by Jacob Paul Patchen

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GENRE: Suspense (Military/PTSD)

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BLURB:

JP’s pistol tastes like bourbon.

Sergeant JP Grimm didn’t pull the trigger. Now his Marine brothers are dead. All victims of a child in a suicide vest…a child that resembled Sgt. Grimm’s very own. But how are you supposed to take a child’s life? How can you kill someone that looks just like your own son?

Those same hazel eyes he saw in his scope continue to haunt him long after he left the desert death lands as he tries to reconnect with his son, Adin. JP battles another war at home against PTSD and the worthless, dejected thoughts that he is the reason his friends are dead. His wife, Lisa, struggles to let her stubborn husband work it out on his own terms. She does all she can to give him space, support, and strength—but her love can only go so far.

As the world shows signs of impending doom from a weakening magnetic field and flaring sun, JP, too, shows signs of his own impending doom. After pushing everyone away, JP must face his nightmares to restore his relationship with his son, save his marriage, and save himself before the modern world burns out in a fiery, electromagnetic disaster.

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EXCERPT

“You can’t stuff a Bigfoot in the back of a Jeep,” Adin said scrunching his dark brows.

His father chuckled. “Okay then, the truck it is.”

The sun was in and out, throwing shadows across the drive and into the truck. It gleamed and sparkled, at times, catching some piece of metal or glare on the window. They hadn’t made it out of the driveway before the sun had streamed into the truck and lit up his son’s eyes. Golden, like fire and sparks in the night. A breathtaking color for many. Breathtaking or breathless.

JP cleared his throat, “kinda bright out here today, huh? Here, why don’t you put these on? Keep the sun out of your eyes.”

He handed his son a pair of huge, aviator sunglasses. Adin took them but hesitated to put them on.

“It’s not that bad, Dad.”

JP glanced his way as they bumped down the drive. “Yeah, but think of how cool you’ll look. Plus, your mom would want you to wear them. Right?”

Adin grinned, nodded, and put them on as his father watched out of the corner of his eye.

“There, that’s better. Right?”

“They’re a little big, Dad. We should’ve grabbed mine out of the Jeep.” Adin struggled to keep them on his nose.

“Aw, no way! They look cool!”

“Where’s yours?” Adin’s forehead wrinkled.

JP reached across the console, pulled another pair from the glove box, and put them on. “How do I look? Am I as cool as you?”

“Daaad, you’ll never be as cool as me!”

JP’s red Silverado cruised down the chip and sealed back road blaring a country station turned up loud, at Adin’s request. Both in their matching sunglasses, Mossy Oak camo jackets Lisa gave them last Christmas, and jeans. It had only taken Adin three tries to finally find an old pair of jeans, while JP was surprised to find that his favorite faded pair actually fit, although he had to stab another hole in his belt with the large knife on his hip. And his old hunting boots were a comfortable switch from the combat boots he had been cramming his soggy feet in for the last year or so. Being in something other than his uniform calmed him. He was an individual again, like he had his identity back, the freedom to move around and do whatever he wanted, which was a pleasant responsibility.

His heart jumped when he adjusted his seat and reach for his M4 rifle, which wasn’t there. Although almost two weeks had passed since he had handed it over to the armorer at Camp Lejeune, a tightness in his chest still existed whenever he went to grab what wasn’t there. It had been an extension of his body and being. He carried it wherever he went. He ate with it dangling from his back, slept with it tucked in his sleeping bag or under his cot. It even joined him in the port-a-john, leaning in the corner beside the leftover adult magazines for the marines to share. Without it, he was naked, useless, and wrong. After almost two weeks, he still felt less than whole, less than what he used to be when he had it. Flawed and exposed, he couldn’t leave the house without tucking his pistol between the seats.

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AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Jacob Paul Patchen is an award-winning author and poet of inciting fiction and provocative poetry.

Jacob earns his inspiration through experience and believes every book has a purpose. He writes powerful, emotional, and thrilling stories about mental health, war, social stigmas, and other taboo subjects in order to bring awareness, change, and hope to those who need it. 

Raised in Southeast Ohio, he’s a sucker for fast workouts, long laughter, and power naps. Snacks are his love language, and he thinks he’s a Pisces. Check him out and join his newsletter at Jacobpaulpatchen.com.

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GIVEAWAY INFORMATION

Jacob Paul Patchen will be awarding a free signed copy of NO PISTOL TASTES THE SAME to a randomly drawn winner (Print US only/international winners will receive a digital copy of the book) via rafflecopter during the tour.

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