Finding Home: Halos and Heroes, Bk 1 - 21. Chapter 21

A true friend never gets in your way unless you happen to be going down.

Arnold H Glasow

HUMANS are social creatures. Practically from the womb, we try to make connections with others—first with gurgling sounds, then eventually with smiles, inviting people to interact with us. To see us. Most people probably have at least one solid memory of childhood—sometimes going back as far as kindergarten— of being at a new school on their first day, and hoping to God that they’ll make at least one friend, so a lonely, sitting-by-yourself-like-an-outcast-at- a-lunch-table, situation doesn’t set the tone for the rest of the year.

How weird that friend is, or whether or not you eventually drift apart, doesn’t matter. It’s all about the connection- of feeling like you’re not alone. Life may get complicated and sometimes you lose people—usually either to distance, or to a cooler friends group they prefer to hang with. That’s fact. But the other side of that constant is that we always need friends, so you’re bound to find at least one solid person throughout the course of your life who gets you. If that friend has been a part of your orbit for the majority of your life, you should thank your lucky stars and possibly consider occasionally playing the lottery.

True friends—the ones who know you inside and out, as well as all the quirks in between—can read us like a favorite book and predict our next move like they do in TV shows they repeatedly binge watch because they don’t have to follow a complicated new storyline-it’s just simple comfort. Those are the friends who pick your drunk ass up at a bar at 12:00 a.m. even when they work the next morning and live all the way across town. Friends like that know where your bodies are buried and are more than prepared to help you bury a few more without any hesitation, if they need to. Those friends also know when to push you for answers to the million questions they have about why you just melted down in a hospital stairwell after decades of stoicism—refusing to give them anything more than hacking sobs until you slipped into a semi-catatonic headspace—and when to just throw you a life vest and keep a discreet eye on you to guarantee you won’t drown while you get your shit together.

Max had always been the real deal-the best friend I’ve ever had, and probably always would because even among the emotional miscommunications and complicated feelings, two things had always been consistent between us—our sense of love, and loyalty.

Love and loyalty are always supposed to be linked. When you’re fortunate enough to have those two qualities in a romantic partner, it’s ideal. But even without a romantic connection—and maybe sometimes because of it—friends who know the true meaning of those two words keep the ground still beneath our feet when we most need it. Category 8 earthquakes and broken hearts be damned.

Max never grilled me for information about what had happened between Ben and me. He’d just allowed time for the dampness on my face to dry to a fine layer of salt before we left the hospital, then walked out to the parking lot where he’d left his rental. Max made sure I got my seatbelt on before he’d hit the button that controlled the door locks so that I was contained. I’d have smiled if I hadn’t felt so damn wrecked.

When Max had asked me where I wanted to go, I’d told him to just start driving south along the coast until I said otherwise, or he got tired enough that we’d have to swap seats. Max had snorted, muttering something beneath his breath that’d sounded a lot like, ‘not a chance in hell, sweetheart.’ Then he’d started driving after getting his Spotify account to channel his favorite jazz compilations through the car speakers. Like I’d told Ben, I’d never been a huge fan of jazz, but I associated the music with Max more than that one conversation that I’d had with Ben, so there was a certain level of familiar comfort in the rich, moody notes, and sultry, mellow vocals.

Max had never gotten into the genre of really deep Blues, which was a thank you God reality for me. I might not have access to firearms, but if I was trapped in a car for God knew how long, with a bluesy soundtrack of Heartbreak Hotel hits, methodically sewing through my wrist with a plastic knife picked up at a rest area food court, might be worth the exhaustive effort.

We’d driven for well over an hour and a half, according to the coordinating times on both my wristwatch and my cell that was sitting in one of Max’s cup holders, and we still hadn’t said one word to each other, even though I could sense Max’s discreet anxiety. He played it off well, but we’d known one another for most of our lives, and I knew where to look for his tells—the occasional soft tap of the tungsten ring on his right hand against his thigh, and the way he’d stop humming along with the radio every so often, like he was suddenly too distracted by bothersome thoughts to remember the lyrics. He was at least a solid three right now on a spectrum of one to ten. Possibly a four, and probably only that low because the child locks kept me inside the moving car, instead of giving me the ability to fling myself out the door at highway speeds. Seated beside him in the buttery soft, luxury leather trim of the SUV, meant that Max had me where he wanted me— whether that was to squeeze my hand in reassurance that this too would pass, or to slap me on the back of the head so hard, the stars would temporarily distract me away from any consideration of self-destructive stupidity.

Whatever he did would be to keep me focused on the pipe dream of hope, instead of contemplating how much pressure I’d need to apply on the handle of a truck stop plastic knife, to break the skin without snapping the handle off. A spork might be a better option if I could find one— multiple holes would help me exsanguinate sooner. Either way, even though I’d controlled our trip, and lack of a final destination till this point, we both knew that I was Max’s bitch until he decided I was safe to leave unsupervised.

I didn’t see that happening anytime soon.

The silence was occasionally broken by text notifications on Max’s cell. Tara, Sofia, and even A.J. had been persistent about finding out if I was all right, and where I was, from almost the moment that Max and I’d left the hospital. Originally, my phone had been blowing up as well. I just hadn’t been up for playing twenty questions, much less talking about the still crushing guilt that threatened to swallow me up into a black hole of despair, and self-loathing each time I remembered Ben’s battered face, and the wheezing version of his usual beautifully lilting, accented voice. My body had redefined the word nausea during the past hour, even though I’d never gotten car sick before in my life.

So, after I’d sent a group text that simply had said, ‘look out for Ben,’ I set my phone to silent mode. After that, it’d been Max’s phone tinkling non-stop until he finally called each of our friends back individually to let them know that I was fine, and with him. I hadn’t been able to make out more than his side of the conversations, but it’d apparently been enough to settle their minds, and the previously steady stream of text notifications had slowed down to infrequent, short bursts of sound. Unlike me, Max wouldn’t silence his cell completely, or even set it to vibrate. He liked being accessible if anyone really needed to get in touch with him, and it was the responsible thing to do. Though to be fair, part of that ingrained need was probably partly because as a doctor, Max was used to being on call.

Whatever the reason, I was glad one of us was able to adult right now. I wasn’t there yet. If we hadn’t been navigating the long stretch of highway, I’d probably have found the closest rock to hide under until I decided which cliff to throw myself off of. Eventually Max and I’d have to talk, but I’d procrastinate for as long as I could until then.

I wasn’t sure what point I’d fallen asleep, but I was woken by the scent of aromatic grease, and a lack of movement, indicating that the SUV had stopped somewhere. Opening my eyes confirmed the second assumption, as well as showing me that I was alone in the car. Max was nowhere to be seen, but the ignition was empty—he’d taken the keys. I couldn’t be too irritated though, because there was a fast-food bag resting on his vacated seat. The grumbling of my stomach reminded me that I hadn’t eaten anything today except for those few sips of caffeinated sludge at the precinct, so food was a good thing.

My neck cracked with an unhappy sound when I tried to straighten up in the leather seat that was light years more comfortable than any airline seat, even ones with ample leg room for someone my height. But napping while slumped against a car window on a road trip was bad for anyone’s posture. Wincing, I straightened myself out, then tried to get my bearings by looking around. I expected to see a fast-food joint or maybe a gas station, so the liquor store’s oversized sign surprised me. Max had parked in front, possibly because he could keep an eye on the SUV—and me by default—through the giant glass storefront.

My right eyebrow arched when Max emerged from the store, carrying a brown paper bag. He unlocked the car doors, and gestured for me to take the bag of fast food off of his seat so he could get in. Once he sat down, he deposited the brown paper bag between my feet on the rubber floor mat. From his pocket he produced a pack of my preferred brand of cigarettes and tossed them to me.

I caught them easily with one hand despite my car ride induced aches and pains. “What are these for, and what’s in the bag?” I had to ask because Max had been against my drinking myself stupid long before Ben had even come into the picture.

“A very reluctant compromise unless you can look me in the eye right now, and truthfully say that if I hadn’t kidnapped you from the hospital, you wouldn’t have already smoked two packs of these, and made it through at least two-thirds a bottle of cheap whiskey?”

“I quit smoking and drinking.”

“Yeah, I know you did but is that what I asked you?” he said with a pointed look.

Nope, it wasn’t. I also couldn’t tell him that he was wrong. Instead, I shrugged, realizing this was Max’s way of triaging a bad situation.

“So, what’s in this bag?”

Max made a gesture towards it as he put his own seatbelt on, effectively letting me know I had to do my own detective work because he was too busy getting us out of the parking lot to play Sherlock to my bedraggled Holmes.

I blinked when I pulled back the paper and saw the distinctive bottle with a blue label that was the Holy Grail for all whiskey lovers because the average price tag kept it out of most people’s reach. Max answered my low whistle and ‘seriously?’ with a shrug of his own as he turned his left directional on to steer us back towards the highway.

