Finding Home: Halos and Heroes, Bk 1 - 3. Chapter 3

I am not concerned that you have fallen. I am concerned that you arise.

—Abraham Lincoln

AFTER attending seven different funerals during the almost 15 years that I’d been in the military, I was done. All I wanted was to move the fuck on, even if I didn't think it was possible. You can run from your past, but eventually you have to stop and take a breath. By that point you’re so emotionally gassed, that the reality of why you were running in the first place, slams into you with the force of a Mack truck, sending you ass over tea kettle and making remembering how to breathe, a laughable and completely moot effort. I still hadn’t quite gotten my breath back since landing in Florida a week ago to open my old closets and let all the skeletons fall out.

The last few days of funeral prep had been a whirlwind with Adelyn at the center of the storm; a tumultuous force that rattled windows when she slammed doors and went stomping around the house in black combat boots that had made their appearance in the afternoon after Sofia and I had come back from the funeral home. They didn’t belong either in the house, or in the 90-degree temperatures we’d been hitting lately, but Sofia had given up on telling her to take the shoes off after the 100^th time. I was more aggravated by the black cutoff shorts and cropped black t-shirt that she’d paired with the boots two days ago. The boots and shorts had reappeared the day after that, then again yesterday, though the colors of the t-shirts and the smartass verbiage across the front of them had changed. Today, Sofia had doubled down with more steel in her spine than I’d seen in the last week, reminding me that as warm and gentle natured as she normally was, she’d been able to survive Connor since our teen years and that took a stubbornly determined kind of strength that I myself was all too familiar with.

After the brief back and forth in the kitchen—which seemed to be a place where most altercations took place in this house—with Adelyn vehemently protesting that being forcibly paraded around like a happy Wednesday Addams was cruel, and that Sofia was being unfair, Sofia had responded by saying that Adelyn had the option of being a happy Wednesday Addams, or a depressed Sara Ingalls Wilder from Little House on the Prairie, so she should take her pick.

Adelyn had huffed and puffed like she was planning to blow down a couple of houses, then flounced upstairs to her bedroom. When she returned while I was eating a bowl of cereal at the breakfast counter, trying to pretend I was invisible even as Sofia refilled my coffee, my niece looked less like Wednesday, and more like an incognito version of Goth Barbie flipping the bird to funeral expectations. She’d exchanged her combat boot for black wedge sandals and her usual heavy makeup was muted except for that indomitable black eyeliner and varnish bright pink lip gloss. Her sleeveless sundress with thin straps had a scooped neckline cut low enough to defiantly twerk on the line of age appropriateness, but at least the hem of the dress came to just above her knees. It wasn’t like short sleeved sweaters or tents were outlawed in the state of Florida. I was sure Sofia would handle it, so I’d minded my business.

Considering the many possible outcomes she could’ve decided on, Adelyn’s big reveal was better than I’d have bet on. The fabric was a shade of purple so dark, it passably relayed mourning death more than celebrating death metal if you squinted hard enough and made a few wishes on shooting stars. On another girl, I’d have called the outfit cute, but Adelyn rocked it like a silent screw you because the length of the dress exposed long slim legs and the surprisingly well-done, black tribal ink on her left calf—“ink” which I was pretty sure was some kind of permanent marker because A.) she was 17 and B.) I doubted even Sofia on her most trauma-inspired Zen day would’ve been ok with anything on her kid’ skin that a solid scrub with a loofah couldn’t eventually get off. If it took a few layers of skin with it, oh well. #fuckaroundandfindout.

The color or the dress brought attention to the streaks of vivid color in my niece's hair, so at least she was coordinated.

Sofia hadn’t said a word about any part of the fashion choices, just added more sugar to her coffee than was absolutely necessary considering the sugar rush would just intensify the jitters caused by the copious amounts of caffeine floating around in her system. We’d emptied an entire pot of strong espresso between us by that point. It hadn’t been one of the fancy Americanized Arabica blends Starbucks junkies lived on either. If any of those Pumpkin Spice loving hipsters, who rocked the word ‘Juicy’ across their pancake flat asses imbibed just one cup of Café Bustelo, an earthy, rich, Robusta coffee blend that was satisfyingly bitter for people like me who enjoyed it black, they wouldn’t have needed a coffee fix every two hours. The can of Café Bustelo, in its distinctive red and yellow metal packaging half hidden behind the coffeepot, contained a little over twice as much caffeine as a cup of Arabica coffee. All that to say, Sofia and I were running on rocket fuel this morning so attempting to remain calm to avoid any kind of explosion was an order of the highest priority,

If Adelyn hadn’t been around and we didn’t both need to be responsible adults, I’d have spiked Sofia’s coffee, then my own. Anything to cut the tension that had been suffocatingly thick between us ever since we’d gotten up the next morning after her breakdown outside the funeral home. Our warm, soul-baring conversation in the car had seemingly been a one and done. Since then, every interaction with my sister-in-law had been polite, pleasant, and as fucking detached as if she’d been taken over by a Stepford wife. I didn’t know if Sofia was embarrassed by all of her revelations that day, but I most certainly did not have either the conversational skill, or the openness to draw her out again by reminding her that she’d known me most of her life and that I’d never judge her. I had plenty of my own shit and knew all about glass houses.

Maybe the new awkwardness was because looking at me, the man who was a carbon copy of her now dead husband whom she’d had a complicated, if not violent relationship with even before I’d fallen out of the picture five years ago, was a mind fuck she couldn’t handle with everything else going on. Connor and I were identical twins. Sofia had been used to that. We’d been close since elementary school, just short of best friends before Max came into the picture in high-school. I’d loved Sofia like a sister, protected her from Connor’s immature teenage boozing and bullshit however I could, even assuring her that if she left him, she and I would still be ok. I’d always been loyal to Connor, but Sofia had been the first person I’d come out to, even before Max. She was his female equivalent. In some ways more, because we’d known one another since we were ten. Our decades long, platonic love and loyalty was as clear cut and perfect as diamonds. But that had been when there'd been two Trammell boys. Now it was just me and I’d been MIA for half of a decade, so was I really the same man she'd loved and trusted?

Definite mindfuck.

If that was the actual reason that I was getting the impression Emma was the only person truly comfortable around me now, I got it. I didn’t like it, but I understood. Especially after looking at the framed photos in the living room wall, my second night here. On a bookshelf, there was an 8x10 framed family photo of Connor with Sofia, a pre-teen Adelyn, and a then baby Emma. That picture screwed with my own head because it was like looking into Alice’s Wonderland mirror.

It wasn’t like we’d never taken photos of all of us together, but Connor and I had always made sure to dress differently when we were around other people at the same time to avoid the common, ‘which one are you?’ question. If I hadn’t been in my dress uniform today, I’d have been wearing black slack, only with a gray button down, not blue like the one Connor was wearing in the photo with his own pair of black slacks. Connor and I might’ve been polar opposites in most ways, but when you grew up with very little because your dad was a barely functioning alcoholic who forgot to feed you most of the time, you learned to make do with simplicity. Even now, the nicest thing I owned was the G-Shock tactical watch that had been a gift from Max’s parents when I’d joined the 75^th. Other than that, BDU’s, plain t-shirts and jeans were my unofficial uniform. I preferred comfort over formality, especially during the last few years when civilian clothing had been the norm despite us technically being beneath the wide umbrella of the US Army. Having to put on my dress blues with all the bars and medals that I’d accumulated by just doing the job I’d willingly signed up for, it felt disingenuous. It also made me resemble Connor too closely. I was much higher in rank than he’d been, but to civilians, including his family, Uncle Sam looked way too much like dead Daddy Connor today.

As soon as the funeral was over, the uniform was coming off and not reemerging for at least another decade when some very, very brave man decided to propose to Adelyn, unless Sofia got married again first and wanted me to wear it as I walked her down the aisle. Otherwise, I was done with all the ceremony because I had other priorities now.

Priorities like trying to survive my oldest niece. Unlike her mother who was trying to continue her existence almost robotically, seemingly for inner calm, Adelyn was a dark ball of simmering, energetic wrath like a Central Park squirrel on speed. Absolute terror wrapped in a pretty face, and petite frame that barely weighed a buck and a dime but could make the floorboards shake when she stormed around the house, and turned up the Bluetooth speaker in her room so the entire coast of Africa could share in her indulgent enjoyment of grunge rock bands with screaming vocals.

Rock of all kinds from classic to borderline metal had always been my own preferred genre of music, but after days of endless emo hits, I was officially ready to break Benjamin myself.

Only Emma acted like I’d never left and was right where I belonged. I was now the one that made her pancakes for breakfast yesterday and this morning, though she’d giggled both times because my attempts at mouse ears had been so distorted that I’d finally given up and told her they were turtles lying on their backs to sun themselves. She’d eaten them though, so that had been a win. There was also an explosion of stuffed animals on my bed that mirrored the ones in hers. She was a good kid; sweet, compassionate, and most of all, happy. Completely untouched by the destructive force of nature that'd been her father since Connor had abandoned then when Emma was too young to remember him. She was officially part of the one percent of kids who were well adjusted because they had a deadbeat daddy.

None of us never talked about Connor. Emma, because she was barely seven and lived every moment with fearless delight. She danced, loved, and laughed, always firmly in the present. Adelyn and I didn’t talk at all, and I was giving Sofia wide berth. My brother was the giant elephant ass in the room we tiptoed around as we’d counted down the days until Connor’s funeral.

And now, here we were.

A deep inhale dragged the briny tang of ocean water and ozone into my lungs. Overlaid were the hints of Sofia's flowery perfume, and the minty gum that Adelyn was chewing. I could barely smell my own aftershave, which I’d been forced to use because the light scruff I‘d accumulated over the last few days would’ve been frowned upon while I was wearing my dress uniform. Honorably discharged didn’t mean that I got to bend, let alone break any rules. All the bars and medals pinned on my uniform were symbols of having done my duty diligently and loyally. Since I was sticking with my retirement story to Sofia, everyone there though the same thing and I had to look the part, even though I’d secretly been more on board with Addie’s fashion frame of mind today. Arriving in my usual heavy five o’clock shadow on its fifth day of giving no fucks, black BDUs, a gray t-shirt and possibly enough tactical gear to start a round of pearl-clutching, would’ve felt more genuine. But we were all keeping up with appearances, no matter how insincere it was.

Yesterday's storms had finally cleared. The sun was out, and the temperature was too warm for long sleeves, let alone my entire dress uniform, but I’d trekked, fully armed, through some of the harshest climates in tactical gear, a loaded pack, and combat boots. I could handle the physical heat. It was my internal, emotional combustion levels that I was more concerned about. I’d been alternating my attention between the scent of the ocean our town's cemetery bordered on, and the water itself, which reflected the perfectly cloudless blue of the sky to keep my cool.

Today, Ben was somber and professional, his white collar the only color to his otherwise monochrome black outfit. His voice was a calm baritone, but I only heard half his sermon, distracted by the compassionate warmth in his eyes whenever our gazes met. He was the only person other than Max, who knew that I was just playing the part of a willingly retired hero which meant he’d been dragged into the web of lies I justified by believing they were for my family’s benefit. Which maybe they were. Or maybe not. Either way, Ben and I’d just met, so sucking him into our family drama Hoover style, should’ve been a burden. A smart man would’ve broken out the crosses and holy water, especially since God might actually listen if Ben started screaming about the compelling power of Christ. Instead, there’d been only genuine concern in Ben’s expression and demeanor when he’d pulled Sofia and me aside after we’d arrived at the cemetery. He hadn’t hugged me the way he’d embraced my sister-in-law, but the reassuring squeeze of his hand on my shoulder as his striking hazel eyes held my gaze, had seared me to my soul.

It was ridiculous that between one innocent touch of kindness, and the eroticism of that Holy. Hell. Impurity. Dreamscape the other night, my world had violently shifted sideways. I hated feeling off my game, but that’s where I was right now, so trying to keep as much distance between us as humanly possible was my top priority, even if that might be difficult because he and Sofia were good friends according to how often Emma brought him up in conversation, especially when the conversations revolved around food. During the five years I’d been away, Ben seemed to have taken my place as a stable fixture in their lives. I was glad they had someone reliable in their lives. I was less thrilled that the warmth of his smile seemed directly connected to my dick.

Inhaling deeply, I turned my attention toward the water to avoid Ben’s empathetic look. It felt too much like pity to me. I didn’t do pity. Appropriate levels of self-deprecation when necessary, yes. Pity, no.

To distract myself, I thought about Connor, even though my brother was probably the stupidest subject to explore if I wanted to stay calm and neutral.

I exhaled slowly, as discreetly as possible.

When our mother died of cancer while Connor and I were still in high school, we were given the green light to leave our life of paternal abuse behind us. After emancipating ourselves, we’d moved in with Max and his parents. The Melones had been trying to get me to move in with them for over a year, knowing what our home life was like, but they hadn’t pushed because they’d also known I’d never leave our mom or Connor behind.

They couldn’t keep our mother from dying, but they’d given Connor and me a stable, loving, structured home that was a solid hybrid of the tough, military ingrained values of Max’s father, the Colonel, and the loving expectations of Max’s mother. Even now, she was still able to make me cringe with her genteel version of the hairy eyeball; a look both Max and I had earned more than a few times growing up. Connor had gotten it more often than we had.

I’d always known that neither she or the Colonel had been thrilled about taking on Connor and his innate ability to find trouble, but they’d known that for better or worse, Connor and I would always be a package deal. Being older by five minutes still made me older, so he was my responsibility. Since Max’s parents loved me, they took us both. I returned that love by keeping my grades up, following every rule including mandatory Sunday night dinners, and keeping a metaphorical muzzle on my brother.

Those two years with them had been the best of my life, because family had been redefined for me through love, loyalty, faith, and fidelity. The Colonel was strict, but fair, and there was never a doubt that we’d have enough to eat or sneakers without holes on our feet. Max’s mother, Vera, made sure she kissed us goodbye every time we left the house, the same way she did to her husband and Max. Connor and I were treated as members of their family and I’d found peace.

Connor… not so much.

