by Rye Hart
“Fuck man. Good soldiers like you don’t come along every day. Your replacement has some serious shoes to fill.”
“Well, give him hell, just not the hell that was given to me.”
My platoon was throwing the party, and Paxton told me I had to make an appearance. Callen Paxton had been my right-hand man through some of the most treacherous shit.
Hell, Paxton saw it all through with me. He wasn’t trying to convince me to stay in the navy. Unlike everyone else, Paxton understood why I didn’t want to “put in my twenty,” then retire and do whatever the fuck I wanted.
The truth was the last tour altered my life forever.
I didn’t want to bullshit everyone, and pretend to be unhappy about leaving, but I knew I’d regret not seeing my platoon one last time, so I stuck it out.
Those men and I were thick as thieves, all of us. We’d been through hell and back, pierced stormy waters with the bows of our Navy ships, and bunked in beds that almost didn’t hold the muscle we’d all put on toward the end of the last tour. Working out was how all of us relieved the tension and stress from the bullshit that was thrown our way.
It was how I kept my heart pumping when it no longer wanted to.
The night was filled with mindless goodbyes. You’d think a soldier would be good at saying goodbye, but we were the shittiest at it. We said it so often that it became a knee-jerk reaction, but when the goodbye actually meant something, we couldn’t get it out.
I blamed it on the fact that we lost more people than we brought home sometimes.
“You’re a hell of a medic, Canter,” Tom said. “I don’t know what we’re gonna do without you on those ships.”
“I’m sure you’ll train someone just as fine as me to do the work,” I said.
“Highly doubt that. You’re one in a damn million. You gonna try to be a doctor out there in the civilian world?” Lamar asked.
“I’m not really sure. Gonna take some time to figure it all out.”
The Navy was all I knew, ever since I enlisted the moment I turned eighteen. They trained me to be a medic so I could save lives, while simultaneously teaching me how to take a life in case I needed to. It was a dichotomy I’d lived with for fourteen years, and I simply couldn’t handle it anymore. My fuel tank was empty.
Not that I’d let any of these fuckers know it.
“You okay, Canter?” Paxton asked.
I turned my eyes over to him, the man I’d come to consider my best friend, as he walked up toward me. His face was smiling, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes; a side effect of the bullshit wringer we’d gone through not so very long ago.
“On the record? Yep,” I said.
“Off the record, while drinkin’ a beer with your buddy?” he asked.
“Get me the fuck outta here,” I said.
The two of us chuckled before we put the glass bottles to our lips, but then I felt a hand come down onto my shoulder.
“Medical Officer Canter.”
I turned around at the sound of my Captain’s voice and forced a smile.
“Captain Wells,” I said.
He offered me his hand, and I shook it.
“I wanted to come over here and wish you a fond farewell myself,” Wells said.
“Well, I appreciate it,” I said.
“You’re a fine medical officer who’s going to make waves in the medical field out there in the civilian world. That’s one thing I’ve always enjoyed about the Navy. We make sure to prepare our soldiers for life inside and outside of the military.”
“It will do me well, sir,” I said. “That’s for sure.”
“Do you have any plans to become a doctor?” he asked. “You really should. You’ve been a fine one for us.”
“Thank you for the compliment, Captain.”
“Can we drop the bullshit for a second?” he asked.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I said.
I watched his face grow dark, and I wanted to backtrack away from the conversation. I wasn’t ready to address this with the likes of him. I wasn’t ready to talk to him about what happened overseas. I was ready to get this fucking party over with, get out of here, pack my shit, and leave.
Leave and head to the quiet mountains of Gatlinburg, Tennessee.
“I want to thank you, son, for keeping as many of our men alive in that situation as you could.”
I stood there, my face stoic, while Captain Wells continued to ramble on.
“What you did under the terrible circumstances, was something that would make even the strongest of men cave. Whatever place you dug down into—wherever you pulled your strength from—thank you. From myself, from this platoon, and from the United States Navy. You made us all very, very proud.”
Proud?
I made them fucking proud?
This man didn’t have the first idea what I endured. What Paxton endured. The things I had to do and the things I had to witness. This man had no fucking clue.
He had no idea how many times I woke up wishing for death to take us all.
But like a good soldier, I nodded and smiled. “Thank you for that, Captain,” I said.
“And Canter. If you get out into the civilian world, and you need anything, you know where to reach me.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
Honestly, I wouldn’t even know how to fucking contact this man. In my entire career, I’d encountered him only a handful of times. His words lacked meaning, his face lacked any sort of emotional support, and I knew all he was doing was trying to save face. He treated every single opportunity like fucking cameras were following him around, and it made me sick.
“Good luck and Godspeed,” Captain Wells said.
I raised my beer to him, but what I really wanted to do was whack him over the head with the bottle.
I watched him walk away before I turned back to Paxton. His face showed the kind of shock I knew I was feeling, and in an instant, Paxton started laughing. He threw his head back and gripped tightly to his beer, making sure it didn’t spill anywhere while his shoulders shook.
His laughter pulled a chuckle from my throat that soon grew into a billowing roar.