“If you’re goin’ to get drunk, I’m goin’ to do it with you, and I refuse to drink the cheap shit you do. We’re goin’ for more of a happy hour vibe, than street corner wino moment. Here’s hopin’ that the price tag will remind you to go slow and easy with sips, not gulps. We’re goin’ to get smashed in high end style, sweetness. Maybe by then you’ll tell me what the hell happened, and why you’re here with me instead of Ben.”

Max’s tone was low and calm. I was glad one of us could successfully cover up our feelings right now.

“While you were out, I looked up hotels in the area. I found a decent one about a half hour from here that doesn’t look like it’s carpets and linens need to be fumigated. There were also no mentions of local criminal activity in the news headlines for that area, so yay for that.”

Max made a face, and I felt my lips quirk slightly at the corners though, so I was too tired to put in the extra effort required to turn it into a genuine smile.

“Eat your burger, and I’ll let you spike your coke.”

“With Johnnie Walker Blue Label?”

“Absolutely not. Heathen. To even ask that question is dirty.”

I rolled my eyes. “Says the man who’s had a queer train run on him before.”

“Twice,” Max corrected, holding up the appropriate number of fingers on the hand that wasn’t steering the SUV. “It was a good time had by all, includin’ me, and the second time I was the lead conductor. Choo choo, motherfucker.”

There wasn’t any heat in his voice, and this time, I managed a small smile when Max shot me his version of his mother’s southern debutante, hairy-eyeball. “There’s a hotel mini bar sized bottled of your usual stuff in the bag as well. Use that. I had them fill your cup only ¾ of the way and told them to go heavy on the ice.”

“That’ll dilute it.”

Max spared me a brief glance as if to say, “and?” before he returned his attention to navigating the highway in front of him.

I snorted, but after shuffling around in the bag, I came up with the micro bottle of jack. Once upon a time, not as far away as I’d like to believe, I could clear a hotel’s mini bar out, and still have enough coordination to walk down the street and pick up a full bottle of the cheapest whiskey I could find. I was out of practice after the last couple of months of living the clean life of a responsible family man, but getting properly smashed into stupid oblivion was probably like riding a bike with as many years of practice beneath my belt as I had.

When we came to a congested slowdown on the highway, Max leaned over the console to steal a French fry from my container that looked as limp as dejected as I felt. I didn’t slap his hand away because it was one less that I’d actually have to force down my own throat. Instead, I focused on the sea of cars in front of us. It was still too early for rush hour traffic, and I didn’t see any emergency lights ahead, so I couldn’t even begin to imagine where they were all headed at this time of day, in the middle of the week. Maybe they were taking an extended lunch break? Playing hooky to go to the beach? Not like it was my business anyway considering I was just running away from my problems.

“When we get to the motel, we’re goin’ to open Big Blue Daddy there, and slip it slow and steady while we watch whatever we can find on basic cable. There’s a diner within walkin’ distance of the motel when we need more than meat patties that’ve been processed to a criminal degree.”

“Max, you eat microwavable Chef Boyardee’s spaghetti and meatballs.”

“That’s when I’m workin’ double shifts at the hospital, asshole,” Max said with an affectionate snort. “Staffin’ is always horrible in the trauma units, whether it’s Stateside, or in Afghanistan. I also make an exception for the Chef because his infamous balls are ones I can actually put in my mouth while in mixed company.”

I grinned at the normalcy of that comment. Max loved me and he was loyal, but he was also consistent and that was something I desperately needed right now.

After unwrapping my burger, I just stared at it for a moment. It didn't look any perkier than the fries, but the over-processed flavor was tolerable after I washed it down with a sip of whiskey straight from the bottle. Max's warning look prompted me to polish off the rest of my meal before I poured the remainder of the bottle into the partially filled, extra-large cup of soda. I took a sip. When the spiked cola reached my stomach, it chased away some of the cold that’d been knotting my insides since I'd left the hospital.

By the time we'd reached the parking lot of the motel, my burger and fries were gone, but my cup was still full enough for a good time. With the amount of ice Max had ordered be put into my oversized cup of soda, I wasn’t feeling the effects of the whiskey as much as I might’ve otherwise, but at least it was taking the edge off. Max killed the engine, then took the cup away from me to take a sip of the spiked soda through the straw. He grimaced as he handed the cup back.

"Damn, that stuff is nasty."

"Keep drinking it until it tastes good. That’s apparently what cops do with precinct coffee.” I swallowed another mouthful to provide an example, ignoring Max’s eyeroll.

"Shut up and stay in the car while I pay for the room and get the key."

"Okay," I said, more than agreeable since that scenario left me alone to silently wallow in my shattered dreams with my spiked cola for a little while longer.

When Max returned, I left the now empty cola cup in the cupholder and made sure I grabbed my cigarettes and the bag of booze. I got out of the car, and we walked the few feet from the car to the door of our motel room—well, he walked. I stumbled. Apparently my body had lied to me when I was safely sitting down. Now that I was up and moving, the booze was slapping me across the face hard to remind me that the next inning was starting.

Swearing, I managed to right myself with one hand locked tight onto the edge of the doorframe. The other still held the bag with the whisky inside, as Max searched for the room key in his pocket. I was eyeing the flecking paint chips on my fingers with such intense interest, I almost ended up on my ass again when Max opened the door.

Shaking his head, Max walked me back toward the bed. "Hence all the ice. You’re probably dehydrated. Sit. Stay,” he warned me as he moved to the round rack on top of a small table where there were several water bottles neatly arranged. He worked the cap off of one, then handed it to me when he returned. “Chug that. I’m goin’ to make you drink another one in a few minutes.”

“I’ll be peeing like a racehorse.”

“You’ll be peein’ like most middle-aged women after pushin’ out a few kids. You’re one of the most badass motherfuckers I’ve ever met, so take a cue from them, do some Kegels, and you’ll be all good. Drink your damn water, Sam.”

He eyed me hard until I obediently chugged the liquid, then took the empty bottle from. He tossed it into the small garbage can by the desk, then knelt on the floor so he could work on the triple knotted laces of my sneakers. Normally I’d have argued with the passion of a toddler that I could do it myself, but I was feeling a little top heavy after inhaling all of the spiked soda I’d been able to salvage from its mountain of ice, and we still had a night of forgetful drinking ahead of us, so I had to pace myself. Instead of bitching, I looked around.

The motel was by no means the Ritz, but the teal-colored carpeting was clean and still plush. Venetian blinds in a lighter blue picked up on the cacophony of color in the colorful duvets covering the two queen sized beds. Plain white towels hung on the drying rack by the bathroom. We also had a mini fridge and a coffeemaker for when we needed to work our way through our hangovers tomorrow morning. There was the subtle hint of must to the air, overlaid with the salty tang of the ocean breeze drifting in through the open windows—vintage Florida at its best.

We’d been together in motels like this many times before, but the circumstances had always been very different. I pulled my gaze away from the furnishings of the room and looked down at the top of Max's sandy brown head. The last time we'd stayed at a motel, I'd been the one on my knees, and it hadn't been my laces he'd been cursing at. Having his dick deep down my throat as I sucked him off with all the experience I’d gained since the first time I’d done it when we were sixteen, always got the same reaction from Max. He’d loved threading his long fingers through my hair before I’d joined the military, and got the same pleasure once I’d joined Delta and was able to grow it out. It was almost that long now, so if I let the booze guide my mind and fill in the blanks with bits from past memories, I could easily imagine the sensation of Max bumping my throat with the head of his dick if we reversed our positions, and I knelt in front of him as he rocked his hips forward—gentle and steady until I tapped his hip, and gave him full permission to fuck my face.

I didn’t think I’d made any kind of sound, but Max glanced up to meet my gaze as if he suddenly knew what I was thinking. I didn't move when his hand slid up my thigh to bring him to a kneeling position between my legs. All he had to do from there was slide both hands inward and up, and it'd be over. I could momentarily forget about Ben in the heat of our sweaty bodies tangled together so tight, you couldn't tell where one left off, and the other began. If there was one thing Max and I did well, it was fuck like champions. Fortunately, Max put an end to the complications that definitely would’ve come from a poor decision borne out of fatigue, sadness and loneliness, before anything even started.

“Not happenin’ like this baby,” he murmured before he stood up and moved away from me, leaving me to fight with the stubborn laces myself if I really wanted the sneakers off.

By the time I’d toed them off with uncoordinated ferocity, Max had kicked off his own and also removed his long-sleeved t-shirt, remaining in a black undershirt and his jeans, as he fussed with the temperature controls on the wall mounted unit so he could cool off the muggy heat that the overhead fan wouldn’t have a chance against. He moved around the room with a restless energy, checking for clean towels and sugar in the coffee caddy before going into the bathroom. He left the door open while he peed, then washed his hands. Max had never been overly modest, but I had a feeling he’d deliberately left that door open so he could hear any move I made.

By the time he’d tossed me another bottle of water, then set about opening the bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label so he could fill two Styrofoam cups—something he probably considered a sacrilege in and of itself— to about an inch below the top of the cup, I was officially feeling a definitive buzz from the spiked cola. I was also experiencing a sense of mild concern because the fact that Max was being so generous with our portions most likely meant that we’d be having an epic talk later when my tongue was looser than most women during Fleet Week.