We’d never actually talked about it, but I’d always been able to read my brother easily and I’d known he wasn’t happy. Connor had never explicitly expressed why, but I’d secretly suspected that without the constant chaos of our mother’s illness and our father’s abuse which he’d always tried to protect me from, a stable, loving home with two people who actually knew how to be real parents, overwhelmed him. He was like a restless cat for those two years; quiet for my sake, but always pacing.

The day after we graduated at eighteen, Connor and I found jobs as apprentice mechanics at a local auto shop. I’d been set to start community college in the fall. Max was enrolled pre-med at the University of Florida in Gainesville. It was a full ride on an accelerated track which had surprised everyone who only ever saw the cheerful, charming smartass whose zipper never stayed up for long around attractive men or women. I wasn’t surprised. Even back then, Max was one of the smartest and most capable people I knew. He cared about people, so much that curing their physical pain appealed to him, even though he used to joke that he was going to medical school solely because he wanted to have a more comprehensive understanding of the human body and the best places to explore it behind closed doors.

I’d struggled a little with the idea we wouldn’t see one another daily anymore, but past that, I’d been happy for him and content where I was in my own life.

Until Connor had petitioned for us to move into an apartment on the other side of town together.

Max’s parents hadn’t wanted me to leave. Max hadn’t wanted me to leave, reminding me that his room was mine while he was gone, and even when he was back, because we slept in the same bed often enough. Both those reasons plus the fact that I was happy, made me not want to leave. But in the end, I’d just hugged Vera and promised to come back for Sunday dinners. Max had been less gracious about it, telling me it was mistake and that if Connor dragged me down into his shit, being pre-med meant that when he came home for Thanksgiving, he’d know how to efficiently sever a person’s femoral artery.

I’d kissed Max to shush him, then locked the door of his afore mentioned bedroom and turned up Papa Roach on his CD player so he could fuck me goodbye on the floor. The hardwood had been brutal on my knees, but I’d come with the force of a freight train, spilling so much of my seed all over the floor, there were probably still dried traces of cum between the floorboards.

Three weeks later, I met Connor and Sofia at City Hall to be a witness for their wedding ceremony. Adelyn had just turned two, and we’d moved her and Sofia in with us. Things weren't easy for three people trying to raise a child when they were barely adults themselves, but even though Sofia's family hadn't approved of a teenage pregnancy, they were supportive, and helped by watching Adelyn whenever any of us had to work. For almost 4 months, life was good. But just as we started to fall into a routine that made me believe we might be able to provide the stability for Sofia and Adelyn that our own had lacked, Connor came home one afternoon while I was watching Adelyn—rather, playing video games with a then baby Addie gurgling on my lap as I took out enemy swarms—and told me he'd enlisted in the Army. We weren’t even 19 and could’ve found other options, but where Connor went, I always followed.

We’d gone to speak to a recruiter together the next morning.

Ben's voice brought me back to the present.

"We therefore commit to the ground, our brother Connor Trammel, a man who was much more than the sum of his parts; brother, husband and father. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. We give him to you, Father, and ask that you embrace him and grant him some of the peace we hope to find for ourselves in his passing, in sure and certain hope of the resurrection to the eternal life. Amen."

Ben crossed himself and beside me I saw Sofia and most of the people around us doing the same; her because the force of catholic guilt was strong in that one. Most of the others were probably acting on autopilot.

"Amen," Sofia murmured. Emma echoed, but Adelyn and I both remained silent in perfectly unplanned synchronization. Apparently, we could find common ground in our personal, silent campaigns against making Connor a martyr.

Ben turned our way, sweeping us all with a look, though his gaze directly held mine as he nodded slightly, before stepping back so the NCOIC could move forward and take Ben’s place at the head of the flag covered casket that was flanked by the six soldiers who’d carried the casket in, three on each side. This part I knew like the back of my hand, and I felt my jaw tick. As complicated as my feelings toward my brother were, especially now that I knew what he’d done to our family, seeing the NCIOC salute, and feeling my own hand, like the hand of every military member there, rise in answering salute, kicked me hard in the gut. Commemorating the death of one of our own was a solemn, heart-wrenching moment for any member of a military family, regardless of who the departed person had been in life. Even abusive motherfuckers were granted undeserved grace once they left this earth.

"Uncle Sam?" Emma's little voice was unexpectedly fearful, and I immediately glanced down, surprised to see her standing beside me in her black and white polka dot dress and shiny black shoes with those ruffly edged little girl socks that made her skinny legs look even thinner. She’d previously been sitting in a white folding chair in between Sofia and Adelyn. A brief glance in that direction showed her mother and sister still seated.

I glanced back down at my niece, feeling my brow arch. “What’s wrong, Emma?”

Big brown eyes that were even more magnified by the lenses of her glasses, met mine as she pointed to the armed, stoic line of 7 riflemen, armed and ready in their pristine uniforms, waiting for the ceremonial directions to be given by the NCOIC.

"Are they going to shoot Daddy?"

I felt my expression soften as I released my own rigid, military ready stance and squatted down till the bars and medals on my uniform were at the level of Emma's head. She immediately tucked into my side, ducking her head against my chest, so close so that I caught a whiff of her strawberry shampoo and some overly sweet lotion or body spray. I put my arm around her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head before speaking quietly into her ear.

"No, sweetheart. It's just a very special way for them to say goodbye when a soldier dies. In a little while they're going to fire their weapons into the air three times, so everyone will know your daddy was a hero. It’s going to be loud like firecrackers, so you can place your hands over your ears if it’s too much. Okay?”

Emma nodded when I straightened up again, but her small fingers slid into mine and she remained standing beside me instead of returning to her seat. Her small, slim body leaned into my leg a little more, the petals of the red rose in her other hand, pointing toward the ground as if forgotten for the moment. I brushed my thumb gently over the top of her hand as much for my own benefit as for hers. When I stole another quick glance at Sofia in my peripheral vision, she was looking straight ahead. Her long hair was pulled back from her pale face so tightly it looked painful to me. The thick mass was knotted neatly at the nape of her slim neck. Unlike her oldest daughter who was wearing her usual warpaint of liner and shiny lip gloss, she hadn’t bothered with any makeup. Her black sheath dress was sleeveless, in deference to the heat. She’d paired it with short-heeled pumps that weren’t practical for either the grassy plots or the gravelly walkways, but Sofia was playing her part of visual propriety just like I was.

In perfect, practiced synchrony, the soldiers around the casket bent to pick up their piece of the American flag. I saluted again, then stood stoic and silent like everyone else, watching the soldiers hold the symbolic length of fabric taut between them as they awaited their next orders.

“Firing party, attention,” the NCIOC said. “Stand by.”

All 7 of the soldiers armed with rifles shifted the weapons to the ready.

“Aim,” the NCIOC said, and again, they all moved with such practiced fluidity that they looked like a seamless, unified mass, not 7 individuals.

“Fire!”

The first shots jolted all of the women in my family, even Adelyn. My jaw ticked, but I kept it together and the rifleman turned back to the side to await the next order. There’d been a time when the sound of gunfire had been background noise that I’d accepted as just a part of my everyday reality, but over the last year, sudden, high-volume bursts of sound made my heart pound. I couldn’t react though, because I’d be expected not to. Emma turned her head to hide her face against my leg for the last two rounds of echoes after the NCIOC ordered them to aim and fire twice more. The hand that had been on her head, moved lightly against her silky hair, the other remaining in salute as the bugler began playing Taps.

Only when he was done, did I let my hand lower, following military protocol as the honor guard began ceremoniously folding the flag 13 times into the tight triangle that would be presented to Sofia. My hand moved soothingly over Emma’s hair again, for my benefit as much as for hers. I watched a soldier who looked too young to shave, bring the folded flag over Sofia after three bullet casings had been tucked into it. They weren’t the ones that had been fired, but the optics of the ceremony were all that mattered. Three casings to represent the three rifle volleys.

The kid knelt down in front of Sofia. She placed the white rose she’d been holding, onto the chair beside her, then settled her shaking hands on top of, and below the flag, to hold it the same way that he was.

“On behalf of the president of the United States, the United States Army, and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one’s honorable and faithful service.”

I was surprised when Adelyn's hands came up to support her mother's trembling ones, her short, polished black nails contrasting starkly with Sofia’s clear coat. Their fingers tangled on top of the flag after the soldier let go and returned to his post.

As soon as the ceremonial portion of the funeral was over and Sofia and Adelyn stood, people began to file toward us to give their condolences. Even without Max's presence, the turnout was impressive. I suspected more of that was for Sofia's sake than Connor's. Friends I hadn't seen since highschool, shuffled over to tell us how sorry they were for our loss. Most of it was bullshit, just as Adelyn had predicted. My daddy had earned his reputation, and Connor had followed in his footsteps. Even though the domestic abuse was a secret, ninety percent of the people here had known Connor and me for a solid portion of our lives. Connor had always been both a smartass and a hothead. But all was forgiven when a man died.

As I turned to shake the hand of the woman who'd been our eighth-grade teacher, a commotion broke out among the small crowd of protestors gathered just outside of the gates. I'd caught a glimpse of their signs when we'd pulled up to the cemetery, but both civilian and law enforcement vehicles had created a barricade to hold them back. Music had been pumped in through speakers during the funeral services to try to drown out their chanting. It’d worked well enough that I'd almost forgotten they were there. But with the end of the funeral music and ceremony, their shouts were coming through more clearly. I was too far away to hear all of the vitriol that the protestors were spewing, but I could see their signs more clearly now that I focused all my attention on them.

Baby killers.

Turn, or Burn.

Thank God for dead soldiers.

That last sign was being held up by a kid. He couldn't be older than ten or eleven, and the homemade looking, handwritten sign was almost as big as he was. His expression held more confusion than anger, but he raised his sign with conviction when the chanting grew louder.

All of the remaining blood drained from Sofia's already pale face when she followed my gaze and saw the protestors. I was moving before I even realized it. Emma made a surprised puff of sound as I scooped her up, shifting my body so she couldn’t see the protestors. I quietly told her to put her hands over her ears before I pressed a reassuring kiss to her temple when she obediently followed my direction.

“Everything’s okay honey. Just go with your mom. I’ll be back soon,” I said, meeting Sofia’s eyes as I handed Emma over to her. "Get them to the car.”

Sofia settled her youngest daughter onto her hip, but her brown eyes were as wide as saucers. She moved one hand away from Emma’s back to curl it around my arm, gripping me with unexpected strength. “Where are you going?”

“Get them to the car," I repeated through clenched teeth, though I cupped the back of her neck to hold her near me while I bussed a brief kiss across her temple, feeling the tackiness of her skin against my lips. "Everything’s ok. Just get her and Adelyn out of here. They don’t need to be exposed to this. I'll be right back. Go."

“I’d rather you come with us.”

“I’ll be right behind you, I promise. I just need to—”

My brain had been scrambling for a way to reframe, ‘need to kick some granola-eating motherfucker’s ass’, into something appropriate for mixed company, but Sofia put the brakes on that sound-barrier-breaking-thought-process by squeezing my arm harder to focus me. Apparently her docile, Stepford Wife phase was over at the worst fucking possible time.

“Sam, we love you, so please… be careful, and make sure that whatever you’re about to do doesn’t stop you from getting to the damn car. We’ll be waiting for you.”

My lips twitched because if I hadn’t been so pissed about what was happening on the other side of that barricade, I’d have applauded that brief reappearance of the old Sofia who used to whack me upside the back of my head with her palm when I teased her about her love of all things pink. The whole mama bear trope wasn’t reserved only for children.

“Yes ma’am. I love you too. I’ll be there soon. Te lo prometo ahora y siempre.”

Her eyes met mine like she was reassuring herself that I meant it this time. I couldn’t blame her. Promising now and always didn’t have the same oomph when you’d already dropped those same folks on the other side of that reassurance like a bad habit. But it seemed to be enough for Sofia because let me go and patted my chest lightly, just below me left shoulder before she extended that same hand out to Adelyn who took it without snark or complaint.

The miracles just kept on coming today.

Good, because I might need one to keep that last promise about meeting them at the car.

I watched them just long enough to see an older, uniformed police office falling into step beside them, ushering them away from the chaos, before I started moving toward the protestors. Despite the sea of black around us, all I could see was red. The more distance I put between my family and myself, made processing rational thought an increasing challenge.

I’d always been more levelheaded than Connor, even as kids, but we’d protected one another at all costs and if those prices came in the form of fists, so be it. I’d always defended Max and Sofia the same way, though they’d usually talked me down before things got too bad. I’d sent Sofia away and Max wasn’t here, which meant I had to check myself.

Clear head. Calm thought. Identify the mission and stick to the objective. In and out, quick and clean.

It was an action plan I’d successfully lived by for years with the mission clearance to prove it. My only major problem today was that I couldn’t take any of these people out for the sole, surface sin of being absolute assholes.

Time to reverse and reframe.

My objective was to get to the cops standing by the barrier and calmly ask if they could make sure the parking lot and roads were clear for us to leave through. I’d sent Sofia and the kids to the car so they wouldn’t be exposed to any of this. Having to run a jackass protestor over because he’d jumped in front of her SUV would defeat that purpose completely.

One of the plainsclothes police officers, an older, barrel-chested man with graying brown hair who was a solid head shorter than me, held up a hand to intercept me before I could reach the small barricade that had been set up between us and the protestors.

"I'm sorry, Seargeant Tramell, but you have to stay back."

"I’m not here to start trouble. They just need to get the fuck out of here so I can get my family home."

That sounded calm to my own ears. Steady. Rational.

Absolutely believable BULLSHIT.

"Freedom of speech," called a skinny woman with frizzy hair and torn jeans who was almost visibly vibrating with the strength of her ass-backwards convictions. Someone needed to switch to fucking decaf.

"We're exercising our constitutionally protected rights!,” a short, skinny kid with hair to his shoulders and his pants almost down around his ass, called out.

I ground my teeth together so that they contained my snarl. I’d had enough fucking indignities to handle lately without being taunted by a guy who I could’ve pantsed and shoved into a locker somewhere in less than two seconds before I took on the rest of the high-school musical bullies.

