Yet, I did.
On the way back, I sat on the plane, hour after hour, watching movies and listening to the other guys laugh their way back from Hell. I wasn’t laughing with them. I couldn’t even smile. Rex was the only thing on my mind, and I know no one was as close to him as I was, so I couldn’t expect anyone to understand my misery.
While Rex and I had different upbringings, we were in the Marines for the same reason—both of our dads were military, and we knew it was the best way to start our future. Even though I didn’t have many other options, I think Rex made his decision purely based on family tradition—to make his family proud.
I remember the second I made the decision, and I had no idea that it would alter my entire life.
CHAPTER SIX
FIVE YEARS AGO
KEMPER
SITTING ALONE AT LUNCH, I’ve spent the last thirty minutes looking around, feeling more like an outsider than I ever have. I hate that we had to move during my senior year, but it was necessary. With the last bite of my incredibly well-done burger, I notice a man in a blue uniform sitting at a table in the corner of the room. From what I can see, I think he’s a Marine recruiter. It hadn’t really crossed my mind before now, but maybe the Military would be a good option for me. Lost in my own thoughts, I didn’t realize I’ve been staring at the recruiter, who’s now staring back at me. It’s as if he’s silently summoning me over. Maybe it’s just in my head, but something’s telling me to go. I dump what’s left of my lunch and follow my gut over to this guy who looks like he’s been everywhere. In the moment it’s taking me to approach his table, I realize this could be my chance to go somewhere better than where I’m currently headed, which is nowhere.
I look the guy straight in the eyes. “Sir, how do I sign up?” I don’t feel the need to ask any other questions. That might be because I don’t want to know the answers since I know we are in a time of war and all, but that doesn’t scare me.
He straightens his shoulders and sucks in a quick breath. “Why?” he asks, followed by a stern look. “What makes you want to be one of us?”
I feel dumbstruck. Or maybe just dumb. I search my mind for an answer, but the words just come out, “My father was a Marine, sir, and I want to push myself beyond any limits I’ve ever known. My current life isn’t doing that for me.” That was a good answer. Better than saying, I don’t have many other options.
“Very well, come down to my office tomorrow morning at zero-seven-hundred.” What does that mean?
“Is that 7:00 a.m., sir?” I ask.
“Wasn’t your father a Marine? You should know.”
“He died when I was two, sir.”
The recruiter looks down for a moment and clasps his hands together at his waist. When he looks back up at me, he says, “I see. Well then, figure it out, and I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” then looks over my head to the guy behind me.
I now have one question I need to know the answer to. “Does everybody earn that many medals?” I can’t imagine walking around with something so prestigious hanging from my chest. Lucky guy.
The recruiter looks back at me, narrowing his eyes a bit. “No,” he says with a bite to his voice. “When you’ve earned medals like this, you realize you don’t want some of them anymore. They’re reminders of where I’ve been and what I’ve done; reminders of things I’d rather forget.” His answer feels like a blow to the chest, a hint of the reality I’m trying to ignore—a reality I really should consider, but this is what I’m supposed to do. I feel it now. I do my best not to blink at his response, “If this scares you, you might want to rethink this.”
It terrifies me. “Not at all, sir.”
The second I leave the recruiter’s table, I hightail it out of the school and run all the way home.
I bust through the front door of our trailer, finding Mom at her usual spot in front of the sink. “Mom, I have something I need to tell you.” Even though we have nothing, and we’re living in a trailer, Mom still dresses in her old clothes, the ones she must have spent a lot on when we had money. She doesn’t look like she belongs in the tin can we call home. She looks like she belongs in some upper-class neighborhood. Her hair is twisted tightly into a knot, and her rosy lips look like they‘ve just been painted on. She has an apron tied around her neck, and she’s desperately trying to prepare a roast in our miniature galley kitchen. Every day, I see the pain in her eyes and the humiliation she wears on her face. She tries her hardest. I’ve never doubted that.