The mattress dipped slightly when Max sat beside me. He waited until I drained the second bottle of water, crushed the plastic between my hands, then tossed it in the general direction of the garbage can by the desk, before he handed me one of the cups. “Sip that,” he said.

Since I was pretty sure he wouldn’t give me his if I chugged mine, and he’d left the bottle across the room by the coffeemaker—probably because he knew I wouldn’t have the energy right now to go help myself—I did as I was told.

The smoothness of a whiskey more expensive than any I’d ever bought for myself, slid down my throat in an almost velvety glide, coiling in my belly with pleasant warmth. I could see the allure of the price tag now, but Max never drank much, so he’d definitely be feeling this sooner than later.

"Ready to tell me what happened this mornin’?”

I shook my head, taking another sip of my drink. His question made me want to chug It, but if I were to go that desperate route, I’d end up with an empty glass, and no way to avoid his question for a little longer.

Max’s jaw tensed tight enough for me to be reminded that while good friends knew when to back off, they also knew when to push, and Max was about to throw down.

“Let me rephrase: Tell me what happened this mornin’.”

I shook my head again, my fingers curling into the Styrofoam cup just enough to get a better grip, without crushing it. Considering the price tag on the entire bottle, the amount left in my cup was still probably around the ballpark of thirty bucks. A number like that deserved a slow savoring, not the rushed exuberance of a college kid taking a shot of whatever rotgut whiskey their fraternity managed to get their hands on.

Max shook his head when I went with door number two, and tossed back the entire contents of the glass, swallowing hard.

“Savage,” he muttered, before doing exactly the same thing, his throat working as he drained his cup. “I’ll refill these, and then we will sip them as the good lord of whiskey intended. We need to talk before we’re too shit-faced to think straight. We clear?”

As fucking crystal.

I nodded, licking the flavor of the best whiskey I’d ever drank off of my lower lip to try and cover the staler taste my mouth took on when I realized my time for procrastination was officially over. “Yeah.”

True to his word, Max refilled both our glasses almost as full as the first round. He handed mine back to me after drinking close to half, ignoring my protests as he pushed the cup into my hand.

“Talk, and you can have that, plus mine since I’m already feelin' it.”

“You’ve always been a lightweight.”

“I’ve also always had a huge dick. God can’t give all the good gifts to one person. S’not fair to the average joe. Now start talkin’ because our gentle parentin’ ship has officially sailed, sweetness. You need to release all this bad juju to the universe before it poisons you.”

“What happened to the importance of good bedside manner?”

Max snorted after taking a small sip from his cup—my future cup. “The most brilliant surgeons I’ve ever met are all narcissistic assholes with God complexes, and plausible personality disorders. But they’re the best because they can’t risk failure. I won’t risk you Sam. So, start talkin’, and when you melt into a puddle of overstimulated goo because you actually talked about your feelins’, I’ll tuck you into bed, and you can hide from today in Dreamland for a while.”

I took a small sup from my cup, then glanced at the other queen-sized bed—the one closer to the bathroom, and subsequently, further from the door.

“I’m guessing this one” I said, patting the mattress of the bed we were sitting on “is yours, and that one’s mine?”

“Gold star as always darlin’.”

My lips quirked slightly at the corners, but I knew it wasn’t doing anything to lessen the visible tension in my face. “I’m hoping to God this top shelf shit will knock me the fuck out, but after this morning…”

“You know I can handle you Sam. I’ve done it before.”

The ‘many times,’ part wasn’t spoken aloud, but it didn’t make it any less true. Max’s expression softened slightly as if he was reading my expression.

“We’ll play it by ear. If you need an emotional support Max, I’ll just shove your big brawny ass to one side of that bed, so maid service only has to make over one when we check out. Fair?”

“Yeah…. thanks man.”

Sharing a bed with a former lover was probably never a good idea, but especially not now, when I knew how Max felt about me. I’d pushed Ben away for his own safety because he was my weakness, but I was Max’s. Taking advantage of that right now just because I was drunk, and fearful of nightmares featuring myself when I was the boogeyman that went bump in the night, wasn’t enough reason to take advantage of our life-long connection.

I exhaled slowly, ignoring the devilish side of my conscience that reminded me Max and I had slept together in the same bed for years before we’d started fucking. Seeking comfort in the familiarity of an old friend wasn’t a bad thing… I pinched the bridge of my nose as the angel who’d been watching from its spot on my shoulder, drop-kicked the devil as it pointed out that we weren’t fourteen anymore.

Looking into the contents of my cup didn’t help me with arguing with either side of my moral code. The booze was definitely beginning to hit me hard now. Fuck it. I tossed back the rest of the contents and crumpled the cup, feeling little beads of whiskey on my skin before I wiped my hand on my sweats.

I sighed, then glanced down when I felt something touch my leg. Max had his hand on my knee. Open, and palm side up. He laced our fingers securely together after I put my hand in his.

“Go,” he said.

And I did. With the sturdy strength of Max’s hand grounding me, I told him everything. Not just about what had happened this morning when I’d almost lived out one of my darkest nightmares, but also about all the pain and weight that’d been an albatross around my neck since I was too damn young to even know what that phrase meant. Max had been in my life since we were kids, but I’d kept the ugliest parts of myself away from everyone, even him. I just hadn’t realized it until the walls began to crumble like I’d chosen the wrong Jenga block, and my carefully built tower was finally tumbling to the ground.

I didn’t cry this time. Not because I’d regained my recently lost, autopilot sense of stoicism, but because I was bone dry from my earlier tear-fest at the hospital. When Max offered me his cup as promised, I hesitated, then shook my head as I waved it away.

“Drink it. Considering the price of the bottle, that in your hand is more than the average babysitting rate. Besides, I think I’m drunk,” I said as I laid back on the bed, facing the popcorn ceiling that was doing a swimmy pop-pop dance.

Max tossed his whiskey back, then stretched out on his side beside me, propped up on one arm so he could see my face. “I’m feelin’ it too, so please don’t try and sneak out if I pass out because I sure as hell can’t chase you right now.”

I chuckled quietly then exhaled slowly. “I’m trying to keep him safe Max. You know that right?”

“Yeah, I know Sam. That’s always been your MO- protect the weak. And fuck man, it’s impressive and endearin’ as all hell. But as much as it pains me to admit it, Ben’s not weak. He’s got some impressive snark packed in that fine package, especially for a priest. Put me right in my place smooth as honey.”

My lips curved into an amused smile that matched the one I saw on his own face when I turned my head to the side to look at him. We obviously both remembered with the exact same level of clarity, how Max had offered to swap sex notes with Ben, and how quickly my boyfriend had shut him down.

Ex-boyfriend Sam. You fucked it up.

“He’s not the typical priest,” I agreed. “But I almost killed him Max. If I had…”

I didn’t finish that sentence. I didn’t need to because Max knew how to fill in the blanks. He always had, which explained why he cut off anything else I might’ve otherwise added, by abruptly rolling over to pin me to the bed as he straddled my hips. He hadn’t worn the sling after the first night he’d arrived, but the subtle tremble in his injured arm when he pinned my hands down beside my head, indicated it still wasn’t up to its full strength and capacity. Fortunately, I was drunk so he had the advantage, even with a handicap.

I blinked. We’d been in the exact same position millions of times, but as close as Max was pressed against me, it was obvious that he wasn’t even half hard. His eyes though… Those were like twin pieces of jade green flint.

“Sam… you knock that shit off right now.”

I blinked again, but Max kept going, not giving me a chance to get my thoughts in order.

“We both know what you were plannin’ to do before you came back to Florida, but we never talked about it ‘cause you and I have this amazin’ joint super power where we can share everythin’, yet stick our goddamn heads in the sand at the same time because we’re tryin’ to maintain boundaries. Well, that’s officially done because we’re goin’ to talk about how you ripped my fuckin’ heart out when I found all those bullets squirreled away in your apartment in Afghanistan for whatever rainy day you felt froggy enough to blow your fuckin' brains out.” A muscle in his jaw ticked. “We’re also goin’ to talk about how I’ve been losin’ my goddamn mind since then, prayin’ to God that A.J. wouldn’t call me to say that you finally gave up.”

“Max, I—”

His hand covered my mouth. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d tried to smother me, but the hard plane of his palm was gentle against my lips and I felt a subtle tremble that gave away how hard Max was working at keeping his tone steady and level.

“I know the military took your gun, but bein’ a trauma doc means I see all kinds of shit, includin’ a lot people who’ve tried to end their lives for one reason or another, and they usually manage just fine, even without access to a firearm. People can get very fuckin’ creative when they’re feelin’ broken, and desperation drives them to stupidity.” He paused again. This time, I watched the way his throat worked when he swallowed hard, like he was trying to get around the deepening octave of his own tone. His voice was always unusually deep, and velvety mellow, which worked well when he sang, but the sudden depth in right now let me know just how upset he actually was.