"The only reason you have any rights is because men like my brother and me protect this country!"

“You’re all just pawns of the government!”

Fuck this shit.

I glanced down at the hand that abruptly pressed against my chest when I started to shift my stance, much like Sofia’s had just a few minutes ago, but with more quiet warning than worry. Years of practice thankfully checked my immediate, ingrained instinct to react with violence. I kept my eyes mild when I met the steady, whiskey brown ones of the officer who was poking the bear by putting a hand on me that would’ve been unable to ever fire a gun again had we been under circumstances where he wasn’t just trying to do his job.

In that one brief, silent exchange between us, I got it. He knew I was pissed. He sympathized. I still had to stand down.

I exhaled slowly, then nodded slightly. This was their rodeo, and I could still respect a chain of command. He acknowledged my obvious restraint with a slight nod of his own.

“Sergeant, we’ll handle this. Just get back to the car and be with your family. We’ll make sure that the path is clear and have units escort yo—"

Before he could finish his thought, someone from the crowd hurled something at us. The object bounced off his arm and hit the grass with a soft thunk. It took me a minute to recognize the Ken doll that looked like one Emma had. This one was dressed in camouflage and had been soaked in red paint. The man who’d launched it was a blur of impressionist color that might’ve been a black hoodie and blue jeans, but I couldn’t tell because when he leaned over the barricade and spit at my feet, my control snapped as the faces of all the friend’s I’d lost and buried were suddenly glaringly reflected in the doll’s generic face.

I broke past the officer closest to me, past caring about propriety. Catching him off guard gave me the extra seconds I needed to punch the man in his stupidly smug, troll face. I felt his blood slick on my fingers where his nose bled freely before I was forcibly dragged away from the shouting mob. One on one, I was probably stronger than most of the officers there, but with the number of hands holding me back, trying to de-escalate the situation, I was reminded of my nightmare, and my blood pressure shot up.

People were yelling on all sides, but my vision had narrowed to a thin, dark tunnel. Laid over the voices in the cemetery were those of people in my nightmares. My memories—past and present— merged over one another in shrieking, echoic chaos. I struggled as I felt more arms restraining me.

"Easy, Soldier. Stand down, son!"

"You're going to pay for this," a woman screamed, holding up a cellphone in an offensively bright yellow case. "We're going to take this to the media!"

“Fuck you!” I spat back.

"Samuel."

My name, plainly and calmly spoken, cut through all the bedlam. I blinked up against the blinding sunshine but instead of grinning skulls, there was only Ben's calm face bringing me home. He reached down a hand to help me to my feet, and I managed not to stumble, though I felt the strength in his grip just like I had that day in the men’s room at the funeral home. I briefly wondered if rescuing me from myself was going to be a theme with him, but then I was upright, and he still hadn’t released my hand even though everyone else had let go.

Behind him I saw the police officers watching me like I was a feral animal. Giving me space, but with clear, defined parameters. Apparently, I was channeling Adelyn’s honey badger energy.

“Sam,” Ben said softly, so his voice didn’t carry, “You need to take a deep breath. Don’t let them break you like this. Breathe.”

“They need to get the fuck out of here, Ben.”

“Breathe,” he repeated, squeezing my hand before he it let go. I unexpectedly mourned the loss of the warmth, until he placed that same hand on my shoulder, squeezing as he discreetly pulled me closer to him.

"You need to arrest that fascist pawn of the government! He's disturbing our protected right to gather and voice our cause!" someone shouted.

"That's not the way we saw it happen," a man maybe an incher shorter than I was, with ginger colored hair and features that were more interesting in the offbeat, Harry Connick Jr. style than classically handsome, interrupted. He looked about my age, possibly a little older, and so stacked that his uniform looked more stripper than safety enforcer. Obviously a man who broke the mold of police expectation and said no to sprinkles and jelly filled balls of carbs. The way he handled himself, his tone a cool, lazy roll with just enough flint laced through to get the attention of anyone smart enough to recognize the dangerous authority in it, clearly said he was high enough up on the totem pole to back whatever he was going to say.

"Looks to us like your people were creating a public disturbance and when asked by officers to keep it down, one of you got unruly." He took the ruined doll that Ben held out. I hadn't even seen Ben pick it up. "You assaulted a police officer. Our friend here, an American hero, helped our officers settle things down. Maybe he got a little overzealous with all the emotions running high at a soldier’s memorial, but it was still within the parameters of a citizen arrest, so it’s best we all just take a breath. We all good with that?”

It wasn’t a question.

Who the fuck was this guy?

Murmurs of agreement rose up all around us from the uniformed men and women standing around Ben and me and I swallowed hard. Hardly, but they were on my side right now and I wasn’t in handcuffs, so I’d roll with it.

“This is bullshit man! Bullshit!”

Oh look, it was Pants-Around-His-Ass-McGee again. Though this time I agreed with him. Protesting against the people who made this country safe and democratic enough for them to be able to pull this kind of stunt, was indeed, absolute bullshit.

"I hear ya,” porno cop drawled again, the subtlest lilt of an Irish accent softening his words to an almost hypnotic sound that was probably effective crowd control with people who werent completely deranged in their thinking.

His hand rested casually on his hip, not quite hovering over his gun. I had a feeling he didn’t need as much time as the tubby tank on the other side of him to draw his weapon. “But don’t worry. We'll get a report down detailing everything. The law’s funny ‘bout hate speech and all that."

I swallowed hard as the protestors continued to spew threats. Ben gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze to keep me still, as if he felt all the muscle in my shoulders coiling for a second explosion.

"A man died in a war meant to protect the freedoms you're all abusing today by this display of disrespect,” Ben said, and I was startled when his hand left my shoulder to curl securely around mine again. He laced our fingers together like he’d done in my dream. They were just as warm in reality, but this time, instead of feeding that heady eroticism that had left me with bedsheets to discreetly launder before Sofia had woken up, his touch inspired a sense of unquestionable comfort that flowed through my veins like a cozy blanked dipped in warm milk. I might’ve felt like I was crashing and burning, but Ben was calm.

Steady.

Stable.

And he had my back.

We stood side by side, facing the crowd as he continued. "If you can't wrap your minds around that concept, then I'll pray for all of you, which will likely take me the rest of the afternoon. I can only hope it won’t be a waste of my time and that you’ll show more compassion, humility and less foolish stupidity in the future, especially when there are God’s innocent present. Bless you all."

I blinked. That was unexpected, because yeah, Ben was a priest in full clerical, holy gear, but apparently, he was also a man who had no problem using unsubtle as fuck snark when it was appropriate.

"Come on, Sam," Ben said. "Officer Whelan, can you clear a path so the family can leave in peace."

I blinked as he addressed the sexy wonder cop who swept me with a look that was probably assessing how big a liability I could be, more than if I was good on my knees. Under other circumstances I’d have assured him I could be both. I was retired. I didn’t have to worry about closet depth anymore. Fortunately for him, I wasn’t into PDA’s, especially when there was another more attractive option who might have a better chance of getting me into heaven.

"No problem, Father Santiago. We didn’t think it’d get his bad. We’ll have units escort Seargent Trammell and his family back to the house when they’re ready to leave.”

“Thank you,” Ben said. His smile was warm and way too familiar for this to be the first time they’d met, but I didn’t have a chance to ponder that with any inappropriate jealousy because Ben was already ushering us back towards the parking lot. Shouted protests followed our return to the sea of cars, but all I could focus on was the solid warmth of Ben's hand in mine. He didn't let go until the protestor’s voices were only a distant hum.

"How's your hand?" he said, asking about the one he hadn't been holding.

My knuckles were still bloody when I checked, but I shrugged. "It's fine. I've hit harder things than that guy's head. Where are Sofia and the girls?"

"They're with Tara."

"Who?" I followed his gaze to where a slim, pretty woman stood with her arm around Sofia's shoulder, about a hundred feet away from us in the parking lot. Unlike everyone else who was wearing funeral appropriate black, she was dressed in a long-sleeved denim shirt that she’d knotted at the waist over an ankle length, wine-red skirt. Her long mass of thick blonde curls spilled out from beneath a tan fedora. She obviously didn’t give two fucks about propriety, and it made me wonder if there was more to her ensemble than just a bold fashion statement.

Adelyn was holding Emma’s hand, and the older police officer who’d escorted them away was squatted down on his haunches, speaking to Emma. I was too far away to hear what they were saying, but Emma was smiling, so either he just had a way with kids, or he was someone’s daddy. Either way, it worked for me since I was still getting myself back together.

"She's a friend of ours and she’s fierce, to put it mildly. She’ll probably protect them more than any armed police officer could,” he said with a slight smile. “They're fine, Sam. I'm more concerned for you right now." Ben's eyes scanned my face.

"I'm fine. That fucker deserved it."

"I'm not disagreeing with you, Sam. Those people are vultures, preying on grief and pain, and God will remember that when He deals with them as He chooses. But your responsibility is to your family. What good are you going to be to them if you get yourself arrested?"

“I—” I cut myself off mid-sentence. I’d been about to say, ‘I don’t care,’ but that would’ve been a lie, and also completely counterproductive toward achieving my goal of providing stability for my family.

"Okay... you're right."

"Of course, I am. Now take a deep breath and exhale because we’ve been spotted."

I followed his gaze to where my sister-in-law and nieces were looking over at us. Emma waved as Ben and I approached. I quickly wiped my bloodied knuckles on the side of my dress pants discreetly before Sofia or the girls could see. Sofia's face was still pale, but she met my eyes steadily when I was close enough for her to sweep me with a look like she was inspecting me for the kind of barfight boo boos I’d sometimes come home with when I’d had to resolve a problem Connor had started. I was glad I’d wiped the blood off my knuckles when she said, "Sam, are you ok?" and the anxiety laced through her voice was just a few octaves short of a desperation that’d have all the neighborhood dogs howling soon.

I ignored Adelyn's hostile look as I looped an arm around Sofia's slim waist to bring her closer to me like Ben had done to me before, subtly steading her weight before nodding to the officer who gave me a questioning look to silently ask if we were good.

I nodded. "Thank you, Officer,” I said to him, and he nodded back before walking away to leave me with my family, Ben and Sofia’s friend.

“We're fine.” I said to Sofia. To her friend, I said, “Hi, I'm Sam."

The hand that slid into my offered one, was attached to a slim, pale wrist that poked out beneath the cuff of her denim shirt, revealing just a hint of vivid color that disappeared upward into the material of her sleeve which hid the rest of the tattoo This close up, I noticed that she had on big, brightly colored beaded earrings, and wine colored, sexy-secretary style glasses that framed bright blue eyes and brought attention to the tiny, twin hoop silver earrings on the left side of a slim, straight nose. She was gorgeous, and her wide, slightly crooked smile that obviously hadn’t been tormented into submission with braces as a teenager, amped her up from a solid ten, to a hundred and ten. Had I been even remotely interested in women, I'd have wondered what she was hiding beneath that long skirt. As it was, I was willing to deal with her unpreferred aesthetic landscape if it got me a glimpse of the rest of her ink, because this wasn’t the kind of girl who embraced the stereotypical tramp stamp on her ass. The vibrant energy she gave off guaranteed that any art gracing her skin had a story. Considering I had an important part of my past tattooed onto my own back, I’d be willing to go quid pro quo.

"Hi, Sam. I'm Tara Fitzgerald, a friend of Father Ben and Sofia's. Nice to meet you." She startled me by leaning in as if she were going to kiss my cheek, a scent both sweet and spicy that was probably perfume or some hair product, wafting my way as she whispered her next words against my ear instead. "Good job on clocking that prick. I’d have kneed him in the nads myself, but I settled for fist bumping the air since you had it covered."

There was a touch of Deep South to Tara's amused voice, but it seemed to come and go with certain words, reminding me of Max. Once again, I wished he were here, though had he been, the likelihood of us both spending the night in jail for assault would've been inevitable. Harder to play the crazy bereaved soldier card times two.

"Nice to meet you, Tara," I said when she pulled away. "Thanks for coming."

“Of course. I’ve known Sofia long enough to know that this wouldn’t be easy for multiple reasons.” The subtle emphasis she put on those last two words suddenly explained her lack of any kind of traditional respect for the occasion.

She knew about the abuse, just like Ben did.

Once again, I felt awash with guilt, knowing I was the last one to find out about something that should’ve been on my radar years ago.

“Everyone needs friends,” was all I said, my tone mild. “Especially ones who are willing to put a knee to a deserving pair of nuts.”

“There are so many of those in the world.”

I shrugged. “Thankfully not on this end of the barricade.”

Tara’s smile deepened, widening so much that I could make out every tooth in her mouth. She definitely didn’t have a love affair with coffee like most of America. “Sofia, I like this family friendly model much better. Higher quality parts, not the janky kind made in China. I just hope he comes with an extended warranty.”

My lips twitched because asking to see her ink and showing her mine suddenly felt like it might send the wrong signals. Too bad for me though, because I was even more curious now. I’d always appreciated people who believed in doing no harm but taking no shit.

“A lifetime one,” I said, then returned my attention to Sofia. "Ready to head home?"

She nodded. Her facial features were tense when she looked up at me, but at least it wasn’t the blank connection she’d been giving off all week. She turned in my hold to hug me around the neck like she had at the airport; hard, like the world was shifting beneath her feet and she needed to ground herself. Slim fingers, cool despite the hot as balls, early afternoon heat, curled around the back of my neck when I folded my arms around her. I was mostly trying to steady her because she had to be on tiptoe to reach me while I wasn’t half bent over, but she tucked against my shoulder. I met Ben’s eyes over her shoulder, wondering if he had any words of wisdom, or was just willing to tag in.

Words from Alice in Wonderland—Adelyn’s favorite book when she was around Emma’s age—suddenly popped into my head with that random irreverence awkward situations often prompt.

“But I don’t want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.

"Oh, you can’t help that," said the Cat, "we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad."

"How do you know I’m mad?" said Alice.

"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn’t have come here.”

I was beginning to wonder if the fucking cat wasn’t right.

