by Ivy Jordan
“Brother, if I thought that were true, I would’ve left you last week,” he argued.
I knew he was worried about me, that the reason he was there was because he cared and he understood. He understood more than I gave him credit for.
“I’m sorry,” I pushed my head into my hands as I sat on the edge of the bed.
“I just can’t get her out of my mind,” I admitted.
“I understand. Maybe you should go into town, at least just check on her,” he suggested.
That thought had run through my mind all week. There were plenty of times as I hiked the trail, inching my way further and further down the mountain that I thought about just doing it. I worried what she would think if I did. Would she even want to see me after the way I treated her?
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I grumbled.
“Sitting up here sulking isn’t a great idea either, brother,” Liam patted me on the back.
It was more than sulking. I felt as though I was dying inside. My mood was horrible, which I knew was from lack of sleep. Liam hadn’t slept well either. I’d kept him up plenty that week. Each night the nightmares got worse and lasted longer. It was getting harder and harder to wake up from them, and that was taking a toll on my mental state of mind as well as my physical well-being.
“Why wouldn’t you want to go into town to see her?” Liam asked.
There were so many reasons.
“She probably hates me,” I chuckled nervously.
“Doubtful. I watched that girl cry over you,” Liam noted.
He’d never told me she cried.
“She hated leaving you here,” he added.
“Yeah, but she told me if I didn’t go with her that I basically had lied to her about how I felt, that I used her,” I moaned.
The thought of taking advantage of Bailey made me sick, and I hated that she thought that of me.
“She was upset, that’s all,” Liam offered.
“Maybe, maybe not,” I sighed. “Why don’t you head on home? I know you got shit you left behind, your own life to deal with,” I told Liam.
“I’m here for as long as you need me,” he insisted.
“I don’t need you. I’m fine,” I asserted.
Liam’s eyes were soft and concerned. It was clear he didn’t believe me.
“I’m fine, please get the fuck outta here,” I snarled at him.
He took a step back, his eyes growing dark and cold as he turned. I watched him grab his bag, pack up his gear, and then throw it over his shoulder.
“If you need me, just call,” he said, and then left.
I was alone, finally. What I’d been wanting all along. But now, it was quiet, too quiet, and I wasn’t sure I’d made the right choice.
Fuck.
I grabbed my phone, pulling up my browser, and typing Bailey’s name into the search bar. I’d never gotten her number since she didn’t have a phone, but I hoped maybe she would be listed if she had a landline.
Her name added with the city Bethel brought up several hits. There were pictures of her at school, one in a charity car wash, another helping out with a fundraiser with the kids. She was beautiful, and seeing her face, even through an image, brought back that heaviness in my chest and fluttering in my gut.
I found a listing for her name, but it was marked private. There were only three other Martins in the city and one was Jackson. Jackson Martin, Jack—she said that was her dad. My chest lightened, and my spirit lifted as I clicked the link that gave an actual number. I hit the call button and listened as the phone rang, and rang, and then rang again.
“Hello?” an elderly man answered. He was coughing so hard I could barely hear him.
“I’m sorry to bother you, sir. Is Bailey home?” I asked.
“She just stepped out,” the man responded.
“Thank you,” I sighed, not sure if I should leave a message, or try to call back later.
“Who may I ask is calling?” he asked.
I hesitated for a moment before answering.
“This is Xander Lander, sir. I was the one who found Bailey on the trail. I wanted to make sure she was doing okay and that she was settled in back at home,” I rattled, giving more information than I intended.
“Oh, Xander. Yes, she told me about you. Thank you for everything you did for Bailey. She is doing great, happy to be home,” he said cheerfully.
“How are you doing, sir? She was very worried about you,” I continued.
“I’ve been feeling a lot better,” he responded.
I was glad to hear that Bailey was happy and that her father was doing better. It gave me a little bit of peace knowing that she wasn’t miserable, like I was.