“What is it, baby? Is everything okay? Why are you home from school so early?” Mom cleans her hands off on her apron and wraps her small arm around my neck, which she can hardly reach anymore.
“I need to talk to you about something,” I tell her.
“Come here, sit down.” She pulls out a chair from the small table and pats the seat. I do as she asks and rest my elbows on my knees, instantly feeling nervous.
“I’m joining the Marines. I’m going to make something of my life, Mom, and then I’ll be able to help you—take care of you like Dad would have.” Mom doesn’t get a word out before she starts to cry. I pull her into my arms as sobs burst from her throat. I know she’s blaming herself for leaving me no other option, but really, it’s what’s best for me—for us. I’ve been a decent student, but not good enough for scholarships. Even if I get Financial Aid for some fancy college, it would be instant debt the second I graduate. It’s not in the cards.
“Please, Kemper, don’t go,” Mom finally spits out. “We’re in a time of war, baby. Don’t you know that?” I do know this. I know full well what I’m signing up for. Whether I live or die fighting in the war, at least I would go out trying to do what is right for Mom…and myself. I squeeze her tighter, resting my chin on her head, squeezing my eyes shut as I choke back tears myself. It’s been just the two of us since she left Sloan, and although I hate leaving her alone, I know it’s for the best. I refuse to sit here and rot, like she will, if I do nothing to stop it.
She’s begged me not to do it all night, but this morning I look at myself in our yellowed, tarnished mirror, and realize the reflection I see is about to change. I’m about to change.
Regardless of Mom’s concerns, I know I need to do this.
Standing in the corner, with a tissue pressed up against her nose, Mom begs me one last time through a quiet cry, but I pull in a sharp breath, kiss her on the cheek, tell her I love her, and walk out the door without looking back.
Feeling a pit in my stomach, I march into the recruiter’s office at seven sharp, sign on the dotted line, and that’s that.
“Congratulations, son, you’ve made a wise decision,” the recruiter says, shaking my hand with a firm grip. Boot camp starts in six weeks—right after high school graduation, which I couldn’t care less about now. My only focus is to train and force myself into the shape I know I’ll need to be in.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CURRENT DAY
KEMPER
I SHIFT MY WEIGHT AROUND in the truck, becoming more uncomfortable by the second. God, I’ve never had issues adjusting after a tour, but it’s different this time. I’ve never come home without Rex before. This time, I don’t even want to be home. This time, I realize I wasn’t fighting for medals—I was fighting for my life. Rex was fighting for his life, too, and now all that’s left of him are his medals, which is all I’ve been thinking about since I got home and pulled up to our homecoming.
The irony of watching all of the excited families shouting and laughing were like punches to the gut. If they knew what we’d all been through for the past year, would they be as chipper, or looking at us the way most of us probably look at ourselves in the mirror? Personally, I wish I still had all of my innocence. Even though I know I did this for the greater good, it still makes for a whole lot of guilt.
Hundreds of loved ones were waiting in the big, open parking lot for us. They were all jumping up and down, looking their best, wearing smiles larger than I have ever forced across my face. I
wonder what it feels like to see someone you’ve missed more than life, standing there looking different, but the same—their arms eagerly waiting to wrap around you and give you the hug you’ve needed for so long. Then I think of Rex and wonder what it’s like to be told your son won’t be coming home.
I sat at the back of the bus, giving everyone else a head start. There was no reason to hold them up because I doubt there’s anyone out there waiting to welcome me home. Plus it gave me a chance to watch the reunions. The tears. Guys meeting their babies for the first time. We live in a sick world.
Even though I promised myself I wouldn’t, as I stepped off the bus, I took one quick glance around for a final confirmation. Bitch.
Tara and I started dating a few months before my deployment. I never would have started anything with her if I knew I’d be leaving again so soon, but it is what it is. She liked the idea of being with a Marine—got a kick out of the uniform. She thought it was sexy, the whole nine yards. I thought everything was pretty genuine with us before I left. She was a sweet, pretty girl with a solid sense of humor, and I enjoyed her company. She made it hard to leave.