Sofia pulled back and I brushed my thumb along the delicate line of her jaw to encourage her to look up at me. “Hey, you alright?”

“Yeah…” I got a wan smile as she stepped away and blinked rapidly, employing that age old chick trick of keeping their makeup on when the tears started to flow. Appparently she’d forgotten that she wasn’t wearing any. “Could I.. just have a minute?"

Although Sofia's voice was calm enough not to distress her children, I could see her beginning to fall apart, one step away from a meltdown.

I could relate. A few minutes ago, I’d been one step from a meltdown that would’ve probably put me in prison.

Tara smiled at me, obviously reading the room better than I was. She looped her slim am neatly through Sofia's, setting the army of bangle bracelets on her left wrist jangling as she gently pulled Sofia away from me and close to her.

"We'll catch up in a few. Just going to chat about next week’s book club choice."

Even I could decipher that as code for, ‘Boys not needed in this situation. Move along.’

I nodded to assure her the message was received. "Take all the time you need. Emma, do you and Addie want to help me figure out the new GPS? This is either an ice cream or donuts day, though the police are going to make sure we get home, so maybe some donuts to share? I bet they’d all like that. Donuts are their favorite snack, but shh, that’s our secret, ok?”

How about that, Officer Wheelan of the tight abs and smooth voice.

True, he’d saved my ass from an overnight stay in a jail cell, so maybe I should’ve shown him more gratitude. However, since I suspected his motivations were more about making Ben happy than helping me, my gratitude was being offered in the form of carbs he probably wouldn’t eat.

Emma had looked torn about leaving instead of staying with her mother, but at the mention of donuts her eyes lit up. I thanked God for the narcissistic stomachs of children. She nodded enthusiastically as she took my hand, probably already fantasizing about how many sprinkled donuts she could sucker me into. In her mind—and in a reality I’d deny to both her mother and her dentist—I was the one who let her get away with brief meet and greet sessions between her nubby little teeth and the toothbrush as long as they were followed by a healthy rinse with her bubble gum flavored mouthwash. I followed the two-minute scrub rule like most adults who didn’t want to worry about insurance not covering fillings, but as long as Emma got some fluoride got into her mouth and it cut down bedtime prep, I was good with cutting a few corners. They were baby teeth. They’d all fall out eventually anyway.

“Can I get two?” she asked hopefully.

I nodded. “Sure. Hey you can even have three, though two of them have to be saved for dessert tonight. But you can get them all with sprinkles if you’d like.”

“Cool! Thanks Uncle Sam. What kind should we get for the police?”

“They probably like the ones that have sprinkles too. And jelly filled. And glazed. Probably all Donuts, even," I paused and glanced sideways at Addie who was dutifully pretending not to hear us. She gave herself up when she rolled her eyes as I added, “Boston Cream.”

Adelyn rolled her eyes so hard as she flounced ahead of Emma and I, that I reminded myself to watch my step and avoid wayward teenage eyeballs.

I looked at Ben when he remains close to Sofia and Tara. ”Joining us for donuts?”

He smiled. “Maybe in a bit. Go on ahead for now. I’m going to see two of my favorite people about a book club first.”

I was tempted to ask, if no boys were allowed, why did he get to stay, but I caught myself before that stupidity could leave my mouth. The truth was that I was more than okay with leaving that entire messy situation in his capable hands. I’d lived with only with men for so long that I’d forgotten what it was like to be surrounded by women and their fluctuating emotions. I thanked all that was holy on this plane of existence and the next, that I’d have at least a few more years before Emma hit those holy-fucking-hell, monthly highs and lows.

“Fair enough. We’ll wait in the car.”

“We’ll catch up,” Ben assured me before he slid his arm around Sofia’s from the opposite side that Tara was on. moving them toward a small clearing a bit away. Adelyn was already pretty far ahead of her little sister and me, so to make up time, I swung Emma up onto my shoulders. She shrieked in delight, plucking my hat off my head to put it on hers. Her fear over the gunfire was long forgotten with that enviable memory loss only children and the senile can manage.

"I'm so high, Uncle Sam! I can see the birds real close."

"Maybe you can catch one." I jiggled her, earning another delighted squeal. For the first time in weeks, I felt my mouth curve into a small, but genuine smile that didn’t feel like it was the tip of the iceberg cracking.

Adelyn muttered something inaudible beneath her breath as she climbed into the rear seat of my rented SUV, snapping on her headphones before sprawling defiantly across the back with her wooden heeled wedged sandals resting on the seat. The volume was so loud, she’d be deaf by 18 at this point, but I could make that work. Easier to pretend I didn’t hear her bitching me out if she couldn’t hear herself to gauge how loud she actually was. Her shoes were probably getting cemetery dirt all over the leather, but if defying me with silence was her jam right now, she could have at it. I knew how to detail a car with a toothbrush.

I settled Emma into the front seat for the time being so that she could reach the GPS. My hat was too big on her, covering the rounded tips of her ears. Her legs swung several inches above the floor’s dark carpeting as she played for a few minutes with the GPS, looking for the closest donut shop. The soft beeps added an occasional break in the soundtrack of waves, wind and teen angst.

"Uncle Sam? Can I ask you a question?" Emma said.

"Sure, sweetheart."

The beeps continued for a moment. "Mami is sad, right?"

I nodded slightly, looking into the review mirror for a moment. All I could make out of Addie were her knees. A glance into my side mirror revealed zero sign of Sofia and company. "She's a little sad right now. But she'll be all right."

"Addie's mad, not sad."

The leather seats creaked as I readjusted, stealing another peek at my older niece in the review mirror, though she’d apparently laid down flat now because I couldn’t see any part of her though I still heard the music. I was under no delusion that she wouldn’t pop up immediately if she heard something in the conversation that interested her, like a punk rock version of whack-a-mole.

"She's sad, too, Emma. She just shows it differently. Sometimes when people have all these feelings bubbling up inside of them, they don't know how to show them. So, they say mean things, or act in ways they usually don't. It doesn’t mean they’re bad people or don’t love us. They’re just… struggling."

Silence reigned from Adelyn's corner, but the music got just a drop lower.

"Are you sad, Uncle Sam?" Emma looked at me with startling sensitivity considering her age, those brown eyes as rich and warm as real hot chocolate, the kind made with milk chocolate chips and heavy cream. "Is that why you have bad dreams, and need Father Ben’s help praying?"

I raised an eyebrow because though I was relearning how to navigate the Chronicles of Narnia fuckery that was a child’s brain, this one had me admittedly stumped. "Why would you think I have bad dreams, honey?"

"Because when I woke up Addie so she could make me warm milk with extra vanilla a couple of days ago, “we heard you say, 'Oh, God, Ben,’ when we went past your room. Addie said you were talking to him on the phone and asking him to teach you to pray to God so that he'd take away your bad dreams.”

On perfect, inevitable cue, a muffled snicker from the back seat set my ears aflame as Adelyn tuned in. Apparently, the music wasn’t loud enough to keep her from eavesdropping. I didn’t know whether to retreat into horrified silence and pray that Emma wouldn’t follow, or plunge forward with stupidity masked as bravery, and hope for the best. Unfortunately, before I could make any exit strategy plans for this entire conversation, Emma continued. "I can help you learn to pray too. I learned at Sunday school and I’m really good at talking to God when I go to sleep," she continued to my dismay, her wide, little girl smile all warmth and huge dimples.

"You do pray pretty loud, Uncle Sam," Adelyn murmured, finally deciding to join the conversation. "Might have to work on that."

The little shit wasn't bothering to hide her delight at my situation when I met her eyes in the mirror. I didn't have time to be scandalized that my newly 17-year-old niece seemed to know I hadn’t been praying—or to think about all the boys I might have to disappear in the near future considering she was the same age Sofia had been when she’d given birth to Adelyn— because Emma was tugging at my hand to get my attention.

I cleared my throat hard, ignoring the silent shaking of Adelyn's shoulders in my peripheral vision.

Little shit.

"Thanks kiddo… I um… yeah, you can teach me to pray your way one day. All praying is good… when I'm sad, it helps me think,” I continued, completely ignoring Adelyn’s unadulterated glee and soft snickers that were escaping despite having turned her face into the flesh of her arm so that she wasn’t looking at either Emma or me.

“We all get sad sometimes, honey, but eventually we're okay."

Emma put down the GPS and scooted a little closer to me. "I'm not sad...is that bad?"

Fuck no.

I shook my head, thanking all deities on high that she accepted the redirection. "You're always allowed to feel however you do, Emma. Your daddy wouldn't want you to be sad."

"I'd be sad if you went away," she said, reaching over to touch my hand, my heart melting into goo; something I’d blame on the goddamn heat and not as a result of slowly falling in love with my family all over again.

“I want you to be here for Christmas, because Mami makes gingerbread men, and I put extra sprinkles on them. And we open presents. Maybe we'll get more from Santa if you're here, too."

The hopeful expression in her eyes drew a smile from me. Christmas was so far away that Santa’s elves still had to be on sabbatical. I also didn't want to make promises that far off in advance, but I hadn't seen my niece this excited since I'd gotten here.

"We might be able to arrange that. Maybe even hang a stocking on the stairs for me."

A snort escaped from Adelyn's corner, but Emma's face lit up. "What color do you want?"

"Green," I said.

“Light green or dark green?”

“Light… like a cat’s eyes kind of green,” I said, thinking of Ben's eyes.

“Maybe we can get you a cat head one with green eyes like Addie’s. Hers is a rainbow sock with a black cat head. It has yellow eyes though.”

Of course it did. One witch’s familiar coming right up.

"Mine is a pink Barbie one,” Emma confided.

We chatted for a few more minutes, Emma happily taking up the slack to do most of the talking. Adelyn remained quiet, but there was enough movement in the set of her lips to classify as a truce if not a smile.

Sofia finally returned, red-eyed but calm when our eyes met briefly before she got into the backseat. Emma immediately climbed into the back seat to be with her mother, which forced Adelyn up front with me; a musical-chairs move she was obviously ecstatic about judging by the scowl on her face when she kicked off her sandals and propped her bare feet on the dashboard. A scowl which deepened into an indignant, “hey!” of protest when I smoothly pushed her feet off with my hand just as Ben appeared on my side of the SUV, his own hands resting on the windowsill after I pushed the electric button to lower it.

“Hay is for horses,” I said to Adelyn. “Google what happens to teenage legs and windshields in front end collisions.”

“Hey,” I said to Ben, who looked amused as Adelyn grumbled something about me needing to get closer to God.

Another eep escaped her when I discreetly goosed her ribs even as my ears heated.

"Hey. Fancy meeting you here,” he said with a warm smile. “Everything ok?”

“Peachy. We’re living the life. Major family bonding time,” I said, trying to play off that guilty look you developed when you knew you'd been talking about someone. "Is Sofia all right?,” I murmured, so my voice didn’t carry.

Ben nodded, lowering his own voice. "She will be. Just needs some time, like you all do." He paused, leaning in a little closer. "I got your message the other night. Sorry I didn't call you back. There was a situation at work I had to handle, and then the week just got hectic, but I was glad you called. I'd definitely love to talk." His smile was warm. "I have plans tonight, but maybe we can go out for coffee tomorrow night if that’s good for you?"

Coffee. It was just coffee. I could do coffee... right?

The other night I’d have said yes, but it was one thing to fly my flag in the name of open communication after the hottest dream I’d ever had. It was another to consider actual conversation over a warm beverage like normal people in a public space with small talk. I didn’t do small talk well unless I was drinking. Driving while intoxicated was undeniably stupid, but there was a reason why people did it; you got the high while being able to relinquish almost complete control. Operating sober meant being present. The same was true of being on a date of any kind where you had to communicate with another person. It’d been years since I’d done that, so a simple coffee date suddenly seemed more daunting than any covert mission I’d ever been on.

Movement over Ben’s left shoulder caught my attention and gave me a few more minutes to percolate.

Tara had seemingly said goodbye to Ben and Sofia before they’d gotten to the SUV, because she was standing next to her own car two lanes down; a vintage, powder blue convertible with the white cloth top down. She’d taken off her fedora and was in the middle of gathering up all those blonde curls and twisting them around before fastening them high on her head in a messy top knot the way Sofia and Addie sometimes did. With all of her hair out of the way, there was nothing blocking the view of smooth, summer tan skin and bright red ink once Tara had removed her denim shirt, revealing a simple black tank beneath. The ink seemed to be some kind of floral pattern, though I couldn’t make out any individual details from here. It started at the nape of her neck before sweeping elegantly across her left shoulder and then winding down that same arm to her wrist. It was a big tattoo, one that had obviously taken a lot of time and pre-planning before it was etched into her skin.

Definitely a story there.

I forced my attention back towards Ben, knowing I was taking too long to answer even though it was probably safer for me to check out the hot chick I had no carnal interest in, than the sexy priest my nieces now knew I “prayed” with. Well, Adelyn suspected. Emma actually believed I’ve been on my knees like a good boy.

I let my thoughts bounce around in my head for a moment, trying to percolate the best possible answer. What would be fantastic for me was if I ended up on my knees like a really good boy, with Ben’s hand sunk into my hair, showing me just how fulfilling prayer and penance could be if it involved his dick down my throat…

For fucks sake!

I killed that thought quick, because it would put me into an even more awkward position. Uniform slacks didn’t have a lot of give, and I didn’t have anything to lay across my lap. What I did have next to me was a niece with a very dirty mind and keen eye so yeah, nope. Nix that.

“Um, I—”

"Father Ben, Uncle Sam is staying for Christmas!"

Emma's cheerful interruption saved me from answering. Ben looked between us, amused, probably at my expense because he was close enough and even with a tan, my skin was naturally fair enough that any kind of flush showed.

"Is he now? Well, that's great."

"I haven't decided anything yet..."

"Uncle Sam, you said you wanted a green stocking, so we have to get you one." Emma continued as if she hadn't heard me.

I glanced in my review mirror at Sofia, who was smothering a smile with her palm. "You're right, sweetheart. I did say that... But..."

"No butts. Mami doesn't like that word."

