He leans over the bar to kiss my cheek and Kyle’s grip on my arm tightens.
I wonder if he’s the jealous type. I’m not a flirtatious girl in general so it shouldn’t be a problem, but I don’t want some control freak who gets pissed every time I speak to another guy.
“Hey, Sam. I’ve been busy with school. I’ve got to keep the grades up. I want you to meet my friend, Kyle. Kyle this is Sam my favorite bartender.”
They briefly shake hands before we sit down on the bar stools.
“What do you want to drink?” Kyle asks while he helps me remove my jacket. He places it on the vacant seat next to him before adding his own.
“I’d love a mojito.”
His hand softly caresses up and down the length of my back. “I’ll take a bottle of Heineken.” He nods toward Sam.
I watch Sam grab the rum for my mojito while I work on summoning the courage to ask him some of the questions I’m dying to know the answers to.
Here goes nothing.
“You said you used to be a cop. How come you aren’t anymore?” I bite on my lip to stop myself from apologizing for my question. If he gets upset because I’ve asked him then I’ll know he’s not ready to talk about it.
Sam places our drinks down in front of us and winks at me before he walks away. I raise my glass, taking my first sip of the cool, minty drink. It’s so delicious my eyes close while I savor the taste on my tongue.
Kyle takes a long pull of his beer and licks his lips. “Three years ago, I got shot in the line of duty and I couldn’t get clearance from my doctor to go back to work.”
A sharp gasp leaves me. Holy shit. He was shot.
“I didn’t want a desk job at the station. It would’ve been too difficult to know what’s going on and not be able to be there helping out when shit breaks down.” He looks down at the beer bottle he’s twisting between his palms on the bar. “My buddy, Derek, wanted to start a private investigation business and I had some money to invest. We became partners and, as they say, the rest is history.”
“Where were you shot?” I ask him, carefully observing his reaction.
He winces at the question making me wonder about the details. “In the head.”
My mouth drops open at his answer. I’m in complete shock.
His eyes slide to mine. “I’m sure you’re wondering how someone survives a gunshot to the head.”
I nod my head in agreement, my eyes wide.
He rhythmically taps his index finger on his bottle and stares at the green colored glass. “Most don’t survive it, but somehow I got lucky and the bullet missed all the vital parts of my brain. The doctors put me in a medically induced coma for two weeks and once I woke up and was stable enough to be moved, I went to a rehab facility. I spent about twelve weeks total in the hospital and in rehab. I had to re-learn how to do a lot of day to day things. One side was affected more than the other. It was a relief when I finally got to go home. I lost some of my memory and there are some after effects from the injury. I get excruciating headaches, I have short term memory issues and mood swings, just to name a few.”
His eyes raise to mine and they’re clouded and troubled. I don’t know him well, but I do know sharing all of this can’t be easy for him.
I find myself leaning toward him as I place my hand on his forearm, hoping to offer him some comfort. “I’m so sorry you went through all of that, Kyle. What a horrible time it must have been for you and Kenna. Do you want to tell me what happened the day you got shot or do you want to save it for another time?” I nervously chew on my bottom lip and wait for him to answer. I don’t want to push him to say more than he’s comfortable with, but I’d like to know the details.
He tips back his bottle and my eyes are drawn to the strong line of his neck as I watch his throat move as he swallows down the remainder of his beer. I slide my hand down his arm to squeeze his fingers in encouragement. I sit there silently