HOLLER_TIM GUTTERSON

21. Dealers

"Sure, why not?" He replied shortly, finishing off the remnants of his beer. Placing the empty bottle on the end table, he stood and presented Jo a hand. Slipping her fingers across his rough palm, she allowed him to pull her from the sofa cushions.

She was relatively familiar with the VA, having chauffeured Arlo to similar establishments a time or two. Tim ushered her through the entrance with a gentle hand resting against her lower back. The contact made her skin tingle, even through the thin material of her shirt.

They turned the corner as a brunette man of similar age exited another set of double doors, striding towards them. He had dopey eyes, but his smile appeared good-natured. "I'm so sorry, man. The meeting went long," he threw a pointed thumb over his shoulder to indicate the room he'd just vacated.

Jo stood by, watching passively while the two men embraced. "Glad you're still going to meetings," Tim expelled with an air of relief, patting his companion firmly on the back.

Pulling away, Mark peered at her in confusion. "This your girl?" He asked, eyes bouncing between the unknown woman and his former comrade-in-arms.

Tim grinned at the question but made no move to correct his friend's assumption. "Mark, this is Jo. Jo, meet my buddy, Mark," he provided introductions for the two. Despite this being their first official meeting, it was clear that at least one proceeding conversation had revolved around discussing their respective relationships. They were strangers, but not entirely unfamiliar.

The two politely shook hands in greeting, before Tim drew attention by asking, "how's your leg?"

Mark scrunched up his right pant leg, revealing a long pink scar running the length of his calf. The wound was closed but remained raw and prominent against the pale skin. "Well, doc says I need one more surgery. Pins pinch like hell. Tramadol helps some, but I gotta tell you, much as Oxy screwed up my life, it sure knocked out the pain," he confessed while rolling his jeans back down around his ankle.

Ah, so Mark had fallen victim to the Hillbilly Heroin. That shit was a plague amongst men, particularly prominent in the state of Kentucky. Didn't help that being a veteran increased his risk for chemical dependency.

Jo's musings were interrupted by Tim, suggesting, "you try acupuncture?"

Mark blinked several times, grinning wide when he questioned, "that needle bullshit?"

"You remember Chewy, that CSAR Helo pilot pulled us out of Sangin, karaoke badass? Said it helped him with his back." The realization that this was the most she'd ever heard Tim talk about his time in the Rangers, was a crushing one. She'd always figured it was too traumatizing a topic to discuss, so Jo had intentionally avoided the subject. Although, without the knowledge, she hardly knew the person standing beside her.

Mark shrugged at the observation, and ribbed, "maybe help you with your menstrual cramps, then."

Tim's countenance was blank, and his tone flat when he shot back, "nah, those went away once I got on birth control."

The second the joke fell from Tim's lips, both men turned towards Jo, gauging her expression, seeing if she'd taken offense to their mocking of female struggles. Smirking, she commented, "saves me the trouble of pulling out too," which evoked a round of hearty laughter from the two males.

When their chortles died down, Mark's face became serious. "I...I appreciate you coming," he began wearily.

Tim gave her a slight nod, and she let him lead Mark away so they could discuss his troubles privately. Not that he wouldn't inform her of their conversation later. Jo wasted time reading a nearby bulletin board, not that anything posted provided much interest. This was a world she'd walked amongst, but didn't belong in.