I could've sworn the corner of Adelyn's mouth twitched as I got a dress down from a seven-year-old, but she poked at the GPS, changing our coordinates to God knew where.

I sighed. "Okay, but you need to figure out the stocking situation for me, kiddo."

Ben had an engaging grin. He was using it freely right now, obviously eating this up. It made me wonder if he had a big family. He was too good at talking to kids not to have some prior experience with at least a few nieces and nephews. A quick glance at his hand didn’t reveal a ring, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t seeing anyone.

"That sounds like an important job, so I'm going to trust you with another one, Emma. Are you listening?"

Emma's little head popped between the seats like a lemur so she could hear him better. "I'm listening, Father Ben!"

So was I, because I had no idea where this was going.

"Fantastic. You need to help me by making sure your Uncle Sam has nothing to do this Tuesday. If you have to help him do his chores, or tickle torture him to stay home that night so he remembers to meet up with me later, you have my permission. Got it?"

"Okay!" Emma agreed with an obedient bob of her head that when paired with her huge eyes, made her look but she belonged on the dashboard of a soccer mom’s mini-van. "Where are you taking him? Can I come too?"

Ben smiled at her as he shook his head. "Not this time, Emma. Your Uncle Sam and I are just going to see some friends of mine and talk about boring grownup stuff. He's a little shy about meeting new people, so he's scared about going. But I'll be there to take care of him. You just have to make him promise you he'll come with me."

It took me a second to realize what Ben was getting at, and his grin deepened when my eyes narrowed in a clear warning that he ignored. His bold wink said he had me right where he wanted me. I wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or irritated that he was recruiting the help of my niece. That kind of subterfuge was right up there with making someone watch a PETA commercial, then hitting them up for twenty bucks that wasn’t ever going to go to those kittens with the giant, soul-searching eyes.

Priest or not, he obviously wasn't above playing dirty to get me to this group he thought would help me deal with my shit. I disagreed but was outnumbered when Emma turned toward me with a determined expression.

"Uncle Sam you have to promise to go with Father Ben. He'll hold your hand if you get scared."

I twitched, shooting Ben another dirty look. He smiled, and I sighed when Emma stubbornly asked me to promise again, holding her pinky finger to seal the most solemn of promises. "Alright kiddo. I promise."

Emma giggled and high-fived Ben when he put his hand up.

"Oh, for crying out loud," I muttered, staring straight at Ben. "Evil. You know that right?"

"I wouldn't know a thing about it." Two fingers tapped his white collar as he winked at me, completely unrepentant.

I considered giving him a hand signal of my own, but I had kids in the car.

A muffled laugh came from Sofia's side of the car, but she kept it low, probably hoping that Ben wouldn't drag her along for the ride. Family loyalty apparently went out the window when emotional share time was put out on the table and needed a human sacrifice.

I’d been voted off of the island.

"We'll see," I told him. "Emma might need my help with a Barbie tea party or fashion show or something. Those little shoes are a bi— big pain to get on,” I amended.

"I'll be okay, Uncle Sam," Emma assured me. "You can go play with Father Ben. You can pray with him some more."

Adelyn laughed out loud as I swore beneath my breath, using waving to Tara as a perfectly times distraction when she honked her car horn to get our attention before pulling out of the lot. It might’ve been worth switching sides if I could’ve escaped with her.

***

“Experience is the most brutal of teachers ,but you learn, my God, do you learn.”

--CS Lewis

 

YOU know better.

THAT was my immediate thought when I looked at the new storefront of the old bar I used to frequent whenever I was home on leave. The bar had been around when I was a kid, switching hands only once within the same family, from father to son. I was surprised to see it still standing considering how many other things were different in the neighborhood, but there was a certain comfort in knowing that time hadn’t touched everything, and some things had been remained the same. Like the vintage neon sign in the front window, which was as alluring to me as the call of a siren to sailors….

Disney’s version of mermaids with bright red hair and beautiful voices who got into melodious miscreant mischief with colorful sea life, were 180 off from the dangerous, mystical creatures that lured men to their certain demise. Siren calls never ended well when they weren’t weighed down by a G rating from Hollywood, and I knew that if I set foot inside the bar to just, “check it out,” it would be the end of the S.S. Trammel; washed up on the treacherous reefs of broken promises and discarded sobriety. Nothing good would come of me going in there. I fucking knew that. But each time I took a step back, I heard the shots of those men saluting my brother, saw Sofia's stricken face, and remembered the judgement and disapproval in more than a few of the faces of funeral attendees after I’d engaged with that jackass protestor.

I'd always been proud to represent the U.S., but I’d screwed up today. Popping him in the mouth had been satisfying as hell at the time because he’d deserved it, but once I’d gotten home, I’d been disgusted with myself for disgracing the uniform. I'd immediately stripped it off and hung it in the very back of my closet. That part of my life was over. I just wished I'd done it more justice in the end.

I scrubbed the heels of both hands over my face. I was on my own tonight. Adelyn had taken Emma over to the home of a friend who also had a daughter Adelyn's age. They were doing a double sleepover tonight and Sofia had gone to bed early which had left me alone in an unsettling quiet. You didn’t realize how much real estate two slim women and a little girl took up until the walls refused to acknowledge the loss of vitality, much less talk. Sitting alone in my room had felt stifling even with all the windows wide open, despite the night itself being surprisingly mild. I’d taken a second cool shower since I didn’t have to worry about sharing water pressure with anyone else in the house tonight. Afterward, I’d changed into a clean white t-shirt and jeans. My hair still wasn’t long enough to fuss with and I’d shaven for the funeral, so that was the extent of my beauty routine past brushing my teeth again.

I’d tried reaching out to Max to update him about the funeral shenanigans, but the call had gone straight to his voicemail. Instead of leaving a message and hoping that he’d return my call sooner than later, I'd decided to go for a walk to buy a new pack of cigarettes and clear my head.

I'd completed only one of those two tasks, and now here I was.

I shoved my hands into my back pockets and felt first the slick cellophane of the unopened package of smokes, then the rugged edge of my phone case which I’d purchased a couple of days ago after getting to Florida. Women liked cutting their hair off after a breakup or major life-changing event. I got a new data plan and accessories. The baby-faced sales rep at Verizon had been extremely accommodating, claiming that the overpriced case was “military tested,” and had “achieved legendary status for its ability to withstand extreme conditions including drops of several hundred feet.” He’d paled a little beneath his healthy summer tan when I’d asked him about a Veterans discount, and if they had it in a different color. Apparently, my battered blue jeans and #1 Uncle t-shirt hadn’t screamed highly skilled, former military operative to him.

I didn’t mind. I liked the case and if it protected my phone against even a fraction of what he claimed it would, it'd be fine. The only problem would be that the case would probably keep the phone in one piece even if I threw it against the nearest wall to discourage myself from calling Max again like I was tempted to do. When he talked dirty, it was as potent as whiskey and usually took the worst of the edge off my anxiety. But even if I just heard his voice and could focus on that small familiarity, I might be step off this ledge of indecision and go back to Sofia's. Back to pretending that everything was going to be fine now that I was in Florida. Everything forgiven. Forgotten.

My tongue pressed hard against the slick inside of my teeth before I freed one hand to pull the door open and walked inside.

The place was packed, hopping with the kind of nightlife energy that was more appropriate in trendier Miami neighborhoods, though it showed no signs of letting up despite it being after nine o’clock. Dim lighting, sleek dark wood booths, and cognac colored leather bar stools were an upgrade that made the bar look a lot more upscale than I remembered. The clientele was an eclectic mix of the locals. Mostly young and yuppie, with a few hipsters and blue collars thrown in for variety. A snapshot of the drastic changes in my old stomping ground which had been only a few steps above a dive the last time I’d been here.

After a quick perusal of the crowd, I selected a stool at the far end of the bar, away from the main hum of conversation. I ignored the elaborately detailed, mixed drink menu that a perky, pixie-faced bartender with a nose ring and pale pink curled around her delicate features, perched in front of me. Instead, I ordered one of whatever was on tap that wasn’t a light version. Just because I was willing to overpay for a beer right now, didn't mean I needed to know its damn name. I'd had the same unfortunate philosophy about a few of my hookups in the past. Discretion hadn't always meant being discriminatory.

A light tap to the bar put the shot of Jack I’d also ordered, down in front of me so I could chase it with my beer. After I tossed back the whiskey, there was no dramatic, musical accompaniment to narrate my slide into what would inevitably become an epic bout of rarely indulged self-pity. The silver lining was that between the inflated prices and the five other packs of cigarettes I'd picked up earlier and had in the oversized pockets of my lightweight, khaki green fatigue jacket, my tab was going to be a short-lived thing.

I sipped my beer slowly as I looked over the bar to get a feel for the place. There was a smattering of pool tables in the corner where a group of rowdy college-age kids were competing for the attention of the girls filling the sidelines. The rest of the customers were a little more subdued. They clustered in small groups and the occasional twosome for the impression of intimacy, although I doubted couples like the middle-aged guy in the cheap business suit, and his belly-baring companion in the crimson halter top and teased blonde hair that was an ode to the 80’s despite her modern skinny jeans, were long-lost friends. If we’d been in a different kind of neighborhood, it wouldn’t have been a stretch to believe she was the kind of girl willing to be anyone’s BFF with the right monetary motivation. However, I doubted that was the case here, no matter how much the area had changed. Sometimes there was just no accounting for taste.

Granted, sitting by my lonesome in an ancient pair of blue jeans with my dog tags still visible against the backdrop of my plain white t-shirt under my jacket, made me stick out like a sore thumb too. But no one bothered me as I made my way through a second beer and two more shots. After that third dose of Jack, with the alcohol humming in my veins, I began to embrace the diverse vibe of the room. On the surface it all seemed a little mismatched, but there was an underlying need for normalcy that drew us together. No one who drank enough to have cabs called for them—which seemed to happen often—was well adjusted. But put us all together in one room and it worked. With the way my week had been going, I fit in here with everyone else who suffered from shattered dreams and lost opportunities that they drowned in booze too low in quality to be worth the price tags we were all willingly paying.

“Another round, sweetheart?"

Though I'd tried a few times to tell her it wasn't necessary, the tiny bartender with the cotton candy hair, had been slipping me free drinks all night after she'd seen my tags. She smiled, revealing teeth that braces had been good to.

"Looks like it's been a long week for you. You here on leave for a while? Your face isn't familiar, and I know all the regulars."

"I used to live around here, but I was in the military for a long time. My last tour was up," I lied, tired of having to explain my complicated life. “I decided I was done and came back home to the States. I have family in town."

“Oh yeah? What branch? My dad’s retired army and my youngest brother, Caleb, is an active marine. I’m Darcy by the way.”

I slid my hand into hers for the perfunctory shake that was expected. “Nice to meet you, Darcy. I’m Sam. And I was in the army,” I said. I hoped that would be a sufficient enough answer that would sate her curiosity and stop the conversation right there, but it was doubtful based on the way her smile widened as she swept me with a slowly appraising look. I’d been on the receiving end of that kind of look before. I’d also given that kind of look before. Both times had been under conditions that had started at a bar and ended with me in someone else’s bed. Unfortunately for Darcy, she was missing the necessary equipment for this to become a third time's the charm night.

“Hmmm Let me guess,” she said. She paused and squinted at me playfully. “….military police? You give off a cop vibe.”

“Friends of mine used to say that too,” I said, my smile aided by nostalgia. “But no, not a cop. I was part of the 75^th.”

Darcy’s eyes widened, before she grinned. “Ahh a ranger… Explains the strong and capable energy. That’s not something common in here. But if your family lives in town, I’m guessing you might become one of my regulars so maybe that’ll change.”

Hopeful dimples appeared in both of her cheeks as she leaned forward flirtatiously, her slim arms stacked on top of the bar. Whether they were real or not, the full swell of her breasts was high, proud and so not my cup of anything. But not looking somewhere in the vicinity of her face would’ve been rude, so I focused on the minimalist tattoo of birds in flight on the side of her neck below her right ear. I didn’t want to come off like a creeper, though to be honest, it was unlikely that Darcy would’ve given me the, ‘my eyes are up here,’ speech after openly offering me a free peep down her corseted purple tank top that invited someone to undo the laces.

It wasn’t going to be me.

“Maybe.” I forced a smile. "Another beer would be great. Thank you."

"Sure thing. Anything you need tonight, you just holler."

The invitation in her voice and the sway of her slender hips would’ve explained all the free drinks even if I hadn’t already put all the pieces together. Today's modern women weren't wilting flowers waiting to be plucked. Aside from taking out an ad, Darcy had done all she could to guarantee I'd ask what time her shift ended, or what app she used so I’d swipe right. Unfortunately, her partner at the bar held more appeal for me.

Fair haired and suntanned, there was just enough stubble dusting his hard jaw to make him look as legal as he obviously had to be to work here. My gaze followed the firm, round curve of his ass that was hugged by torn jeans as he moved around the bar. I was too drunk for self-preservation. He caught me looking, winked, then continued expertly mixing the complicated looking drink he was making, apparently completely unfazed about being checked out by someone on his own team. That was yet another change in the neighborhood dynamics, and one I could get on board with.

My cheeks heated, but I grinned back.

The female bartender followed my gaze, her expression changing from sudden disappointment to amusement. "Ooooh. I see. My bad. I should've known. All the good ones are married, gay or waaaaaay too complicated, right?"

I smiled and put a hefty tip into her jar that almost wiped out my remaining cash supply. "Thank you for the beer, ma'am."

"Oh, you're polite too. Darn it. Well, the offer still stands if you change your mind." She leaned into the counter, giving me another solid look down her blouse. "Just a piece of friendly information— watch out for that one. He's a player."

We both turned to look at him, then back at each other. "Thanks." I tipped my head in acknowledgment of the advice. Darcy winked, then strode away with another smile.

She didn't need to worry. He was pretty, but not my type. I'd never been the kind of man who wanted someone still in training wheels, and he was at least a decade too young to appreciate even half of my childhood pop culture references that always made an appearance when I drank too much. Any meeting up we did after his shift wouldn’t be filled with much conversation past key words like, “yes,” or “right there.” If we went for full sentences, we might manage a few that either started or ended with, “fuck me like you mean it.”