“Thank you, sir. You have a good night,” I ended the conversation without leaving a message for Bailey.
I set the phone beside me on the bed, staring down at the screen that still had her picture on it. I knew I wouldn’t have the balls to call back, so maybe a letter would be a better idea.
I got up, searched the cabin until I found a pad of paper and a pen. I sat down, trying to think of what to say, but was drawing a blank.
Finally, my brain started to kick into gear, and the pen started to move across the paper.
Dear Bailey,
Thank you for the time we spent together….
Fuck, no good!
I tore the paper from the pad, wadded it up, and then tossed it into the garbage can.
Every time I started to write, everything came out sounding so corny, so cold, so not what I wanted to say.
I leaned back against the couch and closed my eyes. I thought about Bailey, her smile, her beautiful eyes, and how she warmed my heart just to be near her. I picked the pen back up and wrote from the heart, telling her what she meant to me and how sorry I was for acting the way I had. I was scared, foolish, an idiot to let her go. I wrote that I would not only climb mountains, but climb down them to be with her if she’d still have me, and then ended it with an ‘I miss you.’
I folded the letter and pushed it into an envelope, writing the address I got off the browser for her and her dad, and then sealed it.
I would have to walk into town to deliver it, but that was something I’d said I would do in the letter.
My stomach was in knots thinking about walking into town and her reading what I’d wrote.
I wrote another one, a little less mushy, and then sealed it, writing ‘send’ on the front so I knew which one was better.
Seeing her pictures on the Internet, talking to her dad and hearing how happy she was, and writing down all the feelings I had for her, it was all too much for me to handle. The delivery of the letter would have to wait for another day. I couldn’t bear to think about making that trip down the mountain in this condition.
It wasn’t dark out, and I wasn’t feeling tired, but suddenly my eyes grew heavy, and I had to lay my head down on the couch. I grabbed the throw hanging over the edge and pulled it over me, snuggling up for what I was expecting to be a good sleep finally. It had certainly been long enough since I’d gotten any real sleep.
As I drifted off to sleep, images of Bailey skated through my mind, her laughing, her pouting, and the face she made when she orgasmed.
Flashes jolted me from my peaceful sleep, sending me to the other place, the place where I relived the pain of my past. I tried to get up, to lift my body from the couch, but it was so heavy it felt like cement.
“Landry!” someone yelled in the distance.
It was too dark to see who. Clouds of smoke rolled over the water, red flames shot out of the dark sea, and that voice continued to call my name. I rushed towards the sound, pushing past the smoke so thick it made me choke. I couldn’t see anything, anyone, but the voice continued to yell my name.
“Where are you?” I screamed out, so loud it shook me.
The flashes lit up the sky, showing the front of the ship, the metal railing near the edge. I ran towards it, stopping at the broken portion, n
early falling into the angry sea below. The voice called again, this time from behind me.
I turned just as something slammed into the ship, sending me backwards, falling, falling, falling.
It was quiet, too quiet, and dark. No flashes in the sky, no red flames, and no ship. No voice calling my name, no one, nothing, just me and the sea. My arms flailed in the water, working hard to swim to something, anything.
I called out for help, but my voice was silent. I yelled again, this time harder, but still no sound. My throat was raw, sore, and I was losing stamina quickly. I pushed to my back, floating to rest my arms and legs. The water was rough, the waves high, and the temperature frigid. I didn’t have long.
The moon rolled from behind a dark cloud, lighting up the world so bright it was as if I could see across the globe. Bailey, her smile, stared down at me from the bright circle of the moon, and suddenly, the waves stopped, the water warmed, and land appeared just feet from where I floated. I turned to swim towards it, my feet hitting the surface. I stood, the water only inches deep, and walked to safety.
Bailey wrapped her arms around me, greeting me as I landed safely on her beach. Her lips pressed into mine, and her breasts pressed into my hard chest, and with that, I felt at peace, at home.
