It burns so fuckin’ bad to remember the look on Perrin’s face when I opened up about what happened in Iraq. What the fuck’s wrong with me? I never should have told her any of that. Serves me right.

  This is exactly what I deserve. After all the decisions we had to make over there, we’re haunted by our nightmares even in waking hours. It’s like we can’t escape no matter how much we try.

  Now, Perrin thinks I’m a monster.

  I need to count the cracks again. It helps to clear my mind, so other, more unpleasant memories don’t float to the surface. No, that’s not true. They still push to the forefront, but I keep counting, and eventually they drift away.

  Loud banging echoes down the hallway.

  I jump out of bed and stagger down the hallway. My equilibrium must be off from rising so quickly, but I need to see if it’s Perrin. For a brief moment, I let myself hope she changed her mind about what a monster I am.

  I swing the door open with so much force, it crashes into the wall. My heart plummets to see Walters standing on the doorstep.

  “Espocito, we need to find Rodriguez. He checked himself out of rehab last week and no one’s heard from him since. Get dressed, let’s go.”

  What hair Walters does have is standing out at all different angles, his eyes are bloodshot, and it looks like he hasn’t shaved in a week.

  “Walters,” I croak. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, bacano. How did Rodriguez check himself out?” I brace my hands on the doorframe and lean into it. Otherwise, I might just collapse on the floor.

  “He was voluntarily checked in, so he could sign himself out at any time. We thought he was doing better, but his mental health just took a nose dive. He checked himself out last week and no one’s heard from him. Rod hasn’t talked to Veve in weeks, probably since you last saw him. He was supposed to report back to Fort Bragg this last Wednesday, and he was AWOL. The Commander is aware of his stint in rehab, and there’s talk of kicking him out. That’s the worst thing that could happen right now.”

  That’s a lot to process when my brain’s not functioning properly. The one thing that’s clear, Rodriguez needs us. I can’t do anything about my situation with Perrin, but I’ll do everything in my power to help Rod.

  “Give me ten minutes. I need to shower, and I need coffee; otherwise I won’t be any good to you.” I jog back down the hallway and turn on the shower. Perrin’s shower gel and shampoo are in the corner rack of the tub. Her toothbrush and facewash are on the sink. There are signs everywhere of how she’s ingrained herself into my life, and faster than two breaths, she’s gone. Just like that. It’s a wonder if she’ll come back to get her things. I don’t think she wants to be in the presence of a monster anytime soon, so chances are slim.

  I take the quickest shower since we had to do the shower drills in basic. No time to waste, I dress and rush back into the living room. Walters is studying a few pictures Perrin had framed last week. One of us that Mariana took while we were dancing.

  We had started to do bachata every day, and Mariana would pop in from time to time with different outfits or shoes for Butternut. She would only wear the red burju shoes, though. One time Mariana took a picture of us before we knew she was there. We were in the middle of a turn, looking at each other with an extreme level of heat. We definitely perfected the sexy faces of bachata. My hands are on her hips, while her arms are up in the air. We’re oblivious to everything around us, and nothing could penetrate our world.

  The next picture was right after a survival class she helped with. It was those damned boy scouts again, and they kept drooling over her every time she walked by. It took every last strand of patience to restrain myself from putting those fuckers into headlocks. Right after everyone left, she came up to me and kissed me on the chin, and said in our matching khaki shorts and black shirts, we needed a selfie. I bent my head down and nuzzled her cheek, grinning even as I tried to nip her. She was beaming, and her eyes were sparkling so bright, the first time I saw the photo, my heart stopped.

  Perrin had both printed out and framed on the bookcase in the living room. When she put them up, I had this deep sense of domestic bliss, or what I imagined it would be like.

  “She’s a looker. Damn near lost my head when I saw her that first time,” Walters comments while studying the picture. “You look good with her, I’m happy for you.”

  He turns around and something on my face gives him pause.