Any other night that might’ve been a good time had by all, but tonight, the only man I needed inside of me had two names; Jack. Daniels.

My lips quirked as I accepted the shot that Darcy placed in front of me, lightly tapping it against her own shot glass in salute before I tossed it back. Properly aged and so smooth going down, it hit all the best spots.

Why that analogy suddenly flashed Benjamin Santiago’s face in my mind was something I wished I could claim was a mystery, but I’d already lied to myself about too much shit for a thousand lifetimes. I didn’t need to add one more untruth to my overflowing horn of bullshit. Especially not about a man of God. That was probably right up there with the sin of texting in church. Not that I’d be looking at my cell phone in any situation if Ben was around. Why get lost in the internet when I could enjoy looking at that handsome face and reminisce about the solid weight of his hands on my shoulders…. How he smelled like sunlight and woods…

My lips quirked. I wasn't a hearts and flowers kind of guy, which meant I'd officially reached my liquor quota. But I still finished the new shot Darcy had managed to set down in front of me without my noticing.

Spiraling room be damned. If drinking too much led me to Benjamin Santiago, I wasn't going to knock it. Better to fantasize about someone you had no future with than to reminisce about painful things in both your past and your present.

My fingers tightened on the neck of my beer bottle as my mind was swept away on a wave of inebriation away from the memories of Ben, and straight toward others I should've left forgotten...

* * *

(flashback)

THE black shadows crumpling against the green backdrop of my night vision were the only confirmation that I'd hit my targets. It was a millisecond of a reprieve, because the men shooting at me were determined to finish the job they’d started when their IED blast had destroyed our Humvees and scattered my entire unit all around the dusty, smoking bones of a village bazaar that was supposed to be shut down and quiet at night. I guess once we were all dead, it would be again.

I'd tried shouting for my team to respond about their locations a dozen times, but the heavy gunfire tossed my words back to me unanswered, drowned out in the violent soundtrack for our little world of shit. Enemy grenades lit up the sky in incandescent green flashes as another wave of bullets whizzed overhead. Too many of them were chipping away at the stone walls of the building five of us had taken refuge behind after we were ambushed. There were only four of us left now, because Micky “Mouse” Macey wasn't going home.

I wondered if all of us died tonight, who’d tell his wife, Jemima, and their two little girls, Sara and Diana, that their daddy had broken two promises before their third birthday; 1.) he wouldn't be coming home from his very first deployment to Afghanistan and 2.) following through on his intention of taking them all on a Christmas vacation to the West Coast when he got leave time, now fell within the category of, “what might’ve been.’

Four of us were still alive here, but the rest of our unit had been scattered in the pandemonium. With radio communication limited, there was no way of knowing whether any of the bullets flying in the firefight on the other side of the wall were from my people, or if their screams were the ones I was hearing...

God the screams...

A combat zone was indiscriminate in spreading pain, and the fragments of sound from all sides of this war worked together to drown out every last bit of the already limited communication my team had with each other.

I looked down at the man lying limp in my arms. Thomas “Irish” McLeary, only twenty-three. He didn't look like he'd make it to twenty-four, which would drop our count of survivors on this side of the wall, from four to three. I'd done my best to wrap my utility belt around his thigh to try and slow the bleeding where the jagged remainder of his leg above the knee kept squirting despite the valiant times of the makeshift tourniquet. He was moaning in pain, vacillating between telling me to leave him behind, and begging me to stay until he finished telling me about the romantic vacation that he’d planned to surprise his fiancée Kelly with, when he was stateside in three months.

I focused on ignoring the fact his blood had so completely saturated my own pants that if we’d been anywhere else, the assumption would’ve been made that I was the one missing a limb. I kept him seated between my outstretched legs, leaning his back against the front of my body though the tactical gear we were both wearing kept us further apart than I’d have wanted if this was going to be my last human contact on this earth. I made up for that handicap by wrapping my arm tighter across his chest as I lied through my teeth and told him he wasn’t going to die tonight. That none of us were going to die tonight. I also told him that since my lonely ass was single, he could give his Kelly an extra kiss for me anywhere he wanted to when we all made it back home and closed down whatever bar we commandeered for the night.

My attempt at levity when the writing was on the wall in the form of gunfire and the desperate scent of sweat and blood, made him smile; a macabre expression in a face that was caked in layers of grime from a slurry of sand, sweat and blood. I momentarily released my hold on Tommy solely with my right hand, so I could push up my night vision goggles to wipe some of the grit out of my own eyes as I concentrated on keeping him talking. Worrying about him was better than trying to silently estimate how much of my own blood I could lose before I became a hindrance to my team.

My body felt like it was on fire where two different bullets had found their mark and caught me on my right side, both below my rib cage. One shot was far enough down that I could tell there was some kind of nerve damage going on because I could feel it tingling like electricity almost to my hip beneath the throbbing pain of the actual wound. I'd taken a brief, assessing look at the damager before I’d dragged Tommy into my arms to protect his broken body from the continuous whiz of bullets. My wounds might not kill me, but losing a lot of blood was never a good option in any life scenario, especially not when you had to stay conscious.

I exhaled heavily and leaned back, my helmet thunking against the stone wall. I closed my eyes until I felt someone shake my shoulder hard. I opened them and Devlin’s face blurred in my sudden onset of double vision. I grunted as he shook me again.

"Cerberus, get on point, man. No time for napping. You gotta keep me and Irish company. We can't deal with anymore of Caboose’s fucking awful poetic worship of his last hookup’s tits."

"Her name was Laramie, and I was talkin’ about her ass, not her tits, Devil dick,” A. J. shot back. He was in a crouched position a few feet away from us. “A few kids in and any great pair of tits will inevitably turn your personal private-time playground to a meals-on-wheels situation. But the ass...oh yeah. Nothin' like a good piece of ass. So, Irish, now that the big dog from hell admitted he fantasizes about kissin’ your girl—somethin' you inevitably need to address by kickin’ him in his big dog dick later—I’d say her sweet ass is a fantastic place to start since we can't tell him to kiss ours most of the time."

A.J. grinned when I flipped him off, and Tommy offered a weak chuckle.

A.J. “Caboose” Morgenson, named so because of his very vocal appreciation for the natural aesthetic of any shapely female derriere, grinned and blew us all a kiss. The newest member to my unit, he was tight and lean as a needle, and just as sharp. His wisecracks and crazy stories about his parents, 8 brothers, 2 sisters and an overabundance of nieces and nephews—none of which were named after their favorite uncle, Alexander James, he’d grumpily informed us— back home in Alabama had kept us all grounded out here in these unfamiliar surroundings. When all of us including Tommy laughed, the sound gave a hint of twisted normality to the shit show around us.

My laughter dissolved into a hiss as I covered my head and ducked my upper body down over Tommy's when bullets pinged the wall over our head and little puffs of sand interspersed with small stone hailed down on us. To my left, Devlin swore and popped up to return fire.

Devlin “Devil” Rhodes, was the only member of my unit who’d been in the Army for almost as long as I had. Strong, smart and capable, he was a man I liked having at my back. Whether that happened in the field or because he was fucking me hard up against the nearest wall when a bed wasn’t an option, depended on the day. But they both worked for me, and we’d been discreetly screwing around on and off for about a year. Dev was a good soldier; level-headed, and fucking fearless, like some modern-day Spartan. He was more than qualified to hold my life in his hands, though I’d rather have been somewhere warm and quiet right now where he could hold my dick in his mouth for a spell, before I fucked him stupid over the nearest flat surface.

Devlin glanced over at me. His full mouth quirked ever so slightly at the corners, just short of a smile when he caught my look, like he was reading my mind. He didn’t say anything though, because no one in the military, or our unit knew that either of us were gay. Not that any of my guys would have cared. They all frequently shared stories about their girlfriends and wives, or in AJ’s case, whomever his latest on-leave-hookup had been. The only thing that would’ve changed between us and our teammates if they knew that Devlin and I both preferred a hard dick over pretty pussy any day of the week, was that they’d gleefully change up pronouns when teasing us about potential lovers. Giving each other bullshit was sometimes the only way to survive in places where it was easy to forget that the entire world wasn’t always about fear or violence. Knowing A.J. --who reminded me so much sometimes of Max with his libertine lust for life and love of all things ass-- he’d probably consider us kindred spirits, and nominate himself as my wingman before dragging me to every gay bar he could possibly Google, then spend the entire night trying to offer me tips on the best angle for a solid deep dicking of a sweet derriere.

Yeah... no one would’ve cared. The fact was that I trusted all of these men with my life. They’d always have my back, no matter how I liked buttering my fucking bread. Me not outing myself to them, had nothing to do with what they’d think, and everything to do with the fact that while I cared about Devlin, he wasn’t the one guy who I’d be willing to possibly disrupt my entire life and career for.

As for as anyone besides the two of us, Sofia, and Connor knew, Max and I were just inseparable best friends. Loyal to a fault, kicking ass, and taking names since the day we’d met in high school our freshman year. His family had taken me in when Connor and I had needed their help, had been there for me even after we moved out. I never went back to Florida to see Sofia and the girls without also spending at least one night at the Melone household, because they were just as much family in my heart. That made Max and me brothers with a slightly incestuous edge, considering how often we fucked like rabbits behind closed doors.

We kept that to ourselves though. For all intents and purposes, despite Max having flown out of the closet waving his bisexual freak flag when he was 14, we were two peas in a platonic pod. I was just the supportive best friend who didn’t date often because I was usually trying to keep my brother out of trouble of some kind. When I did date, it was always a casual thing with random pretty girls who were good with using me as a placeholder until they could get the attention of someone higher up on the ideal mate food chain. All that worked just fine for me. The turbulent childhood I’d experienced was an easy justification for why I didn’t get serious about anyone.

At least that’s what people assumed. I never tried to prove them wrong because to do that, Max and I would’ve had to be on the same page about making our relationship more serious. We weren’t. Every single time I saw him, sucked him, fucked him, or let him do the same to me on a firm mattress, I had to pretend I wasn’t in love with him, pretend that I was alright watching him leave a bar with someone else. Granted, he usually invited me to join in with said random bar hookup if it was a guy and we were there together, but threesomes got old quick when you were only interested in one of the dicks in the bed other than your own.

I knew that Max cared about me. His affection towards me was deeper and truer than it was for anyone else except his mother. I knew that. He might even be in love with me in his own way, but for unfathomable reasons, he couldn’t admit it to anyone, including himself. I never wanted to believe that any of the reasons holding him back were that I wasn’t enough. Max had never even hinted at that, and would’ve probably popped me upside the head if I’d brought it up, but the heart can be stupid. When it starts whispering some serious bullshit to the brain, even the most improbable seems possible.

The only silver lining in our current shitstorm cloud, was that neither possibility or probability mattered, because it was almost a fucking certainty that no matter what bullshit lies I fed to Tommy, we were all meeting our maker tonight.

I could handle it. Unlike the other guys, I didn’t have anyone serious to go home to. No wife. No kids. No husband, boyfriend, or domesticated, four-legged furry reason to survive. My only regret was that I might not ever have the opportunity to tell Max flat out, once and for all before I bit it, that he was everything to me. I wanted to finally step out of the damn closet with his hand firmly in mine unless he could give me one solid reason why two men who were as close as we were, who were as good together in bed as we were, and who’d take a goddamn bullet for each other in a heartbeat like we would, weren’t supposed to be together.

It was what I wanted. It was what we deserved.

It was also never going to happen.

I exhaled slowly, pushing Max’s ocean-blue eyes and mischievous smile out of my mind’s eye to look at Devlin who eyed me for a long moment. He knew the slim chances of our survival. He also knew how I felt about Max, and though I couldn’t see my own expression, I was so tired from pain and blood loss that I was probably broadcasting my thoughts in HD clarity.

A gasping sound snapped the eye contact between us like a matchstick, dragging both our gazes downward. I twisted Tommy around in my arms almost like a mother would hold a child for comfort, so that I could see his face as he started coughing. His blood splattered his chin and my cheeks as I leaned down, lightly slapping his face to get him to focus on me.

"Hey, Irish, come on man. Help’s coming. Just hold on. You gotta kiss Kelly's ass for me remember? If something happens to you, I’m going to have to comfort her myself. You can’t kick my ass for getting fresh with her from the great fucking beyond, man, so you gotta stay with me. Keep your eyes open and breathe. Slow and easy, in and out. You fucking got this soldier.”

I snorted, my hold on him tightening when I felt him starting to shiver as his body shut down. “You sound…like… you’re… birthing a… fucking… baby, Cerberus.”

“Yeah, well, if A.J. ever stops obsessing about women’s asses like they’re an art form, and figures out a pretty pussy situation to settle down with, who knows how many kids he’ll pop out that need a godfather. This is practice.”

“He’s right Irish,” A.J. chimed in. “Every family in America needs both a loyal guard dog, and a terrifyin' motherfucker who occasionally scares the shit out of me when he loses a hand at Go Fish. Cerberus is a fuckin' 2-in-1 deal.”

Tommy tried to laugh, but it was a strangled sound. My throat tightened. Micky was my first field loss. Tommy was going to be the second.

I wanted to scream at the sky, but I kept my voice even, shutters slamming firmly down over the windows to my soul from years of practice as my eyes briefly met Devlin’ before I looked back down at Tommy who was wheezing.

"Fucking breathe, Irish. That’s a goddamn order soldier.” I exhaled slowly. “Let’s talk about Kelly. She’s waiting for you to bring on all that ass kissing, maybe after a bottle of wine and a slow dance to that fucking ridiculous honky-tonk country bullshit you like listening to."

"Listen to him, Irish. Think about that sweet, round ass. It's always about the ass. Maybe give it a slow little lick in between all the kissin,' and I guarantee she’ll go off like a firecracker in July. It’s the whole, ‘good girls don’t do stuff like this,' mental gymnastics bullshit they do. They can read 50 Shades of Fuckin' Gray in a public library, creamin' over a guy who, if he wasn’t fucking loaded, would profile as a potential serial killer with the whips and the cuffs. But they get all squirmy behind closed doors when you bring up all the new places you want your tongue to explore.”

