Six Seconds

20

Missoula, Montana

Jake drove west, hauling scrap metal and a load of grief about Logan.

The sudden move to Montana had been hard on his son. Seeing him struggling after all these months tore Jake up and he started asking himself if leaving every thing behind in California had been the right thing to do.

His hands tensed on the wheel.

Another headache was erupting, a real pile driver. He downed two pills then searched the plains and the Bit terroot Range, telling himself that moving here with Samara was not a mistake.

She had saved his life.

It was that simple.

But Maggie was his wife. They’d had Logan together. They’d had a life together.

How did they lose control of it all?

Jake blinked at the road markers and the memories flowing by: How he’d met Maggie in high school. Dancing together in the gym. How they’d drive to the

Six Seconds 135 beach in his old Ford pickup. How they’d talk for hours. Two lonely people who belonged together. She actually got him interested in books. He liked Joseph Conrad’s dark stuff. And he taught her how to drive a standard, at the price of a whiplash or two.

They’d shared dreams.

They got married.

Man, he was so happy. Then Logan came and life got even better. Jake felt lucky, took a calculated risk and got a loan on a bigger rig to earn more. Then on a run to Taos, New Mexico, his transmission blew at the worst time-when he was overextended. It cost him jobs and huge repairs. Gas prices soared. Bills piled up. Loan and mortgage payments became overdue.

It was desperation time.

The only way out was a contract job driving convoys in Iraq. It was risky. People got killed. But they needed the money. So he’d put his life on the line.

Then everything went to hell.

It started with the attack.

He never talked about it. Never told Maggie what happened. Dammit, even mentioning it to Logan was hard.

The attack.

Don’t think about it. Stop it.

His head began throbbing like a jackhammer drilling into his brain.

Stop.

All right. Be cool. Hang in there.

The trouble started after he got back from Iraq, with that day in the supermarket when they’d bumped into Ullman, Logan’s soccer coach. He was a good-looking guy. College grad. Smart. Smooth. Jake had heard the other moms talk about him.

It was the way Maggie smiled at Ullman.

He’d never seen her smile like that before.

Jake just knew.

She’d cheated on him with Ullman.

Maggie denied it. But he was convinced. He just knew.

But did he really know?

Now, as he looked at the serrated peaks, he asked himself if he could’ve been wrong about Maggie and Ullman; asked himself if he was the problem, if he was all messed up because of the attack.

Pop-pop!

Jake’s heart leaped, jolting him in his seat. A passing group of motorcycles backfired.

Pop-pop!

Like gunfire.

Pop-pop!

His head hurt, like it was being squeezed in a vise.

Pull over. Pull over.

Pop-pop!

The sounds sliced through the air and his skull. He geared down, got to the shoulder. Dust billowed, engulf ing him.

He shut his eyes.

Pop-pop!

Jake crushed his head in his hands to keep it from coming apart as dust swirled, choking him. It was futile…

…he was being dragged back…

Please. Just stop. Please…

…dragged back to Iraq…