The Ranger’s Obsession

“When will you learn, Christine? Ever since high school, you’ve dug up the worst ones.”
“Oh, Christ. Will you let that die, already?” She took her wine and made her way to the couch where she set the glass upon the coffee table. “Here.” She motioned to the carpet. “Have at the crime scene, Detective.”
“You didn’t want to talk about it at the restaurant and now your defenses are up.” His perceptive eyes roamed the living room from his spot in the kitchen. “That bruise is bad on your arm.”
“He didn’t hit me, Troy.” She fell back onto the couch and reached for the glass. The guy seriously made her want to get drunk. She noticed how he purposely kept his distance with that usual judgmental expression. Rudely, she raised the glass in his direction and toasted to his imaginary drink. Then, she smiled.
His face was solemn. “Maybe you were drinking too much and got obnoxious.”
“If I had, I deserved to be hit?”
Troy remained silent.
“You bastard. No, I wasn’t drinking. I had just offered him a glass of wine and then he wanted more. And it certainly wasn’t booze. There. Are you happy?”
“Then what?” Troy walked over. “When did he put his hands on you?”
She set the glass down hard and quickly stood. “Why is this any of your business?”
“A quarter of a century, Christine. I’ve listened to all the war stories. It’s what I do.” He kicked away the coffee table and sat down, crossing his arms defiantly. “It’s all I do.”
Staring down at his peeved posture, Christine noted the tense, firm muscles in his biceps, flexed with anger. The veins in his neck were protruding and his tanned face was growing deeper in color. She knew where this was headed.
She forced herself back on the couch. “Let’s not go there.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“You alluded to our relationship. Or lack of one. Are we going to divorce the friendship again?”
Only his head turned her way. “Truthfully, I don’t need shit from you. I can have any cunt I want.”
Okay. The nasty language was starting. And he wasn’t even drinking. “I know you can. And you do. Again and again. Yet you act like you’ve taken an oath of celibacy.”
“With you, I have.”
She sighed and her eyes went back to that damn stain beneath their feet. “Do we really have to talk about this tonight? I have an incredible headache—”
“Ah. That’s a new one for me, Christine. Now you’re talking like a wife. How kind I’ve moved on from friend.”
“You’re so full of it, Troy. Did you come here to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, or to rehash the same crap I get from you every few months or whenever you’re feeling sentimental?”
He grabbed her wine glass and stood. “You’ve had enough. You’re being a bitch.”
“Sure, blame me. But you’re the one who shuts down. You bring it up and then go silent on me when you don’t hear what you want to hear. This is why you don’t have a steady woman in your life, Troy. It’s not the outside package—”
She stopped when she saw him in the kitchen pouring the wine in the sink. His face radiated so much anger. “Like right now. You look like you could kill me.”
He shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. I would never hurt you.”
“I know that. But others don’t. You’re kind of scary, sometimes. You’re intimidating, you’re mean, you get so intense—”
“It’s just who I am. Take it or leave it.”
She rose from the couch. “Obviously I took it. And another woman will, too. But you have to let her get inside to know you. Let down your defenses. Let some of the baggage go.”
“Thanks, Doc.” He left the glass in the kitchen and walked towards her. “Are we done with the shrink session, now?”
Irritated, she pushed the coffee table away. “Thanks for bringing me home.”
“You never answered my question.” He stood close and stared down into her eyes. “When did he put his hands on you?”
She knew the guy wasn’t going anywhere until she admitted to the whole, embarrassing scene. It was nothing new. He always pushed until he got his way. He was the most annoying—
Then she saw it; there was concern in his eyes. They looked warm for a change. Mostly, he utilized the penetrating make-you-fess-up glower: the kind the CIA would employ in the interrogation room. This time, she could see the green flecks that lightened up the brown and brought out the fire in an often cold stare. It was a rare moment.
“Okay, Troy. Here’s the sixty second recap: he didn’t get what he wanted, got physical, slapped me a couple of times; I fell on the floor, hit my arm on the coffee table but managed to pop him in the head with the wine glass so I ran to the bedroom, pulled the gun on him, and he left.”
His caring eyes were now wide with shock. “He fucking slapped you? And you don’t consider that hitting?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Shit happens.”
“No. No, that’s not shit, that’s abuse.” He suddenly grabbed her arms and held her tight. “What else did he do?”
“That was it.”
“But he tried to rape you.”
“He tried to get to it, yeah—”
“That’s called rape, Christine, and how can you be so nonchalant?”
“Hey, I had the last laugh. I got him out of the house and he left with nothing.”
“What if you hadn’t gotten him out of the house?”
“I had the gun pointed right at him. It was loaded. Cocked and ready. Just like you taught me.”
“What if cocked and ready wasn’t enough? What if he decided to take his chances it wasn’t loaded? What would you have done then?”
“Oh honestly, Troy. Why is this an issue? It had a happy ending, didn’t it?”
“Tell me, Christine.” He brought her in closer, still holding tight. “What the fuck would you have done if he tested you?”
“But he didn’t—”
“Tell me!!”
She left her eyes on his for a few seconds, contemplating the situation. This side of him was so typically aggravating and yet the slightest bit stimulating. Maybe it was the wine making her feel less inhibited but part of her was appreciating his strong forearms keeping her trapped with his unyielding clench and his powerful—
Oh stop it, Christine. This is not a chapter from a romance. This is Troy. The kid next door and the brother you never had—
Bringing herself back to reality, she moved her attention from his intense gaze down to where he was holding on to her. “Let go and I will.”
Exhaling slowly, Troy removed his hands only to keep them by his sides where they were just as useless.
“Maybe I would’ve pulled the trigger…”
“Maybe??”
“Troy, I’m not a cop. I don’t think like that—”
“You should. Aim to maim, Christine.”
“What?”
“Aim to maim, not shoot to kill; that way, you can get away, get help. The sucker’s still alive and you won’t be charged with anything except self-defense....