I woke to an eerie darkness, one that reminded me of the bad part of my dream. I walked carefully to the front door, looked out the window, and stared up at the sun coming up from behind the mountain. It was dawn, offering a fiery red glare against the stillness of the dark, creating a beautiful glow that warmed my entire body, heart, and soul.
There was something to that dream. What it was I wasn’t sure. It was as if Bailey came to save me. Even without being here, she brought me peace, comfort, and a promise that everything can be okay.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Bailey
I hung up the phone after talking to a woman named Joy for almost an hour. She was kind, compassionate, and understood the hard decision I was making by having hospice enter our home and our lives. She assured me they would assist my father in any way possible to make his last days on earth as comfortable and memorable for both of us.
“Everyone deserves to go out with dignity,” she said just before hanging up.
I thought about her statement, and it brought tears to my eyes. My father was very proud and had always been. As a man, a husband, a father, and a soldier, he was proud. He deserved to handle his life, and his death, in his own way. It hurt to make the call, to admit that the end was near, but I knew it was selfish to push treatments on him that were only making him sick.
Stage four cancer had beaten him nearly to a pulp. Without the treatment and the sickness that came with it, he was regaining control of his mind once again, his energy level was growing, and he was happier, more himself. I hated seeing him lay in bed all day and night, only turning him to avoid bed rashes. He did deserve his dignity.
I walked into the house, straight into his room, just to tell him I loved him, and I understood. I wanted him to know that I wasn’t upset, that my sadness was only for what was to come, but I was happy about the days we’d spend together with him alert, feeling more like himself.
“There you are,” he smiled as I entered his room.
He was sitting on the edge of his bed with clean pajamas and clean sheets. His day nurse left while I was on the phone. She had already bathed him and cleaned up his room.
“You look nice,” I complimented, and sat on the bed beside him.
“You had a phone call,” he reported.
“Shit. I promised Lila I would call her, and I forgot,” I sighed.
“Xander Landry,” he said calmly, avoiding the lecture about my language.
My heart raced. Xander called?
“What did he say?” I chirped, unable to hide my eagerness.
My dad reached his hand across my lap, taking mine in his. His skin was soft and loose, but he squeezed with a tight grip.
“He just wanted to check on you. He sounds like a very nice man,” my dad noted.
“He is very nice,” I admitted.
“Very good manners, and he asked about me,” he continued.
The thought of Xander talking to my dad warmed my heart. I wished they could’ve met. I knew my dad would love Xander, and Xander would love my dad.
“I thought it was very nice that he checked on you,” he smiled. “He said he found you on the path,” he went on.
“Yes,” I agreed.
I knew my dad hadn’t been very alert when I arrived home, so any details were probably fuzzy.
“I was hiking when the storm hit, and I slipped and fell on the mountain side not far from his cabin,” I explained.
“He lives on the mountain?” my dad questioned.
“Yes, on top of the mountain,” I chuckled.
“I didn’t think there were any houses up there,” he gasped.
“There isn’t, just the one. It’s an old hunting cabin I believe,” I said.
“What on earth is he doing out there all alone in this weather? He a hunter?” he pushed.
“No, he’s was a soldier, like you were. He prefers to be alone,” I revealed.
“I see,” he sighed, releasing his grip on my hand.
He pushed himself back on the bed, propping up on the pillows behind him. He still hadn’t regained all of his energy, and he probably never would, but we hoped for it to get better before it got worse. The bath and the bed change always wore him out, so it was obvious he wanted to rest.
“I’ll let you get some sleep. I just wanted to tell you I love you and that I understand your decision,” I smiled.
“Good girl,” he grinned.
“Your hospice nurse’s name is Joy. She will be here in the morning,” I added.
“Good. So, this Xander, does he have a problem being around people?” my dad asked.
I found it odd that he was so interested in a man he’d only spoken to once.