“Holy hell, that man’s full of hot air,” Paxton said.
“He’s a fucking character,” I said.
“Shit, that man has no clue, does he? It’s like he didn’t even come up in the same Navy as us!”
“I’m pretty sure the Navy from 1940 and the Navy now are two different things.”
We laughed until our stomachs hurt before we could finish our drinks. We sat down on some chairs in the corner while people I’d grown to love ate food and came to offer me their congratulations. Soon, the raucous partying died down, and all that was left was the whispering of people in the corners.
“So, where you goin’ from here?” Paxton asked.
“Got a cabin in Tennessee I’m heading to,” I said.
“No shit?” he asked. “Since when?”
“I bought it a few years back with some of my deployment money. Got it paid off and waiting for me for whenever I made this decision.”
“Fuck. I should’ve taken financial advice from you.”
“You’re doin’ just fine for yourself,” I said. “You know that.”
“Well, it could be better. I could stop taking those trips to Vegas.”
“No, you couldn’t,” I said, grinning.
“You’re right. I couldn’t. I love the women out there way too much. Seriously man, is there a more perfect kind of woman?” he asked.
“Probably not,” I said.
“Well, on that note, what are you gonna do once you get to that cabin. Just… hide out?”
“I don’t really know. I just know that, right now, I need some fucking silence.”
A boom sounded off in the distance from the training grounds of our base, and I groaned.
“Shit, I know what you mean,” Paxton said. “Quiet sounds nice.”
“Then you can come visit me anyt
ime,” I said.
A silence fell over us while the two of us started to reflect. Images flashed in my mind. Images of screaming bodies and soldiers with severed limbs. Sounds of people begging for help and reaching out for me - only to be left to die.
I could never reach my hand out far enough.
“Canter, I want to thank—”
“Don’t you dare,” I said darkly.
Paxton’s eyes panned over to me while I pointed my empty beer bottle at him.
“Don’t you dare,” I said again. “You wanna thank me? You come visit me. That’s all the fucking thanks I need.”
“But I really need to—”
“You don’t really need to do anything except finish that damn beer so I can get you another one,” I said.
“But I thought you wanted to blow this gasket sky high,” he said.
“Dude. The beer’s back at my place.”
“Then shit, why the fuck didn’t you say so?”
I watched him throw back the rest of his beer, finishing it in two massive gulps before he slammed his bottle down. I took it from him and tossed the bottles into the recycling bin before we clung to the shadows of the walls. Then, we dumped out into the parking lot and headed for my truck.
“You gonna get yourself a new ride?” Paxton asked.
“Why the fuck would I do that?” I asked.
“Because your truck’s a fucking rust bucket. You’re already turning into some damn mountain man. I see the muscle you’ve been stacking on in the gym. I see that beard. I see your hair growing longer. Soon, you’ll be wearing flannel and replacing the parts of that rusted old shit tank with things you find in a dumpster or some shit.”
“And what’s wrong with any of that?” I asked.
I watched him as he started up his motorcycle, and he grinned as I opened the door of my truck.
“Chicks dig bikes, Canter. It’s just a fact of life.”
I laughed at him as he rode off, turning toward my apartment to get his beer. I hopped into my truck and started it up, listening to how it was slow to crank.
Shit, I’d have to get a new battery for it soon enough. But keeping this truck running was a way for me hang on to something better. Something normal. Something good before all the bullshit that brought Paxton and me together in the first place.
This truck had been here before all that shit, and now, it was here after all that shit.
I heard Paxton’s motorcycle make its way around before coming back into the parking lot. He pulled up to my door, and I rolled down my window, watching that sly grin of his spread across his face.
“You comin’ old man?” he asked.
“Who the hell you callin’ old?” I asked.
“Hey, I’m still in my twenties. You breached thirty, two years ago.”
“That shit don’t make me old,” I said. “That just means I’m wise. Chicks might like bikes, but do you know what they also like?”
“What? Grey hair and a dick that can’t stay up?”
“Nope, the rasp of a nice thick beard between their thighs,” I said, grinning.
“Oh shit, Canter,” he said. “You’re gonna slay all the pussy while you’re out.”
“None of your damn business.”
We both laughed out load. I pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road, with Paxton in the lane beside me. He kept taunting me with his bike, trying to get me to race him after every traffic light turned green. But my mind wasn’t on fucking around, nor was it on slaying pussy or whatever the hell guys called it these days.
When I said I wanted silence, that was what I meant. No people to bug me, no woman nagging in my ear about bullshit, and no sticky fluids I had to clean up after. All I wanted was to pack up my shit, get the rest of my papers signed, and settle down in the cabin I’d bought for myself. It was tucked back into a forest of trees that cried out with innocent life, and all I wanted to do was make myself a part of it.
All I wanted to do was try to get back a part of myself that had been stripped from me.
And I wanted to do it in silence.
CHAPTER 2
WHITNEY
“You look tired.”
“Thanks, Gwen.”
“I’m just saying, if you come sit in my chair one day, I could give you a new haircut, a new hair color, a nice massage and deep condition. You’ll feel good as new,” said Gwen.
