” she says, uncertain.

Ouch.

I guess I should take the hint, stop being such a weirdo.

But dammit, I’d like to get to know her better. We’re going to be living together, after all.

I turn toward the tree and jump up into the lowest branches, the guitar on my back.

Yeah, I should take the stairs to her room like a normal human being. But Blue-to-the-Rescue always likes to make a big entrance.

The guys in my unit started calling me that after I helped a group of Afghan civilians stranded in their flooded village.

At the time, I liked the nickname. It fit the stupid idea I had of myself as some kind of hero. I was young and dumb back then.

And coming to the rescue is what I thought I was doing later, when everything went so wrong over there. I was just trying to help.

That’s what I’ve told myself a zillion times, but I doubt anyone else would see it that way.

I keep climbing, trying to get away from the memories; like that’s ever going to happen.

“What are you doing?” Keegan asks, surprised.

Is it just my stupid imagination she sounds a little excited, too?

I grin up at her as I reach for another branch. “I’m coming to see you.”