“We try and save them all of course. Sometimes we get lucky. When we don’t, ages and ethnicities vary, but those cases almost always have one thing common- they all leave behind a legacy where the people who loved them can’t remember how they lived, because how the person died is the cloud of pain that overshadows everythin’ else. People who successfully manage to kill themselves go wherever it is they do when we leave this world, but their loved ones continue livin’ only half of their own lives because they’re haunted with thoughts of, ‘could I have done somethin’ to help?’ or ‘why didn’t I see this comin’?’”

A soft hiss escaped from between my lips, my breath warming Max’s palm as he tightened the hold he had on my left wrist with his free hand.

“Unfortunately for you Sam, my eyes work just fine, and I’m done with watchin’ you unravel, while pretendin’ you’ll eventually handle it on your own without a proper kick in the ass from someone who loves you enough to kick really fuckin’ hard.” The look in his eyes made it obvious who was going to be doing the kicking.

“Wantin’ to protect Ben and your family is a fantastic fuckin' goal, but it’s one that starts with actually makin’ some major life changes, not just checkin’ out. If you commit suicide, you’re not savin’ them man. You’re just damnin’ them because they’ll never get real answers or closure. Just a pretty headstone that A.J. and I will piss all over after sharin’ as many beers as we can without affectin’ our aim. I bet Tara would probably join us too. She might even just sit on the headstone all ladylike, and let it rip. That girl’s got bigger balls than most men I know.”

I agreed with that part, but didn’t say anything, just kept my gaze on Max. Over the years, I thought I’d seen every one of his facial expressions, but I’d never seen him this angry. The only time I’d seen him equally panicked had been at the hospital In Afghanistan after I lost my team and almost died. Those memories were still a little fuzzy, so this hybrid of rage and terror turning Max’s body into one long line of tension, this one was new.

“I’ll help you find whatever resources you need to get your life back on a steady enough track that not every setback brings us to this point. I’ll pay for your damn therapy myself if I have to, and I’ll be there for you every step of the way. You know that. Whatever else may be goin’ on with us, that’s on me because I waited too long to man up, and I understand that. But this shit, this is all you, so you have to want to fix it and decide who, and what you’re fightin’ for. And God help you if you decide to take the easy way out for the first time in your life. You almost dyin’ in Afghanistan practically killed me. You offin' yourself now, would wreck me. I’d handle it eventually—poorly. Probably with a lot of booze, and a promise made to myself to kick your fuckin’ ass the moment I end up in the thereafter and find you. But you committin’ suicide would destroy your family.”

He swallowed hard again. “You have this ass backwards idea that if you’re not on this planet, you can protect all of us. Well, that’s bullshit. How do you think the girls will feel about losin’ you? You’ve made so many strides forward with them, Sam. Emma worships the ground you walk on, and Addie Cat has a photo of the four of you as her cell’s lock screen. Connor’s name might be listed on their birth certificates, but where it matters, when it comes to showin’ up, they’re yours Sam. A.J. and I are beloved uncles. Maybe one day he’ll be more than that to them, but right now, you’re their daddy in heart and mind. Losin’ you to violence at your own hand would mess them up for the rest of their lives. It’d also break my mama’s heart because she loves you like her own son.” He moved his hand from my mouth so he could stroke his thumb gently over the seam of my lips. “Makin’ my mama cry Sam… I’d never forgive you for that.”

Max said that last part quietly, voice as soft as the hand he moved to cradle my face with, thumb gently brushing along my cheekbone now. His body was a coil of barely controlled tension. His eyes also looked suspiciously damp, but I’d never seen Max cry before, and was pretty drunk right now, so it might’ve just been a trick of the light. I leaned into the touch anyway.

There wasn’t anything that Max and I’d never forgiven one another for eventually, but when it came to breaking Vera Melone’s heart, or my family’s, that was a line drawn in fucking concrete not sand.

“I don’t know where to start Max.”

His expression softened slightly, though I could still feel the tension in his thighs where they were gripping my hips. “You can go home and see your family. See Ben.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not? Sofia and the girls love you. Ben loves you, and I know you love him. Shit. Sam. We’re sittin’ in this motel a little short of three sheets to the damn wind because you love him so much, you think disappearin’ is the right move. Which of course, it isn’t. And honestly, as bad as this is, Ben’s now officially seen the best and worst parts of you. Everythin’s out in the open and you can move forward if you just fuckin’ try, man. Talk to him.”

“Your suggestions been noted…and overruled.”

Max made an aggravated sound that was just an octave away from a growl as he slid off of me and flopped onto his back, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands before he rolled over to his side, popping himself up on his good arm. I did the same—albeit it with much less grace—so that we could mirror each other.

“Sam, you’re in love with him.”

“Yeah, I am,” I agreed. “But love doesn’t always conquer all, Max.” I exhaled slowly. “I can promise you that I won’t do anything stupid. And that I’ll never break Vera’s heart. Or my family’s.” Or yours. “I will get help. I swear. Whelan gave me the name of an organization here in Florida that works with veterans. I’m going to call them. But… I just can’t go home right now. Not until I trust myself. Sofia and the kids might be upset and confused right now, but they’re ok, and that’s what’s important until I figure out where to go from here.”

Max didn’t look thrilled, but he accepted the compromise.

"I’m still around for a few days, so we can kick around together and start makin’ a plan for how you’re goin’ to get some help and forgive yourself for the shit you couldn’t control then, and still can’t control now. After that, if you're desperate, you could head to Jersey for a while. My parents would love to see you, though after some time spent at the Melone house you might see how good you have it here. Ever since they retired, my mama’s southern hospitality has gone on hyperdrive. She redefined ‘helicopter mom’ when she saw my arm. I also got a nod from the Colonel, so they’re definitely goin’ through an empty nesters crisis late in life.”

He was teasing, but I knew the offer was genuine and it was a tempting suggestion. The Colonel was retired so he understood what transition out of the service and into civilian life was like. I also knew he wouldn't ask too many questions about me retiring because as high ranking as he’d been, he knew better than most people that very few soldiers wanted to bring their past home with them. Vera would baby the hell out of me with sweet tea and endless rounds of Go Fish. I could just hide for a while in the garden state.

“Maybe. Let’s start with breakfast tomorrow if the diner you mentioned has acceptable pancakes.” I knew Max had a guilty love affair with pancakes, but he couldn’t cook for shit and always appreciated good ones whether they were from a greasy spoon or IHop. “After a few cups of coffee, we can brainstorm with Google.” I paused for a long moment. “I want my life back Max, but there’s no instruction manual with this…”

“I know. If love were easy, everyone would have it. Right now, you’re drunk and feelin’ down and out like a fat kid playin’ dodgeball so it’s not the time for deep conversation. Tomorrow will be better, other than dealing with the inevitable hangover that’s pre-destined to be a special kind of epic because we drank more than half a bottle of premium Johnnie Blue like he was secretly a Kentucky Gentleman.” Max made a face, then pushed up to a seated position. “Now, close your eyes. You need to get some sleep, and I need to shower off our road trip.”

Max slid off of the bed and paused long enough to flip up the side of the duvet that he’d been lying on, up and over me in a loose burrito fashion. It was still warm from his body, and I felt myself relaxing beneath the lightweight material. Then he padded across the room to grab one of the clean white towels from the hanging rack.

He was right, at least about me being too drunk to be having this conversation right now, but I still said, “Max?”

Just his name, but Max read the tone in it like I knew he would.

“I know. I love you too, dumbass. Go the fuck to sleep.”

He moved into the bathroom, and I heard the sound running water when Max turned the shower on. I focused on that soft whoosh of white noise, then eventually stopped hearing anything at all as sleep took me.

***

When my eyes finally opened and I looked towards the window that had the shades drawn back, the softening rays of the afternoon sunshine that I’d fallen asleep to, had gone through their daily metamorphosis—deepening from shades of orange, pinks and purples, to end up in the almost velvety deep indigo that was currently framed by the windowpanes. Even through the closed door I could hear the soft chirp of tree frogs, though there were no other definable sounds. Despite the motel parking lot having been full of cars when Max and I’d arrived, it seemed like the other guests were following basic human protocol of sleeping when the sun did.

It was a cloudless night and the stars were out—as vivid as any planetarium. Unfortunately, I couldn’t appreciate that snapshot of a Florida more familiar than the one I’d come home to because my eyes felt gritty from poor sleep, even though for once, I couldn’t remember my dreams. God must’ve felt I had enough to deal with and spared me that extra level of what-the-fuckery, but He wasn’t feeling benevolent enough to spare me from the hangover Max had predicted. That made itself known the moment I sat up in bed, my brain feeling both fuzzy and overcome by a low throb that drew a hiss from my lips.

I knuckled my eyes with both hands before I glanced at the empty spot beside me in bed. That Max wasn’t in it with me didn’t surprise me. Not after the shift in our dynamic. But what did surprise me was the fact that Max’s bed was also empty. Since we hadn’t brought any luggage with us, I had no real indicator to gauge whether Max had left my unconscious ass there to go for a drive to clear his head or just gone for some ice or something. I ignored the primal panic that kicked up for a second before I took a slow breath and allowed rational thought to take over. Max wouldn’t have gone far. His timing of letting me know how he felt about me might have been ridiculously off but hurt feelings wouldn’t trump his protective instincts towards me anymore than they would mine towards him.