  “Everything’s good on the homefront, yeah?” He takes a step toward me.

  “Nah. Nothing is good right now. I fucked up last night, so bad that I don’t think I’ll get her back.” I step around him and open the front door. His steps are heavy as he follows behind me. He never did learn the art of stealth.

  “Sorry to hear that, son. Anything I can help with?”

  “No. It’s completely my fault. Perrin’s been working with me on trying to get over memory flashbacks, and I got comfortable with her. I shouldn’t have. I shoulda known that she would never understand what we lived through.” My head falls as we reach his rental car. “No one can understand the decisions we have to live with every day.”

  I hear the snick of the doors unlocking, and I pop the door open to take a seat. Walters gets into the driver’s side but doesn’t start the car. After a long minute, I turn to find him scrutinizing me.

  “I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but no one will ever understand us. In their eyes, we will always be the ones that could have changed the world but decided to follow orders. If they knew the details, they wouldn’t see us as heroes, they’d look at us with disgust and pity. These people here, the civilians, they don’t have a clue the kind of bravery and fear each of our men and women possess. Hell, I don’t even understand it. Sometimes when I look in the mirror, I only see this savage villain. Because no war is won by angels, and it damn sure isn’t fought for holy intentions. We allow ourselves to slide into that role in the hopes of protecting the people we love, of saving them from the same sacrifice.” Walters starts the car, but before he backs out, he levels me with the most intense stare I’ve ever received from him. “Know this, son. We may be the monsters people believe us to be, but we became those monsters to preserve their innocence. You’re a good man, and I hope you can see that when you look in the mirror.”

  His words reverberate through my head, and I’m so shocked by what he’s just laid on me that I can’t form a response or acknowledgment to what he said. His outlook on life is damn sad, but at the same time startlingly accurate. We are those monsters. We will always be those monsters, and no matter the goal of the governments, the serving men and women embraced this life with all its issues so our loved ones continue to be free.

  Through the day we searched every known location where Rod could potentially be hanging out or buying drugs. Denver is a large area, so we hit the hot spots first and then worked our way outward.

  Nothing.

  Not a single sign that he’s been here.

  “I don’t think he stayed in this area, and why would he? He would have suspected we would come looking for him and high-tailed it somewhere else.” I slam another door closed in the abandoned section of the industrial block.

  “As much as I want to deny it, you’re right. Rod had to have gone somewhere else.” Walters walks over to a homeless person in the corner and hands him a twenty from his wallet. I wait until he comes back to ask him about it.

  “What was that about?” I’m not against charity, and I give back when I can, but I don’t like to support the drug and alcohol habits of others.

  “Did you see the tattoo on his arm? He’s prior service, and now he’s homeless. Believe it or not, that happens to so many veterans that can’t integrate back into society. I would hope that someone would show me a little kindness if I ever found myself in the same position.”

  My mind blanks as I process what he says. He’s right. How many homeless veterans are out there not getting the help they need—whether their situation is self-inflicted or not.

  We search through every building and all the spots that Walters has been tracking for the last few months. Nothing. He’s ghosted us good.

  One week later…

  “How’s she doing?” I’m desperate for any tidbits I can get. Fuckin’ pathetic. I’m glad Danny can’t see me right now. Actually, it’s probably better that I can’t see the pity written all over his face. Staring at the dirt and grime on the building wall is a much better alternative.

  “She’s…meh. You can tell her heart’s been broken, and it tears my own heart out. I’ve tried talking to her, but I don’t want to tell her how to think. I’m trying to lead her to the right conclusion, kid.” Danny coughs down the line.

  “I’ve called her a hundred times, but she won’t return my calls. I don’t know what else to do to get her to see me. I don’t want to stalk her and make her uncomfortable. What can I do?” I’m gripping my phone so tight it starts to crack. I immediately loosen my hold and fall into the metal chair in the corner.

  At the same time, Mariana bursts into the room. I straighten up, just in case something serious is going on. She smiles and skips over to the table where I’m sitting, and I relax.