We had one of those long-drawn-out goodbyes. You know the one, where you make all these promises and force out the first “I love yous”. It made shit hard on me. She promised she’d write every week, and I believed her. After the first couple of letters, the guys warned me that it was a temporary thing. “The letters usually stop after a month or two,” they said. “If you didn’t put a ring on her finger, she won’t be there when you get back.” I definitely wasn’t going to propose to the girl after only dating her for three months. Not that I didn’t think of a possible future with her, but I figured if she were here when I got back, it would be a step in the right direction for us.
But low and behold, the letters stopped after the first month, just like the guys said, but it was better that way. I needed to focus on more important shit, instead of whether or not Tara was missing me, so I mentally crossed her off my list, determined to move on.
When I finally got off the bus, I walked straight through the crowd and up to a pay phone where I called a cab. While waiting for it, I watched the continuing reunions, trying to force myself to feel grateful for all of those families, but all I felt was anger and resentment.
Why did Rex have to be the one casualty we had? He was the only person I called family around here.
I kick the truck door open. I need air, and there is no more left in the truck. I slam the door, knowing Rex would be yelling at me to be careful with the paint. This thing was his pride and joy and if he knew I was driving it right now, he’d kill me, but that ain’t gonna happen because he’s dead. “So yeah, man, I’m driving your truck because you can’t. Maybe you’ll climb out of that casket you’re in now and kick my ass. Huh? Why don’t you come kick my ass? Please, come and kick my ass. Why did you have to go and die on me, bro? Why?“
I choke back the tears that threaten to fall, then furiously grab a handful of rocks and chuck them one by one at the truck, trying to provoke the dead. But it doesn’t work. Nothing works. Nothing...nothing…nothing. “We were brothers, Rex! Brothers stick together. They don’t leave each other high and dry like this. Don’t you know that shit? Huh?”
Screw this. I get back into the truck and floor it until I reach my apartment, but I only stay long enough to ditch the truck and grab my bike. I thought being in Rex’s truck would help me, heal me, or at least make it so I can deal with going back into my goddamn apartment, but no. It just emphasized his absence and made me feel worse. I get on my bike and ride until I arrive back at Beer Bellies. The lot is still empty and I still don’t know where else to go. As screwed up as this is, as I am, I pull in and park the bike in the corner of the lot. What the hell am I doing?
Daphne…I need to see her again. I don’t even know if she’s working today, and it’s only six in the morning, so I could be sitting here all day, but screw it—this is better than anything else right now, even if it makes me look like a crazy stalker.
I drop down on the front step of this hole-in-the-wall bar and throw my head back against one of the rotting pillars adjacent to the overhang, debating whether it’s better to see this dirt-filled lot or the images in my screwed up head. God. The war zone was easier to handle than what I’m feeling now. I need to go back to Afghanistan. I have to get the commanding officer to put me on the next tour out. I can’t be here. This isn’t home anymore, and I definitely can’t live here on these steps, obsessing over a beautiful bartender I only met once.
***
Fourteen trucks, three planes, thirty-two bikes, and a hundred and fifty cars have gone by in the past two hours. Each one sounded like an explosion. I miss my weapon. I miss having ammo strapped to my thigh. I miss having my pack on my back, knowing I had all the protection I needed.
Another hour has come and gone, and I’m still sitting here like a bum as an incoming vehicle peels into the dirt lot, snapping me out of my depressing funk. I squint, looking into the distance to see who the hell would be pulling into a bar lot this early…besides me. I guess I’m no one to judge. What in the—? It’s nine in the morning. She’s probably wondering what the hell I’m doing here at this hour. Why am I here…at this bar, where I saw the most gorgeous woman in the world last night?
I guess I’m here because of her...the only one who stopped long enough to notice the pain and loss I’m feeling. She’s really something.
