After I choked out Lilly, Rob and I spoke. He hooked me up with some benzos a doctor prescribed to his brother-in-law for anxiety. Men like us don’t need to be psychoanalyzed. I can take care of myself. I didn’t spend twelve years engaging and prepping for war, only to come home, crying to some doctor who doesn’t know shit about shit when it comes to what I went through overseas. If I saw a shrink, he’d smash my head open. Memories that I never want to discuss—ever—would be called out and brought into the real world. And once those demons are freed? There’s no putting them back. That would fuck me up more than anything, no doubt. Luckily, Rob understood me perfectly.

The drugs have been a huge help, pausing the never-ending leak of memories that plague me at night. Still, I’m careful not to have any women or friends stay over. While the meds work wonders, they’re not foolproof.

I just need a little more time to get myself back under control. I can handle it. I’m going to find a hot girl or two tonight, get laid, and release some of this stress simmering under my skin. It’ll work.

I hear laughter next to me and turn toward it. Ultra-slutty attire has my eyes widening. Sparkling white angel wings, lacy white bras, and thong panties. I’m enormously enjoying the view until I see their faces. They’re girls, and they all look about sixteen, smiling and taking selfies. My jaw drops.

“Tell me all the women here aren’t teenagers,” I grumble, rubbing the back of my neck and feeling like a creeper.

“I hope they are,” Mike replies with an evil grin, doing his vampire costume justice.

“Sick fuck.”

I laugh, lifting my hand to slap him behind the head. He ducks quickly and chuckles as my hand makes a clean sweep, slicing through air.

“Yeah, as if you haven’t done some crazy-ass shit yourself, motherfucker. Who could forget Candy, eh?”

We continue to talk smack when my eyes pause on the bachelorette party. I tune out my idiot friends and focus on the bride-to-be, wearing a sparkling crown. A one-night stand with one of these women would be good. Exactly what I need. I admire the half-naked nurse. The slutty devil. Oh, Risky Business—always a good costume. And then I pause at the flight attendant, who might not be dressed as scantily as the rest of her group, but whose body is straight-up sexy. Legs for miles into a small waist. Perfect tits. I move my eyes to her face, marked with a scowl, and pause.

Holy shit. Is it her?

The strobe lights move across the group, making it difficult to be sure. I wait patiently for colors to shift. Finally, yellow hits her face in just the right angle, and I can confirm. It is her. Still hot as fuck, but angrier than before. A hand flies to her hip as she talks to her crown-wearing friend. Yeah, she definitely isn’t happy right now. Luckily for her, I can change that.