He'd also made his bed.

I slid out of my own, my bare feet sinking into carpet that felt a little plusher than some of the places we’d stayed in before. I was still wearing my sweats, but I’d lost my t-shirt, most likely by my own hands—I tended to strip layers off in my sleep when I got warm. Without turning on all the lights and exacerbating my headache, I padded over to the window to look outside. The soft glow from the outdoor lights meant to keep the motel’s insurance premiums low by keeping visitors from breaking their necks, illuminated the parking lot just enough for me to see Max’s rental parked where we left it. When I saw the vehicle, I sighed softly with relief that made me feel stupid a minute after it registered. His neatly made bed should’ve been enough of a reassurance. Max always kept his apartment pin neat—he made his bed every morning like clockwork. He did the same when he took naps midday after a long double shift at the hospital.

I glanced down at the illuminated numbers on my watch. According to them, it was a little after midnight.

The layout of the parking lot was the kind where you could pull into the spaces right in front of your door on the lower levels, so I didn’t bother putting a shirt or shoes on before I opened the door and moved toward the curl of smoke I saw rising from the back of the SUV, giving me a good idea of where Max had gotten to. My suspicion was confirmed when I moved around the vehicle to the back where the trunk lid was lifted. Max was sitting inside the empty trunk, long legs dangling over the back bumper, a lit cigarette in his hand.

I moved towards him, the blacktop feeling oddly smooth beneath my bare feet-grounding. It was a luxury I rarely indulged in unless I was on leave. Always having your boots on meant it was easier to run when you had to move quickly. Max was fully dressed down to his sneakers and I smiled slightly. Always being on call meant he was usually a shoes-on, or at least a shoes-near-the-front-door man, like I was.

I could feel the almost tropical humidity on my skin as clearly as I could smell the acrid scent of the cigarette Max was smoking. Surprise flickered through his eyes at my arrival, but I saw it only for a moment before his gaze dropped. It wandered down the long length of my body as if Max was following the ridges of bare muscle he’d probably memorized from years of hands-on experience, down past the familiar landscape of scars, to the waistband of my sweats. He didn’t linger overly long around the good parts, just slowly raised his gaze until it met mine. His lips quirked at the corners as he offered me the cigarette that was tucked behind his left ear. I took it, then sat where Max indicated when he shifted over to let me sit beside him on the granite gray carpeting of the pristinely detailed rental.

“I figured that you’d probably wake up before sunrise, though you were pretty solidly out when I left.”

“Doesn’t look like you got very far…” I said as I leaned over to touch the end of my cigarette to his already lit one, breathing in deeply until the tip flared red, and I could exhale a soft puff of smoke to match Max’s. “What are you even doing out here?” I asked softly, not wanting to disturb the calm stillness of the evening.

Max exhaled a smoke ring lazily over his head. “Thinkin',” he said just as softly, his lips quirking into a smile. “And revisitin' my field medic, triage days apparently.” He held up his cell phone with the hand that wasn’t holding his cigarette. “I couldn’t sleep, and figured since you were hangin’ with the Sandman, I might as well take the time to touch base with the family to reassure them that they don’t have to get the dogs out.”

I nodded after exhaling a smoke ring over my own head. Like drinking, picking up this bad habit again was a little too easy, so once I finished this cigarette, I’d be calling it quits. It be step one towards keeping the promises I’d made to Max about getting it together.

For real this time.

Not the half-assed, ‘pretend your PTSD and trauma doesn’t exist, and just try and start a new life without actually addressing the old shit,’ thing that I’d been doing since I arrived back home.

“Are they okay?”

“Yeah. Worried about you of course, but I told them that you’re all right. A.J.’s stayin' at the house, so he’s keepin' hem distracted. Tara said she’s going to drop by the hospital tomorrow afternoon when they discharge Ben to give him a ride home.”

Max let that hang between us for a moment, watching my face like he was waiting to see how I’d react to Ben’s name. My response was to take in another long drag from my cigarette. I blew the smoke away from Max before I asked, “How’s he doing?”

Max tapped the ash off the end of his own cigarette. “I gave you the gist at the hospital, but his doctor’s confirmed that the trauma to his vocal cords was mild. He’ll recover completely. The rest is just superficial. You know as well as I do that bruises fade. He’s obviously upset, but physically, he’s okay.”

I nodded again, hesitating before I asked. “Do you still think I should go talk to him?”

“Honestly?”

“Yeah.”

Max shrugged, looking up towards the brilliantly lit up sky with its blanket of stars instead of me when he said, “Do you want the answer from your best friend who’s tryin’ to point his moral compass northward, or from the guy who’s been in love with you for a stupidly long time, and still is even though he knows there’s no point?”

I almost winced, but at least the truth was out between us. I shifted my body slightly so that I could face him instead of just glancing at him sideways. Max was smiling, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes, and his lips tightened around his cigarette as my hand moved almost of its own volition to settle on his thigh, just above his knee. I watched as Max removed the cigarette to blow smoke upward before the tip of his tongue darted out briefly to moisten his lips. His thigh tensed beneath my hand, but he didn’t say anything to make me move it, or to encourage me to explore higher.

“They’re the same guy,” I said quietly. ‘And like you said, our relationship, yours and mine, is the longest one either of us has ever been in, and that’s because we make more sense with each other than we ever did with anyone else.”

“That used to be true. On paper it might still be true. But logic and love aren’t the same thing, especially now that you’ve fallen for a guy I can’t possibly compete with, baby.”

“Who says that you can’t?”

“You did, when you weren’t drunk and trying to punish yourself.”

Max reached for my hand with the one that wasn’t holding a cigarette, but all he did was turn it over to press the kiss to the palm before settling it back on my own knee.

“Baby, don’t doubt that I’m employin’ every ounce of self-control my daddy routinely doubts I possess, not to drag your fine ass back into that hotel room and fuck you stupid. If I thought that was all it’d take to erase Ben from your mind, you’d be on your knees, and we wouldn’t be talkin’ right now. But I like to think I’m smarter than that… at least when the big head can focus enough to tell the little one to stop the crazy.”

I chuckled quietly as I bent over to put my own cigarette out on the blacktop. When I straightened, I glanced back at Max. “I always liked your brand of crazy.”

“Well, after a few months of workin’ whatever programs you get into, and makin’ enough progress towards your goals that you get cleared to own a fish, or at least a houseplant, you know my number. I’ll be more than happy then, to sate your cravin’ for seven inches of crazy so deep, you’ll feel the insanity for days.”

Max’s lips twitched as he put out his own cigarette. With the overhead interior lights of the SUV on, I could see the sudden seriousness that settled into his eyes. “Sam, I want you. I want us to be together because that’s how it always should’ve been. But I don’t want to be the runner-up.”

Max’s tone was quieter more serious than his teasing lilt of earlier. “I know that’s how I probably made you feel all these years because I’ve been an emotionally constipated pussy. But, it’s never been like that. You’ve always been it for me. In here.” He tapped the side of his temple with his index finger, then used that and his pointer finger to tap over his chest briefly. “But you’ve moved on. So, that bein’ said, my answer to your earlier question is that I think you need to talk to Ben sooner than later. Let him know you care, but that you need to work on yourself for a bit so when you do get back together—like I suspect you will—you’ll both be on the same page. Frankly man, Ben’s a good man, but just like you can’t pray away your gay, you also can’t just fix years of trauma by askin' the Big Guy upstairs to make all that pain disappear without you actually doin’ some of the work.” He paused for a minute as if he was trying to figure out what to say next. Max had always been openly affectionate with me, but we’d never really done a deep dive into talking about our feelings past things we had in common like the death of my mother, and his strained relationship with his father.

“You’ve been through some serious shit in your life that Ben may want to understand, but the truth is that he can’t. Not the way that other guys like you, guys who worked through it, might be able to. You need support from your peers, and you need to figure yourself out. Then you can help Ben learn how to navigate the new Sam with you. Rose colored glasses aren’t always the best choice, even if someone has the best of intentions, and I think Ben has several pairs that he rotates out. Which is commendable in a world where shit can get real, really quick, but this has to be an eyes wide open situation for both of you if it’s goin’ to last.”

I traced Max’s features quietly with my gaze. His eyes crinkled at the edges, lips curving, as if he was amused about the many possibilities that might be going through my head. Some of the lines stayed even when his smile faded naturally into neutral— deeper than they'd been the last time I'd seen him. That subtle sign of age was enough to remind me that the angel on my shoulder was right- we weren't kids anymore, and this wasn't fair to him. Not just because of the newly confessed feelings he had for me, but because it didn't follow the codes of conduct followed by any good soldier. No matter what I'd said to Ben at the hospital, I still felt the military's values down to my core, and you just didn't fuck with loyalty and love that went deep enough for a man to willingly take a bullet for you. Especially when that man was breaking his own heart by pointing you in the direction of another person.