She drives a yellow Wrangler with no top and the windows down. I can’t look away from her windblown hair and her flushed cheeks kissed with the slightest bit of pink. Damn. The morning glow does her good, although there’s that scared little look on her face again. I should probably feel bad about it, but I don’t. For some reason, her presence feels like the calm after a battle.
Daphne. Daphne. Daphne. You might just be my new favorite thing.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CURRENT DAY
Dear Journal,
It’s been three years of this.
I’ve stayed with Trent because I wanted to fix him. I’ve stayed with him because he said he wants me and no one else will.
I stay with him because every time I’ve tried to leave, he’s hurt me.
I’m scared. I’ve been scared for too long.
- Daphne
DAPHNE
SO WHAT IF I’M THREE hours early? I pull into Beer Bellies with a raised brow, noting the bike in the corner of the lot. Squinting into the distance, I see—is that Kemper? I thought he had a truck last night… Uhh—? Unlike last night, I’m not so apprehensive to see him, although I probably should be considering it looks like he hasn’t left this lot. Regardless of my slight unease, I step out of my Jeep, pulling my bag over my shoulder and amble toward the front steps with my head tilted slightly to the side. A smile creeps over my cheeks—that’s twice in twenty-four hours…a record—and while I’d like to pretend I don’t know why, it’s hard to look at this man and not smile. “Did you leave something here?” I ask.
“No, actually, I found something here,” he says, in a way that makes me question his meaning and motives, but I can’t read his expression. He stands up from the step he’s sitting on and brushes off his backside. His left eye squints from the sun, but his struggling right eye looks like a translucent emerald shimmering under a bright light. “I may be on a new level of crazy to you, but when you’ve seen the shit I’ve seen and you don’t have enough fingers to count the reasons you should be dead, you end up doing weird things at weird times. Plus, I was thinking about you.” He was thinking about me? My face feels hot at the comprehension of his words, and my heartbeat speeds up as he takes slow, small steps toward me. “I hope I’m not coming off as a total whack-job, but for some reason, I felt a sort of comfort being here. Could be you.” This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. I look around, anxious and waiting for Trent to pop out of a bush somewhere. He’d try to kill this guy, then me. God, I’m in trouble. I race past Kemper t
o the door and fumble with the keys, trying to open the bar and mute his voice from my head, but he follows me, closing the door behind us. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I probably shouldn’t even be here.”
“Probably not,” I peer back at him, closing myself behind the bar. Kemper pushes his sleeves up to his elbows, again revealing his incredibly chiseled forearms lined with thick veins and dark ink showcasing several names around an Eagle, Globe and Anchor emblem. The massive amount of artwork stretches from his elbow to his wrist. I like it. Then there are his hands, which I can’t stop looking at, and when he dips his fingers into his front pockets, my thoughts drift to other places…places I shouldn’t go. I close my eyes, trying to avoid the thoughts burning through my mind, and when I open them, he’s sitting on a barstool in front of me. “You do know the bar doesn’t open for another three and half hours, right?” A subtle perk in the corner of his lips tells me he’s well aware of this small fact, but how did he know I would be here three hours early? Or here at all, for that matter? “How long were you sitting out there on the steps?”
“Three in the morning,” he says, casually, like it’s a normal thing to do, but the bar closed at two last night. “Got up at six, switched vehicles, and came back.”
“Don’t you have an apartment or live on base or something?” Not that I’m unfamiliar with being homeless, but he’s a Marine, so he’s got to have somewhere to go, I’m guessing.
He huffs a quiet laugh while lowering his head into his hands as he rests his elbows on the bar. I hear his lungs fill and then spill out slowly. “I can’t go home,” he says through an elongated exhale. “Hurts too much.” I lean over the bar, bringing myself inches from his face. I obviously left my mind back out on the front steps because I place my hand tenderly over his wrist. His head flashes up, as if my touch hurt him in some way, and now his eyes are gazing into mine, making me swallow my own breath. From instinct, or stupidity, I pull away, giving him—maybe me, some space.
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