  “Time is the only thing you can give her. I’ll keep working on her. She needs to understand how it is, but it’s gonna take time.”

  I heave a defeated sigh. “Yeah, all right… Listen, Mariana just stopped by. I’ll catch you later.”

  “You got it, kid.”

  Three beeps sound in my ear, then I toss the phone on the table.

  “Guess what, Emil?” She shouts and waves her hands animatedly in the air.

  “You talked Perrin into coming over?” I scrutinize her for any tells that she talked to Perrin.

  Her smile cracks and fades away. “Oy, Emil. No, I haven’t spoken to her in a few days.” She kneels and wraps her arms around me. I can’t return it. My hands ball up into fists on top of my thighs.

  “What did you come to tell me?”

  “I just wanted to tell you it’s official. Teo and I got offers today. I thought it would be good news.” She tightens her hug, and I manage to raise one hand and pat her on the back.

  “That is great, Mari. That’s the one bright spot I’ve had all week.” And I mean that.

  “What about your friend you were looking for? Did you ever find him?” She releases me and hops up on the table.

  “Nothing. It’s like Rod never existed. Completely dropped off the grid.” I shake my head in exasperation.

  “What does that mean for him? Weren’t you saying that could mean bad things for him?”

  “Yeah, he’s gone AWOL. I talked to Walters yesterday, and Rodriguez is being dishonorably discharged. No more benefits or insurance for his family.” My voice is steady and doesn’t reflect the tragedy of the situation. Veve and Garrett are the ones suffering. Their home is broken apart, and they lost someone important in their life. Even if he does return, he won’t be the same.

  Mariana’s face crumples, and she wipes her nose and sniffs. “That’s just so depressing. There’s no winner in that situation. And that precious baby.” One night when Teo and Mariana were over this week, I filled them in on a little of Rodriguez’s history, which led to Teo helping us search for him, with no success.

  “Do you want company tonight? Teo could pick up steaks, and we could grill.” She poses her question more like a statement.

  “Nah, I just want to be alone for a bit. Danny gave me a book I’ve been meaning to read.” He did give me a book, but I have no plans of reading it.

  “All right, if you’re sure…” She trails off but doesn’t get up to leave.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine with White Fang.” My arms cross over my chest, and I lean the chair back on two legs.

  Mariana looks around the room for a few minutes and then reluctantly slides off the table. “If you need anything, you know how to get a hold of us. We’re down to be your ride-or-die bitches, any time.” That pulls a tiny smirk from me, but I quickly suppress it.

  “Of course. Teo will be the first to know if I need a ride-or-die bitch.”

  She snickers as she struts to the door. That girl was always a firecracker.

  The silence is too loud in the barn, so I amble into the kitchen to grab a beer and make a sandwich. Ham and cheese. Dinner fit for preschoolers.

  Every little noise echoes in the quiet. I open the door to the fridge, and the condiments clink together. When I toss the ham on the counter, the plastic scrapes against the cheap, Formica counter. The fridge door slams shut, jarring the whole thing.

  The bread is stale but still edible. I slap the sandwich together, excess mustard leaking from the sides. My phone starts to vibrate, and I lean over to check out the name. Andrews.

  I let voicemail pick it up and grab a paper towel for my sandwich. I get everything balanced in my hands when the buzzing starts again. My stomach plummets as I stare at the phone. The last time I got repeated calls like that, Collins had gotten into a car wreck.

  The call ends as I stare at the screen. Then it starts again.

  I hold my breath as I watch the screen go black and instantly light up.

  I extend my hand almost sluggishly. I tap the green button and lift it to my ear.

  “Andrews.” My tone is solemn, and I don’t even know what’s wrong.

  “Espocito—” Andrews sniffs before starting again. “Fucking Walters, man. I can’t believe it. Of all people, I wouldn’t have expected it of him. He always tried so hard to keep us together.”