My voice was gruff as I swiped a hand lightly down his arm. "Thanks man.”

Max just nodded.

"Are we okay?"

"We're fine, Sam," he assured me in that slow steady drawl that effectively shielded any other emotion. "Other than suddenly having an ungodly desire for breakfast at” he checked his own wrist watch “an hour when we definitely shouldn’t be contemplatin' carbs and extra sides of deliciously greasy bacon.”

“Is that diner you mentioned a 24-hour place?”

Max nodded. “Yeah, it is. Hungry?”

“Despite your foretold epic migraine, yeah.”

Max chuckled as he hopped out of the trunk with that enviable, feline grace of his. “Fortunately for you, I have aspirin in the glove box. And since greasy spoons are notorious for servin' octane level coffee, you’ll be good for a night of watchin' cheap cable, or infomercials with me. Gentlemen’s choice of course.”

“Considering that you pulled out your moral compass tonight, it’s going to be your choice,” I assured him. I hesitated, then said quietly, “I love you Max.”

“I know, jackass,” he said with a crooked smile before he gestured for me to get out of the trunk. “And the sun can shine even on a dog’s ass sometimes, Sam. Go get a shirt and shoes on. Greasy spoon or not, having some class never goes out of style…”

***

I think anybody who has had a long relationship and has had a really hard time letting go, wants to feel like it's not all for naught, and it's meaningful, because it makes you who you are.

—Rashida Benes

After three full days of distance spent away from home, my problems hadn’t vanished, but I’ve made some miniscule headway towards addressing them by making some calls to therapists in Florida who specialized in working with patients with PTSD. I’d also reached out to the organization that Whelan had told me about, so my head felt full with a thin, but at least present amount of hope, even though my heart still ached.

I’d decided to go visit Max’s parents in Jersey and he’d opted to go with me to spend his last few days of leave there. He’d always been able to navigate the Colonel easier with me as a buffer. I also missed his family who’d been more mother and father to me, than my own parents, for the majority of my life on this planet. So, I'd been scrolling through websites for over an hour on Max’s iPad, looking for cheap flights from Florida to New Jersey. I'd found two that left for Newark tonight at different times, but I hadn't pulled the trigger on either one yet, still undecided. Max had left the travel plans in my hands by leaving me alone while he took a shower.

He'd locked the bathroom door this time.

It been a clear message—the door to what we could’ve been at one point had we been on the same page at the same time, was closed for good. Cheating us both out of moving on by playing in the past was out of the question. We loved each other too much for that.

I sighed as I let my head thunk back against the headboard, my fingers light over the keys so I didn't accidently hit something that would choose a verdict for me. I was tempted to call Tara to find out how Ben was, but I hadn’t done it yesterday or the day before, so I didn’t feel like I had the right to now.

The sudden growl of my stomach gave me a few minutes to put off finalizing the travel plans that should’ve been easy to make, but that I was still hesitating over for some reason. I hadn't eaten anything since we'd had breakfast at the little 24-hr diner down the street this morning, and couldn't think this hard on an empty stomach, so I flipped through the phonebook on the nightstand for a local pizza joint. After placing the order for the ham and pineapple pizza that was Max's favorite, I gave the pizzeria the phone number and address to the motel. Since I'd been told it would be twenty minutes or so before the order was ready, I was caught off guard by the ringing of my cell about five minutes later. Thinking the delivery guy was lost and calling for directions, I answered without looking at the caller I.D.

"Trammel."

"Uncle Sam?"

I blinked at the soft, familiar female voice. "Adelyn?

"Yeah, it's me... Are you okay?"

The hesitancy in her tone combined with the question set an immediate mood to the conversation. I glanced over at the bathroom door before I got up to move away from the background noise of the shower, to one of the overstuffed armchairs by the window. I settled into it and put the phone on speaker so that I didn’t have to hold the phone by my ear.

"Yeah, sweetheart, I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You're not hurt?"

"No, I'm not hurt," I said. “I’m just spending a few days with Uncle Max before he leaves for Afghanistan again. “I wasn’t sure how much she knew, though it was doubtful that being as street smart as life had forced her to become, she actually believed that Max and I would just take off without saying goodbye. But it was all I had to work with right now. “I heard that A.J.’s been keeping you company.”

“Yeah, he’s here.” Adelyn paused. When she spoke again, her voice was soft, devoid of its usual sass. "Look… I know something bad happened between you and Father Ben. I was the one that opened the door when he and Tara came to the house to see if you were with us yesterday." There was another long pause, and I could feel her anxiety even over the line. "Did...did you do that to his face?"

I closed my eyes. Since I'd arrived in Florida, I'd sworn to Adelyn that I'd never hurt her or her family, and now Ben was living proof that I'd broken my promise. Clearing my throat made only a marginal change in the rasp of my voice.

"Yeah, Addie, I did." I didn't try and explain the nightmares or the PTSD. None of that mattered now that I'd confirmed to my niece that I really was the monster under the bed.

She was quiet for so long, I was convinced she'd hung up on me, but then her voice came over the line again. "Mami sent me and Emma upstairs, but I came back down to listen and Father Ben was talking to Mami, A.J. and Tara in the kitchen. He was so upset, Uncle Sam. He kept saying that what happened to him was an accident, but that you blamed yourself and he was afraid you’d do something stupid...” She paused and I could hear the sharp inhale of her breath before she released it in a noisy whoosh. “They told Emma and me that you were with Uncle Max, but the way Father Ben was talking… I thought you were never going to come home again."

I was expecting rage. Maybe confusion. But never in a million years would I have expected the tears suddenly thickening my niece’s voice, and I felt my heart break. I'd stayed away from Florida for five years because I'd allowed Connor to get into my head and make me believe I was protecting my family by cutting myself out of their lives. I'd told myself the same thing when I’d left Ben’s hospital room. In neither scenario had walking away turned out well for me. The hitch in my niece's soft breathing didn't point toward the third time being any kind of charm.

"I'm sorry I scared you, Addie,” I said quietly. “I should've called to let you know I was okay. But honestly, I’m fine. I’ll be—"

"I know about your PTSD Uncle Sam,” she said, cutting me off into stunned silence as I blinked at the cell in my hands, unable to stop the immediate stiffening of my spine. My denial died on my lips when she said, "And don't try to lie to me about it because you think you're protecting me. I'm not some dumb kid, and you know I’m tough enough to handle the truth. So… just don’t lie."

There was a hint of the old, hard brass in her voice, though her pitch was still soft. I pressed down hard along the bridge of my nose as I slowly exhaled. She was tough, and considering I’d told her the truth about Connor and still hadn’t told Sofia, she deserved the truth.

"Who told you I had PTSD?"

"Father Ben. He heard me moving around outside the kitchen and asked Mami if he could speak to me alone. She said it was okay, so we sat in the living room and talked. He doesn't treat me like a kid, so he told me that what happened... That you flipped out after you had a nightmare because you have PTSD. I've heard about that on the news and stuff, but didn't know all the details so he let me Google it on my phone… Then we just talked..."

I closed my eyes because I could hear her crying openly now. I’d seen her break down before, but just the audio of sniffles, and soft, broken sounds without any visuals, was almost worse.

"I... I saw Father Ben's face when I opened the door and all I could think was that you lied to me, to all of us, and that you were just like Dad after all. But when Father Ben talked to me in the living room, he wasn't mad at you. He was just sad and said you might leave again because you were scared and would rather let us hate you for leaving without saying goodbye again, than accidentally hurt us. He said that’s how much you love us. Is that true?"

"Of course I love you all, Addie, but it's complicated—"

Her exhale rattled nosily over the line as she cut me off. "Stop it! You said that life’s all about choices, and that sometimes yours have sucked. If you leave us again, that's going to be the suckiest one."

"Adelyn..."

Words failed me but she filled in the blank, her voice soft but more confident despite the thickness of her tears when she said, "You're nothing like Dad was, and you’re not the same person, no matter what you look like, or because whatever you saw in Afghanistan messed you up a little. I’m a little messed up, and you haven’t given up on me, so I’m not giving up on you. You’re our family, and we love and trust you. I trust you... Just come home Uncle Sam…. We’re all works in process like you said, so we can fix things together... Just come home and let us help. Please."

I'd returned to Florida to try and right all the wrongs Connor and I'd committed, stuck on the idea that I had to fix everything for my family before I could even consider being forgiven. That had been my fixation for so long, that I hadn't realized I'd already reached that goal. They'd given me their love, but it took hearing Adelyn’s soft speech to help me see it. I didn’t need to fix their lives for them. I just needed to show the fuck up and keep showing up. My family needed me, but I needed them just as much. Maybe more.

I couldn't answer for a long moment. When I did, my voice was rough. "I love you, Addie."

"I know, so I expect to see you home tonight, or by tomorrow morning at the latest.”

“I’ll be there tonight. I promise.”

“Good. I'm going to go now. Tell Uncle Max I said bye."

