On an Oak Creek Street, a Retired Navy SEAL Took Off His Flannel Shirt
“I give up,” Trent croaked into the grass.
“Let go of my arm.”
I let go of his wrist and backed three steps away into open space.
Trent rolled onto his hip, coughing into his shoulder, and pushed himself up to sit on the grass.
He held his right wrist in his left hand, his face flushed dark red as he gaped up at me in total shock.
A white township police cruiser swung onto the cul-de-sac and rolled to a stop at the curb by my driveway.
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