  My brain won’t allow me to go where he’s hinting. No way would Walters do something like that. No fuckin’ way.

  “The cleaning staff found him. He had empty bottles of Ambien and Jack beside him.” A sob escapes Andrews, but he continues, “We need someone to go identify him at the morgue. I know this is fucked up, and I know we’ve seen way too many brothers dead, but can you go? You’re the only one there.”

  My nose burns, and it feels like a blowfish has taken residence in my throat, expanding so wide that I can’t breathe or swallow.

  “There’s a note. Several notes.”

  “I’ll go.” I gasp as it hits me. Walters, the NCO we all looked up to, who made the tough decisions so we didn’t have to, committed suicide.

  “I’m sorry, man. This is so screwed up. Higgins and I’ll make the arrangements. He didn’t have any family, so we’ll have his funeral there, that way we aren’t transporting the…the body.”

  Walters is reduced to a body. He won’t ever knock on my door again or knock back a few beers, shooting the shit about everything and nothing.

  “What morgue?” I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep, steadying breath.

  “Phillips. West of Denver. I’ll call and let them know to expect you.” Andrews’s voice breaks again, and his breathing is heavy down the line.

  “Roger. I’ll text you later.”

  We disconnect, and without even thinking about it, I throw my phone hard at the wall. The phone leaves a decent dent in the plaster and falls to the ground. The screen cracks, and a chunk of plastic from one end goes flying across the floor.

  “ARGH!” I scream into the room.

  Is this the life I signed up for, a life of loss and misery?

  I snatch my keys off the hook and angrily stomp down the porch stairs to my truck.

  I hold onto the anger that has infiltrated my mind. I can handle the rage. It’s the despair that tears me down.

  A blue tinge covers his face and body. I touch his fingers and feel the stiffness from rigor mortis. The sheet’s pulled up to his chin, but his fingers stick out of the side. His eyes are closed, and his face is slack in a way that it never was in life.

  I turn away and march to the door.

  “That’s Walters.” My eyes blur from the tears that crowd my vision. This has gotta be one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. It makes me grateful I was deployed when Mai passed. I don’t think I could have seen her in this state. That would have been a whole different set of nightmares to live with. At least this way I can remember her as she was the last time I saw her. Vibrant, happy.

  “Sir.” The coroner follows me. “We have his personal items that you can sign out. I’ve ruled the cause of death as a suicide, so you’re free to take the notes as well. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  I merely nod and keep walking to the front. I don’t know where they have his things, but they can bring them to me.

  I sign a few release papers that are pushed my way, and I walk to the window. The coroner tells the front desk to get Walters’s belongings and makes his escape, his footsteps echoing as he walks away.

  I’m only at the window for a few minutes when I hear a timid “Mr. Espocito?” When I turn around, the receptionist is standing there holding several sealed plastic bags and rolling a suitcase beside her. They really did take all of his belongings. Someone must have packed his things up as he was being processed. I guess he wouldn’t be there to pay for the room, so why would they keep his clothes? Now they can rent the space out again.

  “Thanks,” I mumble and take the items from her hands. I’m not aware of walking to my truck. One minute I’m in the lobby, and now I’m standing at the door to my vehicle. I can’t shake off the emotions railroading my body and soul. There’s no use for feelings now.

  The suitcase is light, not nearly enough for any decent stay. But Walters hasn’t been staying long. Only on the weekends. I place the luggage on the back seat of the truck and climb into the driver’s seat. I pick up the clear plastic bag and break the seal. Inside are a series of envelopes. About twenty in total, each labeled with a different name and date. I stop when I see an envelope addressed to Collins. An uncontrollable tear rolls down my cheek. This makes me wonder how long he planned this. Long enough that he started writing his letters before Collins died? That was months ago. I wonder why he would keep it. Maybe he was a sentimental bastard and never let that side of himself show.

  I thumb through the rest until I find the one marked Espocito.

 

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