She disconnected the call as Max came out of the bathroom dressed in the sweats and t-shirt we’d picked up at a local Walmart. He’d obviously caught the tail end of the conversation since I’d had it on speaker. When he smiled at me, it wasn't the smile of a happy man. But he didn't look angry either when I said, “I’m sorry. I have to go home. Tell your parents I’ll visit as soon as I can.”

He just nodded, then leaned in and brushed the lightest kiss across my mouth. Not a sexy hello, but a definite goodbye.

Max pulled back and the feel of his lips where he’d pressed a kiss against my wrist, lingered long after he watched me exit out of the fight reservation screen.

* * *

I hadn't dropped Max off at the airport because he'd insisted he take a cab so I could drive his rental back for him. We'd said our goodbyes back at the motel, though he promised he’d text me when he got to Jersey so I’d know he’d arrived safely. I’d promised to do the same once I was back at Sofia’s.

On my way back to her house, I took a brief detour first to the private beach that Connor and I'd discovered as kids on one of our many adventures of avoidance from our father. It was more rocks than water— a place meant for sitting and thinking, not swimming. Though I hadn't been here in years, it was easy to find the spot that we'd claimed as ours when we were ten and felt like nothing could touch us here.

When I sat on the very edge of the cliff—both my legs and the edge of my ass hanging off the lip—that same sense of exhilaration I'd felt as a kid, rippled up my spine. All it would take was the wrong shift in balance, and I'd fall into the sweep of the riptides below. Connor and I'd faced the danger with adolescent bravado as we got older, daring life to do its worst, believing things could never get any worse than they were at whatever point in time we found ourselves overlooking the ocean. Sitting there now, I silently accepted the challenge of chancing potential failure, instead of hiding behind all my bullshit. That was the only way I’d ever be able to move forward.

I watched the water until the sun started to set, then went back to the car.

By the time I’d returned Max's rental to the dealership and called a cab to drop me back off at Sofia's, it was almost eleven p.m. I texted Max that I’d arrived, and after paying my fare, I hesitated at the base of the driveway. The porch light was still on, gently illuminating Sofia and Adelyn sitting Indian style on the porch swing.

Sofia smiled as soon as she saw me, not saying a word as she scooted over so I could sit between her and Adelyn. She put the swing into gentle motion with one slim foot planted firmly on the floor, the other drawn up so her bare toes peeked out from beneath the hem of her pink pajama bottoms. My throat felt tight, and I struggled over what I should say until she slid her hand over mine without looking at me, and just held it tight. Adelyn did the same without any hesitation.

None of us said anything as we just sat there and exhaled in the silence that was broken only by the low hum of the cicadas. I don't know how long we sat there, but eventually they let go so we could all stand up. Sofia immediately tucked close to my side and slid her arm around my waist. I slowly put my arm over her shoulders, then walked with her into the house after Addie opened the front door for us. I froze for a moment when we entered the kitchen, fighting down the panic that slammed into me immediately. I knew I was awake, home and safe, but the nightmare that had put Ben in the hospital still floated around in the recesses of my mind, and it took everything I had not to run out of there.

Steady, Sam. You can do this. It’s time to man up.

I swallowed hard, but Sofia didn't move away from me. She just shifted to take my hand instead. "Emma tried to stay up and wait for you, but she fell asleep around nine p.m. You should wake her up."

"Sofia I—"

"She'll be happy to see you, Sam," she said gently. "And you need to see her too. Go ahead." When my feet didn’t cooperate straight away, she gave me a soft push towards the living room.

I looked over at Adelyn who smiled. "I'm glad you're back, Uncle Sam."

I nodded, not trusting my voice. I’d had to come back, had wanted to come back, but desire and ease didn’t always go hand in hand.

Man up.

After a moment, I exhaled slowly and walked into the living room. The TV was still on, but Emma was oblivious to the noise. She was curled up fast asleep on the couch beneath a colorful crocheted throw, one little foot sticking out beneath the edge. I was as gentle as possible when I tucked it back under the blanket after I sat down on the edge of the couch, but the light touch still woke her immediately.

She blinked, her expression confused with the disorientation of sleep for a minute. I knew when she registered my presence completely because she smiled. A smile so full of pure love, that I almost broke down. This was real. It was also hard and messy, and it sure as fuck wouldn’t be an easy road back home, but this was real. They were real, and I was theirs as much as they were mine.

"Hi Uncle Sam. Are you staying now?"

I nodded without any of the second guessing I'd experienced when she'd asked me almost the exact same question when I’d first arrived in Florida.

"Yeah, honey. We need to pick out that green stocking for me for Christmas."

Emma’s eyes lit up as she crawled into my lap. I let her get comfortable, then tucked the throw around her again so she was comforted by its warmth, and I was comforted by hers. We cuddled up on the couch until her breathing slowly evened out, and mine eventually matched it.

I didn't realize I'd fallen asleep until the scent of maple syrup teased my senses, and I opened my eyes. Blinking against the light, I experienced a brief moment of panic, unsure if I was still dreaming. But then I felt Emma snuggle closer against me. She smelled like strawberry shampoo, and the little plastic balls on her long braid were digging into my midsection. I rested my hand lightly on her back, then looked up when I noticed Addie standing in the doorway, wearing purple pajama bottoms printed with hippopotamuses, and a bright pink tank top. She was fresh-faced, her hair pulled back and piled high on her head in a messy bun. There were two plates of food in her hand.

She sat on the edge of the couch, the set one plate in front of me on the coffee table. When I saw the Mickey Mouse pancakes, my breath hitched, and she met my eyes with a small, but gentle smile.

"Welcome home, Uncle Sam."

Fuck it. If this was a dream, I'd deal.

***

It took me two more entire days before I decided that manning up meant a lot more than just going home to people who’d already forgiven me. In order to move forward, I needed to start walking towards the person who I wanted to be part of my life when I came out on the other side of all the therapy and reprogramming as I tried to really adjust to my new life.

That didn’t mean that I had any idea what I was going to say to Ben when I saw him, but like Max said, I had to try. After showering and putting on jeans and a plain white T-shirt since I didn’t know how me showing up in the one Ben had left with me would play out, I bypassed breakfast and headed out toward his place, knowing it was too early for him to have left for work yet. I made the drive in silence, not even putting the radio on, though that meant I was left alone with a million and one thoughts swirling around in my brain. Thoughts that silently ping ponged back and forth between hopeful that Ben would hear me out, and surety that he'd tell me to go fuck myself.

It didn’t matter which way things went. I just had to see him and apologize in person, hard as that would be. Doing penance wasn’t because you expected forgiveness, but because you had to pay for your sins.

After taking a slow breath, I parked in his driveway, then made my way up the steps to his front door. My hands curled into fists at my side before I raised the left one and knocked lightly. My throat tightened as I looked around at the familiar plants in their colorful pots that matched the ones on his back deck where we’d spent so many mornings watching the run rise, wrapped up in one another as we chuckled, and exchanged kisses and hopes for the future. A future I might have napalmed.

I rubbed my sweaty palms dry on my jeans. I could hear the soft crash of the ocean in the background, and when the door didn’t open by my third Mississippi count, desperate optimism made me wonder if Ben hadn’t heard the knock because of the sea’s natural soundtrack. It was better than believing he was deliberately ignoring me, because I didn’t have any idea how to handle the second situation. It wasn’t like I had a lot of options if he was intentionally ignoring me. Even though I still had the spare key to the house, letting myself into his place like I had any right to after how I’d behaved, was a no-go.

This was Ben’s world, not mine. He might’ve invited me into it before, and even given me carte blanche, but now that I’d possibly blown it with him for good, I was back to requesting permission status. Of course, that also meant I was back to reciting my internal mantra to man the fuck up, adding a mental prompt to knock again as I chose to think that the ocean backdrop had drowned out the sound of my first one. As I raised my fist, the door opened and I registered the fact that Ben was dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, not clerical garb, and holding a fragrant cup of coffee, a heartbeat before I had the courage to meet his eyes-the left was still swimming in a sea of colorful bruises, and I curled my hands at my side to prevent my desire to soothe the injured parts with gentle fingers.

“Hey, Ben,” I said.

He arched an eyebrow at the trite greeting. I winced. Partly because I registered my own stupid words, and partly because of his reaction. Lifting an eyebrow was a small gesture, but I need from experience that it had to hurt. Having grown up kicked to shit more often than not by my father, I knew that sometimes even blinking could feel impossible with a black eye.

“Sam.”

Ben blinked, then narrowed his eyes slightly, as if he felt no pain from small movements. I wasn’t sure if it was because he was angry and wondering why the hell I was on his porch, or whether his vision was strained because I was standing in a position unintentionally backlit by the sun. I couldn’t do anything about his anger right now, but I shifted to the side to get out of the sun so that he could see me clearly.

“What are you doing here?”

That was direct, but I could work with direct. Less opportunity for mixed signals.

“I….” I swallowed as I slid my hands into my pockets. “I’m not proud of how I handled things at the hospital, and I wanted to see how you were… To talk. Face to face.”

