He goes home after taking Sissy's statement, kisses Linda, and goes upstairs. She'd said there was dinner on the stove, but after what Sissy said…if he eats, he's going to throw up. Hell, he feels like puking now.
He'd already puked after reading the autopsy report—bruises on Michael's stomach from being kicked, bruises on his kidneys, and two gashes to the head—the fatal one being from the baseball bat he and Jackie still need to find.
He locks the door and turns the shower to freezing.
He hates being cold. Nights in Fallujah were cold—the kind of cold that seeps into your bones and chills you, even though those soft b $+ rds who never served say a dry cold isn't as bad as a humid cold.
But being cold is a good way to distract himself. A shrink would probably say he's self-harming, but he's not seeing a shrink, and he doesn't need a shrink, so who the hell cares what a shrink would say?
He tears his clothes off, cursing when he realizes he'd forgotten to put his gun in the lockbox.
He sets the gun on the counter, along with his phone and watch, and gets in the shower.
The icy spray makes him curse and he punches the wall over and over again, seeing the smug faces of Cassidy and Seroy in his mind, imagining Michael Oates' terror as he tried to defend himself.
Three men taking on one homeless veteran? F-g bastards. He punches the wall again, and pain shoots through his finger. He hits the wall ten more times with that hand, cursing more and more with each hit and each pang.
The curtain is pulled back, and the water stops.
He pulls his fist back, ready to hit whoever's invading his shower—
But it's just Linda, standing next to him—still outside the tub—and grabbing his hand so he can't punch the wall again. "Danny, babe, stop hurting yourself. What happened? Why are you ice-cold?"
"They beat him, Linda," he says, his voice ragged with tears he refuses to shed. "Those punks beat Michael, kicked him in the stomach when he wouldn't give up his Silver Star—they hit him in the head with a baseball bat, and then they…they left his body…the body of a Marine who fought through hell to keep their pathetic asses safe…in an alley…to rot."
He turns to face the faucet, takes a shaky breath and slides down the wall, shivering even though the water's off now. He sits on the cold floor and pulls his knees to his chest. "They f-g murdered him like a dog in the streets of his own city."
He reaches to turn the water back on, but Linda steps into the tub and sits down next to him. "Danny, stop. Why are you taking a freezing shower? You hate being cold."
He shakes his head. "Because…then I c…can't think of anything b…b…but being c…c…cold. C…can't think of my b…b…buddies—all dead—or the shit I saw in that hellhole, or how…that woulda been me, not Michael Oates, if it weren't for you and the boys, or how much I want to punch Cassidy and Seroy until they die. All I c…c…can think about is b…b…being….c….c…cold."
"O, Danny," she says, and he looks at her, afraid he'll see pity in her eyes.
But he sees…
"Why are you in the tub with all your clothes on?"
"Because you needed me," she says, as simply as if she's talking about the weather.
She turns the faucet on, checks the temperature with her hand a few times. "I'm turning the shower back on, okay?"
He shakes his head, startles a little when the warm water hits his face. "I saw the Semper Fi tattoo, and I …I knew he was a Marine."
His heartrate is picking up, his breathing getting ragged again. He rubs his own tattoo, flinches when his hand hits the scars under it—caused by a hunting-knife, he thinks, but he isn't sure because he can't think about that without…
He can't breathe. He's f-g going to drown in his own shower because he can't breathe. He claws at his throat, trying to remove whatever's choking him, but there's nothing there, and then the water is off and Linda is in his lap and he's clawing at her sopping wet clothes.
**
He cries when they're done making love and are lying on their bed. "I'm sorry. I didn't hurt you, did I?"
"No, babe, I'm fine. But you need to let me bandage your hand."
"It's fine."
"It's your dominant hand, and you broke at least two knuckles. Why were you punishing yourself?"
"I wasn't! I…I was just trying to forget," he said, and rolls onto his side so she can't see his face.