Tommy made another wheezing sound, but if he died laughing at A.J.’s bullshit, we’d all be ok with that.

“My point is, Irish, ignore any protests she makes because I swear to you, just fifteen minutes of payin' proper homage to her derriere, and she’ll pop off with just one flick to her clit when you finally get there. Fuckin' magic."

The tone to A.J’.s teasing words sounded calm, but I saw the strain in his face when he hunkered down low beside us to place a hand on McLeary's am. The teasing light faded from A.J.'s eyes as he started mourning our friend like he'd already taken his last breath. I didn't allow myself that luxury, because I still had two other men under my command who I needed to get out of here.

Tommy couldn't talk. He was too busy choking on his own blood which splattered over his uniform as he sputtered with the tired croaking sound of the engine in my first car. I just tucked him closer to my body, my mouth close to his ear. I kept my voice as steady and as loud as I could so Tommy could hear me over the gunfire as I suggested the most lewd and ridiculous things he could do to Kelly when he got home. Things I promised him I’d do myself with the first willing partner I ran across. A.J. had a few suggestions for both of us.

Tommy’s response was one last garbled, wet noise before his eyes closed, and his body finally went lax in my arms. A.J. and I both stopped talking.

I gently slid my hand over Tommy’s eyes to shut them. In my peripheral vision, I saw A.J. make the sign of the cross. Devlin didn't ask for grace or peace, just continued returning fire. He and I seemed to be on the same page of getting the fuck out of here.

As I laid Tommy's body down carefully on the ground beside me to get out from beneath his weight, I heard A.J. trying the radios again. They'd become worthless hunks of plastic and wire after the IED blast had scattered us. They worked, but no one was answering. I refused to think about why. I couldn't handle planning any more mental funerals right now. Trapped, hoping for backup even while I knew it probably wasn’t coming, meant that all I could afford to think about was making it home, not how I couldn't reach out to anyone, including Connor.

My brother had been travelling in the vehicle behind us and I hadn't seen him in the chaos that’d ensued after the initial explosive attack. I'd wanted to look for him, but I'd found Micky, Tommy, A.J. and Devlin first, and they’d become my priority. I was a brother to Connor, but I was a leader to all of them, so biology wasn’t allowed to matter right now.

My ears were ringing, and I briefly shut my eyes again, trying to lessen the sensation of being trapped underwater with no way up. Connor and I’d always laughed and called bullshit when other identical twins were quoted as sharing a metaphysical, psychic link. We certainly didn’t have it. If Connor was already dead, there was no way for me to know for sure. If it turned out later that he was, my world wouldn’t ever sit completely straight on its axis again.

Yeah, my brother might be an exhausting pain in my fucking ass as most of the time and yeah, the trouble he started usually found me too by default. But the bottom line was that I’d never leave him to face things alone because we were brothers and to me, that meant something. We just had to fucking find him.

“Cerberus? Devil? Caboose? Mouse? Fucking Irish? Shit, can anyone hear me? It’s Chaos. I repeat, it’s fucking Chaos. Is anyone still the fuck alive? Cerberus?... Shit…fucking shit! Sam... Sam, come in. Sam, you copy? Goddamnit, Sam, can you hear me?”

Connor’s voice came over the line in choppy bits that still managed to convey the urgency in his tone as my com crackled to life. Desperation made him drop my call sign, but it didn’t matter. This was the definition of being fucking compromised.

I rolled to my knees to grab my rifle again as I spoke into my com. "Connor, where the fuck are you? Are you hit?”

“No. Don’t know how long that’s going to last though. Still taking heavy fire here.”

“Is Tate with you?”

“He was, but they got him. Tate’s down. He’s fucking dead, Sam.”

And then there were 4.

The night was still young, but Tate “Taz” Tirani, wouldn’t see the sunrise. At this point, I wasn’t sure any of us would, but I was going to fucking try while I had breath in my lungs.

“What’s your location?”

“Not sure. All the smoke got me turned around.”

Connor broke off, cursing as I heard the rattle of gunfire through the com added percussion to all of the shots around us.

“Chaos, calm the fuck down soldier. Keep your head on and look for a goddamn landmark,” I said, deliberately using Connor’s call sign. We were all compromised at this point, so it wasn’t for stealth. I just needed him to focus. We’d all been trained for this possibility, but you never knew how people would react under the pressure of reality.

It was rare when my brother, Connor “Chaos” Trammell, was afraid of anything, but I heard the lilt of fear in his voice now. I hadn’t chosen his call sign or my own, but the irony was appropriate. I was the three-headed defense dog, and Connor was the chaos that usually brought people to me after he’d lit up their world with a lot of boom booms. Generally, it worked, but right now, chaos wasn’t going to cut it. We needed to be strategic and keep it together. Thinking like soldiers meant acting like them would prompt an instinctive domino effect.

“Give me a landmark.”

“It’s hard to see. Smoke’s fucking thick.”

“Says the fucker who blows shit up all the time. Fucking focus, Chaos.”

“I don’t know. We scattered about 20 yards east from the initial impact. We were behind you. I see… a stone building across from mine. Red door. Long skinny shutters. The left one’s hanging half off. Dark. Abandoned. Doesn’t look like anyone’s in the streets, but I still hear gunfire.”

“Can you tell the direction of the heaviest fire?”

“Negative. Hard to tell, but there’s definitely unfriendlys all over the rooftops. It’s how they got Tate.”

“What about cover?”

“Lots of canopies. Open doorways. I’ve got ways to make the world go boom, but without knowing which direction I have to go, I don’t want to trap myself in.”

Goddamnit.

I looked over at Devlin and he nodded, having worked with me for so long, he could almost always anticipate my next move.

Under other circumstances, I wouldn’t have wanted to give more specific information about our location away to the combatants trying to take us out, but we didn’t have any other options. If we were going down, it was going to be fighting.

“Chaos, you still got flares on you?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. When I tell you, you fucking light em up. I’m coming.”

“Sam, I—”

“Keep the fucking coms clear,” I said gruffly to Connor.

"Stay down and cover me," I said over my shoulder to Devlin as I checked the magazine in my rifle before dropping it to swap it out for a full one. I grabbed the spare magazines from Micky and Tommy’s tactical gear, tucking them into my own vest before I slid my night vision goggles back down, lighting up the night in that eerie green hue that always disoriented me for a millisecond even after all these years.

I was stopped from moving when Devlin grabbed my arm, digging his long fingers in, his expression mutinous as he hunkered down beside me.

"I'm not letting you go out there alone, Cerberus. Caboose can cover us from here and wait for backup. They've got to be coming."

“We don’t have time to wait. No one’s fucking coming! This wasn’t supposed to be a hot zone!”

“Well, it fucking is now, and if you go out there, you’re as dead as Mouse, Taz, and Irish!”

“If I stay here, my brother’s going to be as dead as them too. Not fucking happening. Let go.”

“No.”

I shook Devlin’s hand off hard. "I gave you a direct order, Staff Seargent. Stand down!"

"Fuck you, sir!" Devlin snarled, heat flaring in his eyes when I pulled rank. "Where you go, I fucking go. We don’t leave each other behind.”

We glared at one another. To anyone on the outside, our exchange would've just been considered a testament of the strong bond that soldiers formed in combat. But I read between the lines. We'd been screwing casually for almost a year. What we had wasn’t love, but Dev gave as much a shit about me as I gave about him; together till the fucking end, because that’s what we’d all signed up for.

“Fine, but Caboose is coming with us. We can’t help Mouse and Irish.”

I leaned down as I talked, snapping both their tags loose so I could put them into my own pocket. They weren’t going home to their people, but a part of them would.

“A.J., you good with bringing up the rear?”

“You know it’s how I roll, Sarge. Let’s go save that chaotic motherfucker.”

I nodded tersely. “Dev, you’re on me. A.J., cover us when we break shelter. If you let us die out there, I'll personally haunt your skinny ass in the shower for the rest of your goddamn life."

A.J. grinned, then blew me a kiss. "You should be so lucky. I’ve got an amazing' ass. Lickin' goes both ways, Cerberus, though I’ve never tried a nice big dog dick before. Can’t knock it till I do though, so don’t fuckin' die out there, and it can be a first time for both of us.”

He had no idea of the irony in that comment, and I briefly grinned in spite of the fact that none of this shit was funny.

“Shut the fuck up and cover us, asshole.”

He grinned again, but his eyes were steady. “You know I’ve got your back.”

I was counting on it.

I spoke into my com again. “Connor, we’re coming for you. Light it up now!”

I didn’t hear a response over the com, but the flash of blue smoke in the air was visible even through the dust around us, about 100 yards off. I didn’t look to see if Devlin was behind me as I started moving. I knew he would be.

In the distance, I heard A.J.'s shots as he tried to give us that short window of time that we needed to make it across the distance that might as well have been the length of three football fields. I could see the imprinted path of my boots in the dirt getting longer, so I knew we were making progress, but every second I wasted returning fire, was one more added to the already tight timetable we had to get to Connor.

I ducked behind wall with Devlin, both of us moving in sync as we reloaded. A.J. nodded from his position across from us beneath a weathered canopy before we kept moving. We were close enough now for me to see the place where my brother was holed up, the red door landmark on my right, the same side of the street where A.J. was. The rest of the buildings provided just enough cover for us to advance until the door opposite the red one was only a few feet away. So close, I could see a prone body sprawled out on the ground just in front, but not the soldier's face. Connor's shout through the broken panes of glass was a Band-Aid on a bigger wound, but we didn't have time to mourn Tate.

Sudden movement from the corner of my eye warned me into action before I could think twice because A.J. was at the wrong angle to make the shot.

"Get down!" I shouted. I shouldered Devlin hard, knocking him out of the path of the shots fired by the assailant perched on a rooftop who’d had him in his crosshairs. My instinctive need to protect Devlin saved his life, but the angle left me exposed. I fell to my knees hard when one bullet found a target, burning a searing line like acid through my left shoulder. All these years that I’d served in the military, I’d never actually been shot. Grazed, knifed, tortured, beaten to shit, yeah, but never truly shot. Tonight, I’d been shot three goddamn times. Not all good things came in fucking threes apparently.

This is some fucking bullshit, was my last clear thought before the world started swimming double, making the man on the roof look like two when he went down in a spasm of limbs as A.J.’s shots hit their target.

Devlin’s face was blurred when he said my name. It sounded like he was calling me from a mile away, even though he was right in front of me. The dessert dust and the pain from my injuries were coloring the edges of my vision black when Dev hoisted me up with one strong arm around my waist to drag me the last few feet to Connor's location, A.J.’s fire covering us as we ducked down against the wall of the building. Splinters of glass hailed down on our shoulders from the shattering window. I never heard the door open, just felt a new set of hands pulling me into the building.

Connor.

Devlin barred the door behind us hard once he and A.J. were inside, grabbing whatever he could to bar it and possibly give us more time to figure out what the hell to do next. Connor supported my weight as we stumbled across the floor together, glass crunching beneath our boots. Blood loss was making me dizzy, and it was hard to think straight, but one thing was certain; Connor was alive. We were all alive. Now we just had to stay that way.

“Coms are up,” I heard Devlin yell. His voice still sounded tinny, higher pitched than his usual throaty baritone. “Help’s coming so don’t you fucking close your eyes, Cerberus. If we go to hell tonight, you need to lead up the fucking line.”

I wanted to laugh. Wanted to flip him off. I wanted to tell him to make sure that Connor and A.J. made it out of this. There were so many things I fucking wanted, but the black dots around the edges of my vision were thickening and lengthening into threatening shadows.

No. Not like this. Fucking shit…

I collapsed into Connor’s arms just as the black shadows attacked. I wasn’t sure if it was Connor or Devlin who yelled my name, but I made out the words, ‘hold on,’ and, ‘chopper’s 15 minutes out,’ before the shadows dragged me down...

* * *

(present)

Even with the din of the crowded bar around me, I could still hear the clarity of the gunfire overlaid with Connor's voice every time I’d swum in and out of consciousness. He’d refused to let go of my hand as A.J. and Devlin held off enemy fire through a shattered window. Instead, he kept alternating between saying he was sorry and swearing to kick my ass if I died on him. He’d also screamed at Devlin, saying that the chopper needed to hurry the fuck up, then begged me to stay awake. He shook me with curses each time I closed my eyes.

I’d wanted to ask him what those jumbled words of remorse meant. My brother had never been truly sorry about anything that mattered, not even when it negatively impacted me. But closer to death than life, I hadn’t been able to form any words. I’d assumed that Connor was finally just telling me he loved me as much as I loved him. That he understood why I put up with all his bullshit. Because we were brothers and that fucking meant something…meant everything…

The beer bottle in my hand quivered from the vibrations in my wrist. I'd survived combat zones several times over, but the damn memories were going to bring me to my knees. I'd opened the door though, and my brain was going to take full advantage of that moment of weakness by burying me beneath all the things I'd tried to forget.

* * *

(flashback)

In the aftermath of that night’s tragedy, after all the dead had been buried, we’d all been awarded medals, then put on mandatory leave. Once I’d gotten out of the hospital and Max had reluctantly agreed to let me out of his sight for a week—I’d been staying with him in his off-base apartment after I’d been discharged from the military hospital once I was stable enough to leave—Connor, Devlin, A.J. and me had opted to meet up at Virginia Beach to reconnect. We’d wanted to honor our fallen friends our own way, by making better memories than the ones we had from the last time we’d all been together. I’d spent time with Devlin and Connor both independently and together, but hadn’t seen A.J. in months, not since I’d gotten the tattoo on my back done. When he'd seen it while I was shirtless at the motel pool, he’d been inspired to add one to the tribal ink already on his own right arm. I’d taken him to the nearest, decently rated place we’d found after a short internet search, leaving Connor and Devlin at the motel pool after telling them we’d be back later with dinner.