“I see.”

But do you?

During none of the time that I’d known Ben, had he been a man of very few words. This was monosyllable artistry at its finest, but he didn’t seem hostile. A little uneasy, and cautiously detached maybe, but not angry enough to call the cops on me. Not yet anyway. Hopefully that was promising.

“Look, Ben, I screwed up,” I said. “Leaving the hospital the way that I did was mistake. I should’ve stayed with you. At the very least I should’ve called you the next day to see how you were. Tara shouldn’t have been the one who Took you home. That was my job as your boyfriend.”

“Tara’s one of my best friends, and you practically ghosted me.” Ben sounded more hurt than angry, which didn’t help my own mental standing as asshole of the year. “It’s been almost a week since I last saw or talked to you, Sam.”

“I…” Shit. It was tough to argue with straight math. “I know, and I shouldn’t have come over without calling first. I just needed to see you to tell you that I’m so sorry, Ben. For all of it-accidentally hurting you because of all my damn damage, for ghosting you, for making you deal with the fall out on your own when I was the reason you were in the hospital in the first place. I’m your partner. I should’ve—”

“You left with Max.” That was all he said, but the way he watched me silently, barely blinking, made the words practically ring with accusation.

I blinked. “Ben… It wasn’t like that. Max and I… nothing happened between us.”

“Nothing happened between you and the man you’ve loved since you were a teenager? The same man who made it very clear the first night I met him, that he wanted you the same way?”

Damnit. “Ben, nothing happened. I swear. I told you before that when Max came back, nothing would change between you and I. And it didn’t. I never quit you.”

“And yet you did, because when the doctors asked if my partner was going to drive me home because you were who I listed as my emergency contact, I had to tell them to call Tara instead.”

I winced. “I know… I didn’t want to risk hurting you again, so I ran. And it was a stupid choice…”

“Yes, you ran. Straight to your former lover because you think I’m not strong enough to handle you, but apparently, he can.”

Ben’s tone was flat, harder than I’d ever heard it. Combined with the new rasp from his healing vocal cords, he sounded like a complete stranger.

I swallowed hard, unsure about how to answer that in a way that wouldn’t make him even angrier. Being upset with me for abandoning him in the hospital was justified, but telling him that yeah, Max was trained in hand-to-hand combat, and take down techniques that Ben wasn’t, wouldn’t go over well, no matter how true it was. Ben had never been macho about anything, but he was still a man, and male pride was a pain in the ass that usually made itself known in even the most easy-going people after it was injured.

“Max has been dealing with my shit for years, so he took me to a motel where I could safely get stupidly drunk before he went up one side of me, and down the other hard. He reminded me that I don’t get to just check out or run away when life gets complicated. And that’s what I’ve been doing. Even when I thought I was moving forward, I wasn’t doing it the right way. I should’ve gone to a therapist straight off the bat and gotten myself straightened out so even a fish could survive me.”

Ben looked confused and I sighed. “Never mind. The point is that Max told me to stop being a scared asshole, and to get my house in order because…you… you’re who I want living in It with me…”

“So, this…you being here… this is because of Max?”

And damn, just when I thought his tone couldn’t get any more unhappily level, it completely flatlined. Pride was a real thing, but so was jealousy.

I couldn’t blame Ben. After letting myself open up to him, and sharing everything that I had, I’d iced him out, and he’d had over five days to come up with the worst possible scenarios in his head as to why. Knowing that I’ve been with Max for at least part of that time, couldn’t have helped.

I sighed. “No, it’s not because of Max. He was just the delivery system of all the facts I already knew, but didn’t want to face. Ben,” I said quietly. “He knows I love you. Pushing you away is on me. I own that mistake, and I’m sorry, but I want to figure this out…figure us out. I want…” I sighed again as I removed my hands from my pockets to scrub them restlessly over the top of my own head. This wasn’t going well at all. I’d expected that, but I hadn’t been able to come up with any viable plan B.

“I made a promise to myself that I’d never let anyone hurt you, and then I did….and in my head, and my heart, that felt like the worst possible betrayal of everything I feel for you. I felt like a failure, and like… look…it doesn’t really matter,” I said, hearing my own tone getting thicker. “What matters is that I thought the right answer was to push you and my family away to keep you all safe. That was the wrong call. Quitting on myself is the same as quitting on all of you. Max just pointed that out because he’s my friend. He told me I’d messed up by considering leaving Florida again. For considering…something as stupid as it was permanent, to get myself out of my family’s way… and yours…”

Ben swallowed hard, looking away for a moment as his own eyes closed, features pained. He was so angry with me, but obviously he’d read between the lines and still cared enough that even mentioning my consideration of suicide as an answer to my issues, gutted him..

“I’m sorry, Ben,” I whispered. “But I’ve done a lot of thinking since that day after Max helped me get my head out of my ass, and decided that there are too many things I consider worth fighting for to just check out.”

“Yeah?” Ben opened his eyes, sounding warily interested.

I shifted my weight as I slid my hands back into my pockets because the urge to touch him was getting overwhelming. He seemed to be listening to me now, so I didn’t want to spook him and have him shut down again. “Yeah. I called the place Whelan told me about, and I’m going to start meeting with a counselor weekly. I met her yesterday. I also found a local AA group and went to a meeting last night. ”

Ben nodded slowly. “That’s… that’s good, Sam.”

“It is,” I agreed, holding my ground though I felt nauseous. “Because before I can be all the things I want to be to other people, I need to get myself together, and to a place where I can handle my problems without feeling like I have to shove everyone away. My family. My friends.” I inhaled deep and slow, then released It just as slowly, but my words still came out soft and unsure. “My boyfriend.”

Ben flinched, and my heart dropped to my knees. I didn’t want to risk taking my eyes off of him to pick up the pieces.

“I’m going to get help for that,” I said quietly. “I should’ve done it a long time ago, but it’s happening now. I’m even considering going back to tech school at some point down the line for auto mechanics. Maybe open my own shop one day where kids from Maplewood who are interested, can come and learn skills to give them a sense of pride and accomplishment. Fixing things has always done that for me whenever I felt like I needed a break from what was in my head.”

“Oh.” Ben’s expression softened around the edges, and I felt a surge of hope.

Please Ben. Please see that I know I screwed everything up, but I’m trying to fix it.

“That…actually sounds like a great idea. You should reach out to Sloane when you figure out the details.”

“I will. Ben…” I paused, studying him before I added softly, “I’m not asking you to take me back because I finally figured out how to unwedge my head from my ass. I’m asking you to give me a chance to prove that I’m ready to go forward for real this time. What we had always real to me, but it was built on Jenga blocks of a past life I still haven’t fully addressed, and it toppled because I wasn’t strong enough to handle the shift. That’s on me.” I swallowed sounding the tired, desperate note in my own voice. “I know that I messed up, but I don’t know what else I can say or do to fix this. If there is something, just tell me please, because I don’t want to lose you. I love you, Ben.”

Ben stiffened and the softening expression in his eyes vanished. His jaw worked subtly as he adjusted his grip on the coffee cup in his hand. He didn’t say anything, though.

Our eyes met, and my heart pounded. Tell me I haven’t already lost you.

After a long moment, Ben took a deep breath. “Sam...” He moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, his expression unreadable, and I had a fleeting second to think I might’ve gotten through to him. Please, Ben.

He shook his head slightly as his eyes met mine. I saw love in them, but also, so much hurt. “Your whole life is in flux right now, Sam.” Ben sounded exhausted and resigned. I would have preferred his wrath, but he’d always been the better man. “When you find your footing and figure out all the small details to fill out your plans, will there actually be room for me?”

“What do you mean? I want to be with you.”

“I know you do, but having a plan is one thing. Being able to see it through to fruition when complications arise is something else entirely. You’ve already proven that when things get hard you…” He made a gesture like a plane taking off.

I deserved that, but the words still stung. “I know and that part’s done. I’m here to stay, and I just want the chance to prove that to you. We can take things slow and do this together like you said. I’m getting help, and A.J. and I can teach you to better defend yourself in any situ—"

“Don’t,” he said softly as he cut me off. “Just... don’t. I love you, but I chose to be alone and celibate for years because after living the life I used to, I decided that when I gave my heart, it would be to someone who understood the value of it. I thought you did.” Breaking eye contact, he stepped back and when he began to turn, I got the briefest glimpse of what looked like the ball chain my dog tags had been strung on, around his neck beneath his t-shirt. The door closed before I could ask him if he was still wearing them. But if he was, that had to mean something.

I fumbled my phone as I removed it from my rear jean pocket, catching it before it clumsily before it hit the floor. Exhaling, I opened up my ongoing text string with Ben.

Sam: Can I please come in so we can we talk about this?

Four, then Five Mississippi’s came and went, but my phone didn’t ping with a response, so I tried again.

Sam: Ben, please…

Several more minutes passed. Long enough that Ben could’ve opened the door if he wanted to answer me in person. Definitely long enough that he could’ve responded to the message, even if it was just to say no. His silence was my answer.