Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33692 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33692 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
“Well… yeah.”
“That’s sweet,” I say. “But part of the reason you’re teaching me to fight is so I can fight my own battles. Right?”
“I’d prefer you didn’t have to fight at all,” he replies. “But it never hurts to have some backup just in case you do.”
We share a laugh, and I continue making my way around the bar, picking up glasses and wiping down tables as Lacuna Coil gives way to the Birthday Massacre. I sing along and dance with the music as I work. When I glance back, I see Cash looking at one of the photos in the collage that hangs on the wall behind it.
Most of the pictures are of service guys in various places around the world during their tours. The photo Cash is looking at, though, is of him and Zane standing just outside the front door of the DMZ. He’s wearing a frown, and his face is clouded over with emotion as he gazes at it. It breaks my heart to see.
I walk over to the bar and set my tub down on it. Cash turns and looks at me, that lost expression on his face quickly melting away as he offers me a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He grabs a rag and wipes the bar down between us, doing his best to appear casual and unaffected. His eyes tell me a far different story than the expression on his face.
“What’s up?” he asks.
Reaching across the bar, I put my hand on top of his, stopping him from pretending to clean it. Taking his hand in mine, I raise it and kiss his knuckles softly.
“Talk to me,” I say.
“What? I’m fine.”
“I know you’re not.”
“You think you know me that well, do you?”
“There’s a lot I want and need to learn still, but I already know you well enough to know when something is bothering you and you’re being too stubborn to open up about it. Even big, tough, macho guys like you need to talk about your feelings sometimes.”
“I’ve gotten this far in life without it.”
“Yeah? And how’s that working out for you right about now?”
He shrugs. “I’m not the touchy-feely, talk-about-your-feelings type. I never have been.”
“Maybe you should be. Maybe, if you let all that stuff you keep bottled up inside out, you wouldn’t be so angsty and angry all the time.”
“I’m not angsty. Or angry.”
I roll my eyes and laugh softly. “Yeah. You really are. You do a good job of hiding it most of the time, but I can see through it. I see what’s really going on inside of you.”
“You do, huh?”
“I do.”
“And what is going on inside of me, oh, wise one?”
“Right now, it’s Zane,” I tell him. “You’re all caught up in your feelings about that whole situation, and you just haven’t figured out what to do about it yet.”
A wry expression twists his face. “If you know what’s going on inside of me already, then why do I need to bother talking about it?”
“Because it’s healthy to get it out. In your own words.”
“Talking about your feelings is overrated.”
I look at him with an eyebrow raised and a cheeky curl on my lips. “Color me surprised.”
“Surprised?” he asks.
“I didn’t think you were afraid of anything.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Talking about your feelings, sharing and letting yourself be vulnerable… it terrifies you.”
He scoffs, his nervous laugh betraying him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” I reply. “Look at you. Just thinking about talking about your feelings has you crawling out of your skin.”
He pours himself a short glass of beer and swallows it down then refills the glass with a little more this time. He’s antsy and fidgety. Basically, he’s proving me right, and given the fact that he can’t seem to meet my eyes, he seems to know it. He drains his glass again and sets it in my tub, finally meeting my gaze with a soft smile.
“It’s just not how I was raised,” he says. “We didn’t talk about feelings when I was growing up. It was seen as a sign of weakness. We learned to simply stuff it down and bear it. That was kind of reinforced in the Army.”
“I hate that for you because it’s so unhealthy.”
He shrugs. “Let’s not forget the fact that I also come from a generation where that was the norm. We weren’t as enlightened about emotions and mental health as your generation.”
It’s the first time either of us has ever acknowledged the elephant in every room we’re ever in—the age difference between us. He’s almost twenty years older than me, but honestly, we get along so well and have so much in common, it’s not something we’ve ever really stopped to consider before. But I suppose he’s right in that our generations do tend to view mental health and emotional awareness differently. It’s not something I think is a deal breaker for us. Not by any stretch. At least, I hope it isn’t.