A.J. had ended up with the words, ‘never forget,’ and that horrible night’s date, scrawled elegantly along his left inner forearm. I’d ended up holding the four bags of Chinese food we’d picked up afterward, since in his mind, the bandage on his arm apparently gave him an excuse to make me carry everything. I’d rolled my eyes but had managed until A.J. had gotten the door open to the room I was sharing with Connor.

He’d startled me when he’d hissed, “HOLY FUCKIN' SHIT!” and I’d almost dropped the bags. I’d caught them at the last minute, but when A.J. quickly tried to close the door against whatever he’d just seen, he’d forgotten I had five inches of height on him and could see over his shoulder.

What I saw, made the thin plastic bags full of food, fall out of my hands. White carboard boxes of fragrant beef lo-mein—Connor’s favorite—and crab rangoon—Dev’s favorite—smashed open all over the concrete sidewalk outside the motel door, along with other assorted dishes. A.J. and I had ordered most of the menu because we couldn’t decide what we’d wanted to eat. It’d been funny at the time, another stupid memory made.

Neither of us was laughing right now.

A.J. tried to stop me from barreling into the motel room, like he’d somehow connected previously unrelated dots when he looked from my face, which I was sure radiated a transparent blend of rage, confusion, and hurt, to the shock and guilt on Devlin and Connor’s faces.

Well, Connor looked shocked and guilty. Devlin was off his game for probably the first time in all the years I’d known him, still half in that fucked-out haze that protects the mind from reality for a few seconds. That small window of time was all I needed to shove A.J. aside hard as I made a beeline for the bed where those two strong bodies still gleamed with perspiration.

I yanked Connor back by his shoulder before he could rise up from his position at the foot of the bed. He’d been kneeling on all fours, and I felt gut punched as my mind registered the obvious.

Connor had always said he, ‘didn’t get how I could be gay,’ saying he’d never let a guy shove his dick up his ass, but here he was and there was Devlin... Devlin, who still had a condom sheathing his dick.

Famous last words, motherfucker. Famous last words.

Connor didn’t have time to react, my hard shove sending him sprawling to his back. The harsh movement made my own still healing body protest, but I ignored the pain, fueled by single-minded focus now the same way I had been when I'd earned those scars saving both their lives.

Connor’s life.

Vibrations rolled up my arm as my right fist connected with the hard bone of my brother’s jaw. The pain didn't stop me from throwing a second punch, then a third. Connor managed to clumsily dodge the fourth. Apparently, the afterglow that A.J. and I had interrupted made him slow. If I hadn’t been in the grip of blinding rage, I might’ve had more sympathy. I knew how Devlin fucked. His enthusiasm usually threatened the strength of any mattress. But considering it was my bed they’d chosen to fuck on, I was currently running on every possible human emotion other than sympathy, or empathy. There wasn’t a person alive who could make me understand what I’d walked in on.

My blood was rushing so loudly in my ears that by the time Devlin recovered from his own shock to yell what sounded like my name, and possibly stop, it barely registered. What I did see clearly, was that Connor's lip and nose were bleeding freely. He didn't try and staunch the flow when he struggled to an upright position among the tangled mass of sheets on the bed that probably illustrated a lot more of this story; parts that that had none of the sweet hallmarks of a fairytale, just a lot of laundry for the poor cleaning staff assigned to this room whenever we left.

“Sam calm down!”

Devlin was the one who said the words. A.J. was the one who tried to make that directive actually happen by grabbing me from behind, trying to hold me back.

My immediate, instinctive thought was that I could easily break A.J.’s hold and take him down so I could finish using my fists to figure out what kind of Land-Before-Motherfucking-Time shit was going on here. But when I glanced down, I saw the muscles in the arm A.J. had across my chest, straining with exertion. The same damn arm that was wrapped in gauze from that tattoo shop. Yeah, I could break his hold without missing a beat, but I’d also be breaking his arm in the process.

Fuck.

I growled, but I stopped fighting A.J. just enough to avoid hurting him, without going so lax that he got any bright ideas about completely letting me go. This wasn’t his fault, but right now he was all that was keeping exploded family drama from turning into a potential CSI nightmare.

The muscles in Connor’s arms flexed as he gripped the edge of the bed frame for support when he tried to get out of bed. If he’d been smart, it’d have been because he planned to run, but Connor had always doubled down when things went sideways.

He was always ballsy. I could give him that much.

I wouldn’t give him anything else though.

"What the fuck?" I snarled.

“Easy, brother,” A.J. said, none of his usual teasing bullshit evident in his tone. “Let’s all just take a breath. Maybe some of us can get some clothes on so we can just talk, and figure whatever this shit is out.”

We all ignored him.

“For Christ’s sake, Sam, please stop.” That was Devlin.

“Sam, we were going to tell you.” That was Connor.

“So…. y’all are all fuckin'?” That was A.J. I couldn’t see his face, but I could only imagine the multiple variations of scenarios he was probably playing in his ever-imaginative mind. “Shiiiiiiit…I need a fuckin' drink.”

The strain in his voice said that he’d finally tuned in clearly to this newly scheduled program. Bully for him.

“Fuck both of you!” And now it was my turn again, because if anyone in this room deserved to have first billing, it was me. "How long?"

Neither guilty party answered me. As I watched, Devlin helped Connor to his feet after he got out of bed. A.J.’s suggestion of clothing went unheeded by Dev, every inch of that hard, gorgeous body, doing absolutely nothing for me right now as he handed Connor the bed’s top sheet. Then he stood just in front of my brother.

Protecting him.

From me.

I felt nauseous.

To his credit, Connor didn’t cower behind the sheet. He just clenched the white fabric between his hands before he broke the silence, his voice oddly raspy.

Not rough like he’d been screaming in pleasure for the last four hours that A.J. and I had been gone, but more like how mine got when the emotional shit got real, and I was fighting it.

Of course, that could’ve just been wishful thinking on my part.

"A few months. It wasn’t planned, Sam. It just happened."

“What the fuck does that even mean? Both your dicks just jumped out of your damn pants so you could fucking cheat on me? Fucking PSA, Connor, shit like that doesn’t just HAPPEN when one of you is supposed to be fucking STRAIGHT.”

“I reeeeeeeeeeally need a drink,” A.J. muttered. “Jesus, please take the goddamn wheel!”

And drive us all a cliff.

Well, maybe not AJ. He could jump out of the car last minute and then I’d be Thelma and Louising the fuck out of this shitshow love triangle.

Love triangle… For fucks sake…that word alone was offensive enough to deserve being burnt to the ground with napalm.

I snarled. “Jesus...can you be any more of a cliché, Devlin? We’re identical fucking twins!"

If he'd been angry, unrepentant, it would've hurt less. Instead, Devlin’s voice was quiet, steady, and cut me to the core. "He's not you, Sam. Where it matters to me, you and Connor are different."

“So, what you value is a disloyal, lying, cheating asshole with my exact genetic material?”

My sense of nausea just deepened till the bile was thick in my throat. Thank God AJ was still restraining me because otherwise I’d have been discovering if I could take them both on before I threw up.

"I took a bullet for you. Both of you.”

My fury flared when I met Connor’s eyes. "Adelyn, Emma, Sofia, they all love you.”

And until this moment I had, too, but the combination of pain, rage and embarrassment from knowing that I’d been blind to their deception, converted that emotion to hatred in an instant.

“This is going to break their fucking hearts!"

“I’ve…done a lot of worse shit to break their hearts, Sam,” Connor said, his voice steadier now but still raspy with emotion, which almost made it worse. I didn’t want his remorse. I wanted real answers. Answers I knew I probably wouldn’t get.

“You’ve got to believe me…I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”

“I bet you didn’t…were you ever going to tell me?”

Connor’s silence was my answer. I closed my eyes, ignoring the fact that when I opened them, the damp heat I’d felt building behind my eyelids during our heated exchange, had trickled down on the left side of my face, adding to my humiliation.

"You've spent half our lives telling me that you hated that I was gay, that you didn't get Max, or me, or being gay in general. Now we're fucking the same guy? What kind of motherfucking bullshit is that?"

“Jeeeeeesus,” A.J. muttered.

We all ignored him again.

"I'm not gay, Sam.” Connor said. “Not like you.”

WHAT. THE. ACTUAl. FUCK?

“If his dick was up your ass, or yours was up his, then you’re fucking gay Connor.”

“I’m not gay,” Connor insisted. “It's just different with Dev. He gets the man I am now. Sofia loves the kid I was before we enlisted. That guy’s been gone for years. I can count on my hands the number of times I've gone back to Florida since Sofia’s parent died and left her the house." Fact, not pain, was written across Connor's features. "Our marriage is over.”

“Then divorce her the right way after you own up to this first. Sofia deserves to know the truth. So do your daughters. What do you think you just cutting and running on them is going to do to them?”

I swallowed, then exhaled slowly before lightly tapping A.J.’s arm. “I’ll be good,” I said to appease him when he reluctantly let me go only to look steadily into my eyes for a solid five silent counts. It was rare when A.J. was serious, but when he was, I was under no delusion that he wouldn’t stand like an immovable wall between me and anything he considered a threat to me.

Loyalty.

“You sure, Sarge? I can stay if you need me to, because this seems like some Jerry Springer meets Days of Our Lives, runs interference on Dallas, kind of shit.”

“I know,” I said, my smile not meeting my eyes. “You’ve always had my back, but this isn’t something you can protect me from.”

A.J. nodded slightly before he turned back toward Devlin and Connor.

“I don’t care that y’all seem to be gay, bisexual, what the fuck ever. That’s your business. But just know that the rest of this mess, that’s some twisted fuckin' bullshit that he didn’t deserve.” A thumb was jerked in my direction with uncharacteristic anger before A.J. opened the door. “Sarge, I’ll be waitin' in the parkin' lot for you when you’re done. Text me if we’re gonna need shovels and garbage bags.”

After the door closed behind him, I pinched the bridge of my nose hard. I looked at Connor when he said, “He’s right you know…you deserve better than this. Sofia and the girls deserve better. But you’ve always known that I'm an even worse father than brother and husband, Sam. You were the one who always thought we could get past our shitty childhood and be this happy little family unit.. You held my kids even before I did. Holidays and birthday parties… ninety percent of those pictures have you in them, not me.”

"Are you asking me to apologize for loving your family?"

Connor never dropped his gaze from mine as he shook his head slightly. "No, I’m grateful that you do. You got to be what I couldn’t. But things are different now and you know it. What happened in Afghanistan… it changed all of us. The things we've seen, the things we've both had to do out there... they wouldn't understand, Sam. Deep down you know that, or you’d have gone home to our people instead of staying with Max. I know that you have the same kind of nightmares that I do… I’ve heard you crying out in your sleep for Tommy and Micky every night this week…seen how tangled the sheets get… You’re afraid of what that means.”

He suddenly looked tired ,and my jaw ticked. He’d apparently lied to my face for a long time, but I wasn’t going to do the same to him by denying the truth, no matter how much it stung.

“I know I fucked up, Sam, but I’m not wrong. Maybe you can be around Emma at a baby playdate, or take Adelyn to a birthday party and just see your nieces, not the faces of all the dead kids that were used as drug mules and living bomb housings… I can’t,” he said quietly.

I swallowed hard. I hated him more in that moment than I ever had. Not because he was deflecting like a son of a bitch, but because he wasn’t wrong. Not entirely.

I might not see dead children in the faces of my nieces, but worrying about their safety and Sofia’s was a constant. So was wishing that I could get them all fucking armored backpacks next Christmas…

Yeah, that shit was so distracting sometimes that I knew I’d have to figure a way to drown it all out before I went back into the field. I wasn’t about to get myself or someone else killed. I already had too much blood on my hands. Brass called it a wartime tragedy that was unfortunately par for the course. Somehow I doubted that Micky, Tommy, or Tate’s families took any comfort in that.

I sure as hell didn’t, especially not right now. If I hadn’t been able to protect grown, highly trained soldiers, how could I possibly protect the most fragile, cherished people in my life?

I swallowed hard. Connor was right… I had changed. Not into a lying, cheating prick, but into something that was almost worse; a man who wasn’t sure he could be a shelter for anyone when he was the goddamn storm.

Connor recognized I was wavering, because he nodded slightly. “If you want to keep kidding yourself that you still have a home here in the States, go ahead. But neither of us belongs in their lives anymore, Sam. It’s not safe for them. Better to let them go now."

My teeth gritted so hard my jaw ached. I couldn't decide what hurt more— what he'd said, or the fact it was mostly true. Some of the things I’d been forced to do, the people I’d hurt because I’d been ordered to, the people I’d unintentionally hurt because they were unfortunate collateral damage…all of it haunted me, and Connor knew it. He also knew that all of that guilt would pale in comparison to what I’d feel if any harm came to his family because of me and my past.

"And I'm supposed to believe this is your heart talking, not your dick," I asked angrily, gesturing to the still leaking appendage between his legs. “Sofia loves you. Your kids love you. I fucking loved you.”

I felt no satisfaction when Connor flinched at my usage of the past tense because not even that could break through the numbness beginning to spread throughout my entire body as I began to shut down for self-preservation.

“I've risked my life for you, been there to pick up your shit every time you messed up, and this is how you return loyalty? How you treat the one person whose always had your six, even when I paid for it in fucking spades?” I exhaled slowly. “What the fuck was I protecting?"

I swallowed hard, but the lump in my throat refused to budge as I stepped back to grab my duffel bag. I knew A.J. would be right outside. I didn’t know where we’d end upgoing, but anywhere was better than here.

"You should've let me die out there...That pain would’ve been over quick."

What I believed was actually genuine remorse, flickered briefly in Connor’s eyes, but it was too little, and way too fucking late because the cost had been too damn high this time.

I moved to the door, side-stepping Connor when he moved toward me, a hand outstretched like he wanted to touch me, to trap me with more lies and bullshit.

Too bad. I was finally done.

"Sam—"

* * *

(present)

The sound of breaking glass brought my focus to the flurry of activity around me. Darcy had hopped over the bar and was holding onto my hands. My first instinct was to pull away, but she was a lot stronger than she looked and I was too drunk and distracted by the rivulets of red that were oozing out from between our clasped hands to fight her.