“Yes. He has bad nightmares, and he doesn’t feel comfortable around people,” I told him.
“PTSD. A lot of the boys came home with that. It’s a serious disorder that gets a bad rap,” he sighed.
“Yes. He said PTSD, that’s what he called it,” I agreed.
“You were up there with him a long time,” he noted.
“Yes,” I agreed.
“So you must’ve meant something to him for him to call and check on you,” he insinuated.
I sighed. Maybe I did mean more to Xander than he was ready to admit.
“The way your eyes lit up when I mentioned his name, he obviously meant something to you too,” he pointed out.
Tears started to stream down my face as I struggled for a response. Xander did mean a lot to me, a whole lot. My heart had done nothing but ache for him since I left that mountainside. I was happy to be home, to be here with my dad, but it killed me to leave Xander on that mountain.
“Why don’t you go to him?” he asked.
“I have a life here, with you, the kids at school, with Lila,” I explained, wiping my tears.
“I won’t be here long, dear. My life was with your mother. After she left, I just went through the motions. I can’t wait to get back to her, in her arms. Love is what it’s all about,” he smiled.
I watched as his eyes welled up with tears. They were filled with joy and admiration as he looked upward towards the ceiling. I knew he missed her terribly and had all these years. I hated that he was alone, but now I see, he never really was alone; he had her in his heart and on his mind all the time. She was always with him.
“I’m not sure we could ever work,” I sighed.
“Why?” he asked.
“His PTSD. I can’t live on a mountain and seclude myself from the world, and even though I gave him an ultimatum to come with me, he refused,” I explained.
My dad’s eyes narrowed on mine. “Oh, you can’t give him an ultimatum,” he growled.
“If he truly did care for me as much as he said, he wo
uld’ve at least tried to come with me,” I whined.
My dad chuckled and then grabbed my hand. He squeezed it tightly and let out a long sigh. “You have no idea the turmoil and chaos that is in that man’s mind. He doesn’t think he can be loved, he is too busy beating himself up for things he saw, he done, or things he didn’t do,” he said sternly.
“His nightmares went away with me there, when he held me at night,” I gushed.
“That doesn’t mean they won’t come back, and that doesn’t mean that the rest of his life is in order. Sleeping is only part of the problem. He still has the rest of the day to try and calm his mind,” he explained.
I started to understand that I was pushing Xander, and it was selfish. He had no option but to refuse, no matter how he felt about me.
“The fact that he let you into his world means a lot, and if he shared his stories and his life with you, just know, it’s not even scratching the surface. There is so much more that he carries, things he’s told no one, and may never tell anyone, not even you,” he sighed.
Tears fell down my face as my dad’s eyes started to close. He was exhausted from his day. I wanted to ask him more, to hear his own stories that he’d never told anyone, maybe not even Mom, but I knew he needed his rest.
“If you love him, go to him,” he mumbled before he fell asleep.
I gripped his hand tightly in mine and laid my head on his chest. I cried there for almost an hour, thinking about Xander while listening to my father’s heartbeat. The two things I knew I loved, but couldn’t keep in my life.
I wanted to take my dad’s advice, to run to Xander, but I was scared.
I shut off the bedroom light, leaving my dad to sleep in peace. In my bedroom, I fell on my bed, opened my phone, and started researching PTSD. I’d heard the term and was very familiar with what it was in general, but I never had a reason to try and understand it until now.
I wanted to know everything, to understand everything. If I was to run to Xander, I had to know what I was in for and if he was capable of loving me back.
The thousands of pages filled with information were overwhelming and not as helpful as I expected. I stumbled onto a forum where men and women discussed PTSD, not only about their own disorder, but that of their loved ones. It was amazing to read all the people who shared their lives with someone who suffered from the disorder. The words were inspiring, and the message clear: someone with PTSD was more than capable of loving. In fact, most of the victims of the disorder had one thing other than war in common: they all had huge hearts.