“I take it the hairdressing business is going well?” I asked.
“Girl, I got that shit on lock. I’ve almost got enough to start my own little place!”
“Wait, that’s awesome,” I said. “When the hell were you gonna tell me this?”
“I just did, bitch! By the end of this year, my Christmas present to myself will be signing the lease on the store for my own business.”
“Holy hell, Gwen, I’m so proud of you. Have you started looking at places? You need someone to look over rental contracts?”
“Girl, that law degree of yours does not relegate you to go reading over my legal paperwork,” she said. “I got this.”
“I just want to help,” I said. “Gwen, this is exciting. You’ve been talking about owning your own salon ever since we were in grade school.”
“Yep. I knew what I wanted then, and I know what I want now. The question is, do you?”
Her question hit me like a ton of bricks. We were sitting at our favorite restaurant in Memphis, waiting for the best barbecue while we sipped on the best sweet tea in the South, but all I could do was sigh. It felt like my best friend’s life was falling into all the right places. She graduated from high school and went straight to beauty school. She learned how to cut hair before jetting off to L.A. to learn all the new and funky coloring styles. Then, she kept getting certification after certification on how to do everything from neck massages to people’s toenails. She was a one-stop shop for everything spa-oriented, and it had all culminated to her opening up her own salon.
Me? I was a twenty-eight-year-old lawyer working in a corporate law firm that defended institutions from getting sued for shady practices they engaged in. We defended everything from sexual harassment lawsuits to companies that were skirting health regulations in their own damn factories. My firm defended embezzlement cases and even assisted one or two people into getting by with their Ponzi-scheme-like business setups.
It made me sick, and I was tired of defending the guilty just because it paid me a decent sum of money.
“No, Gwen, I don’t know what I want to do,” I said.
“What’s going on with work?” she asked. “Obviously, the paycheck isn’t worth it anymore.”
“No, it isn’t. Had I known what I was getting into from the beginning, I wouldn't have taken the job. I became a lawyer to defend those who need it; to prosecute and put away the very same men I’m defending every day. These men and these companies should have been thrown in jail and had everything stripped from them. I’ve watched them drag women who’ve been sexually harassed through the fucking mud for a measly settlement so they wouldn’t have to go to court. Work is hell, Gwen. This isn’t what I signed up for.”
“So fucking quit,” she said. “That’s absolute bullshit. Can you quit and go after those assholes?”
“Their cases are closed,” I said. “You can’t reopen them unless another woman comes forward. But I can’t just quit, can I? What in the world would I do?”
“Look, Whitney. That job pays you over six fucking figures a year, yet whenever I see you, you look like you make less than five. You’re cheap, so I know you’re stowing away that money. What are you doing? Investing it? Giving it away? Letting it sit in a raggedy show box for some rainy day?”
“I’m investing it,” I said. “I started hating my job so much that I figured I could invest in high-risk accounts and retire by the time I’m forty or some shit.”
“So, you’ve got money in the bank. You worked all through law school, even though you didn’t need to, and your full fucking ride paid for everything
. You’ve got money for days, Whitney. Use a little of it.”
“To live without a job?” I asked.
“You could go wherever you want. You like the beach, right?”
“Not really,” I said. “Too crowded in the summer.”
“Then get yourself a little rented condo this winter. Get away. Remember when I went to the mountains last summer, after my breakup, and came back a new fucking woman? Clear your head. Getting away from all this bullshit will help you figure out what you want to do.”
Her words sat heavily in my head just as our food was set in front of us. The barbecue smelled delicious, and the hushpuppies were to die for. Gwen was already digging into her macaroni and cheese, but all I could think about was saving room for their blackberry cobbler.
Holy hell, this place had the best cobbler.
“Well, I still can’t just quit,” I said.
“Yes, you can,” Gwen said. “You’re just telling yourself you can’t.”
“No, I can’t,” I said. “I’ve already been given a new case by my boss.”
“So turn that shit down.”
“No, I can’t,” I said. “It’s me and another colleague of mine defending some asshole.”
“What are they doing?” she asked.
“I can’t go into specifics because of attorney-client privilege, but it’s absolutely insane. The client’s ready to win, ‘no matter what it takes.’”
“That doesn’t sound good,” Gwen said.
“It’s not,” I said. “This man should be stripped of his wealth and thrown into Guantanamo.”
“Whoa,” Gwen said. “Those are some harsh words. Has he killed someone or something?”
“He might as well have.”
The truth was, I had no business defending a man like this. He was the head of one of the most powerful pharmaceutical companies, and he ended up cutting corners like all asshole businesses do. He took his drug to trial before it was ready, and now, some of the patients in his trial were dying. And he wanted to cover it up and somehow make it the patients’ fault so he could take the damn drug to market to make millions.
But here was the kicker: by the time this man made his projected four hundred million dollars off this one drug, he’d have settlements to pay because more people would die. And if he could convince them all to settle out of court, that was maybe fifty million out of his pocket if he could keep the government out of it.
