by Megan Green
His face turns somber, his eyes softening. “Yeah, Haylee told me your buddy had passed. Em called her last night. That’s rough, man.”
I nod. It’s all I can do because there aren’t words to convey how shitty I feel about Jim dying.
I can feel Ryan’s eyes on me as I peel the label off the bottle in front of me. I was glad Kev had lifted his no drinking rule for me. Because if there was ever a day I needed a drink, it was today. I know he’s keeping tabs on my pace though. Always watching out for me. That’s Kevin in a nutshell.
I continue picking at the label, tearing tiny pieces of it away one by one, not meeting Ryan’s eyes. I’m seriously wondering what I thought calling him would accomplish. I didn’t want to be alone with my grief, but having Ryan here, feeling his pitying gaze on me as I attempt to maintain control of my emotions, might be worse. Because I don’t deserve an ounce of pity. Not from Ryan. Not from Emma. Not from anybody.
My thoughts swirl, memories of Jim and the day that seems like it was a million years ago and yesterday all at once mixing with ways I can get rid of Ryan and convince Kevin to stay here and let me go home. I’ll make it up to him and Gabby. Later. Once my head feels like it might remain intact.
If my head ever feels right again.
Ryan’s voice breaks through my reflection.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
My eyes snap shut at the sting of his words. Jim had spoken those exact words to me yesterday. Why did everyone seem so quick to absolve me of guilt? It was my fault. Everyone telling me there wasn’t anything I could do to change it doesn’t help. Because there was. I could’ve chosen a million other options that day. And I hadn’t. I’d chosen the one option that killed two men and injured three others. And now my best friend in the world was dead because of my bad decisions.
Ryan drops his fist to the table, not roughly, but enough to rattle the silverware and water glasses set in front of me. My eyes open at the clatter. He’s staring at me from across the table, a stern look on his face.
“You think you’re the first person to feel guilt over something that happened over there? We all have lost friends. Brothers. I can’t even begin to tell you the number of times I’d wished I’d been sitting on the opposite side of the truck the day Chris was killed. Or wished I hadn’t spent so long unloading supplies that day. Or that I’d hurried Sarge up so we’d have been long gone by the time that car came barreling down the street at us. A million things could’ve gone differently that day, and my best friend would still be alive. Emma wouldn’t have lost her fiancé. Life would’ve been so different if only one tiny detail of that day had changed.
“But you know what, Isaiah? Who’s to say it would’ve been better? I miss the hell out of my friend. Every. Damn. Day. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past five years, it’s things do indeed happen for a reason. Chris and his family saved me from growing up in foster care. He came into my life at exactly the right moment, and I owe the person I am today to him and his family. And I know he loved Emma more than anything in the world.”
I scrub my hands over my face. “So how can you say you don’t think life would’ve been better with him here? Sounds to me like you’d all be happier if he’d survived. Just like Jim’s family. And Rob and Jonah’s.”
Ryan shakes his head. “I’m not saying I wouldn’t be happy if he’d survived. I would have loved nothing more than to have my friend stand by my side as I married the woman of my dreams. But that’s just it. Haylee and I had issues. Both of us. We both were holding onto pasts that haunted us. Chris’s death awoke something in both of us. It made each of us realize how precious life is, and as much as I hate the fact my friend died, I honestly don’t know what would’ve happened between me and Haylee if it hadn’t happened. Chris was, and always will be, the best man I’ve ever known. He had one mission in life, and it was helping other people. It was why he found me. It’s why he joined the military and why he loved Emma. He showed her the kind of man she deserved. The kind of man she has found again. In you.”
I shake my head. “That’s bullshit. Your friend was a hero. I’m nothing like him.”
“Aren’t you? In the short time I’ve known you, Isaiah, I’ve seen nothing but a hero. A hero isn’t only someone who throws himself in the line of fire. A hero is someone who is there for other people when they need them. You’ve been there for Emma. You were there for Jim. You’re there for your brother and his family. You face your demons head on each and every day for the sake of others. When I know damn well how much easier it would be to roll over and ignore the world around you. If that isn’t the very definition of a hero, I don’t know what is.”
A chime rings from his pocket, and he briefly glances at his phone before he continues.
“Hay needs me at the house. So I’m only going to say one more thing. Right after Chris died, I pushed Haylee away. And a very wise woman told me I needed to get over myself. I wasn’t the only one in the world hurting, and there’s no way in hell Chris would want me being so miserable after all we’d gone through together. She told me to pull my head out of my ass and live the life I’d been so preciously gifted with. I’ll give you one guess to who that was.”
He smiles at me, a glimmer of humor in his eyes. I don’t even have to ask. It sounds just like Emma.
“So I’m passing her advice along to you. I know it’s hard. But you can’t let this weigh you down forever. There’s a reason you survived. Don’t waste it.”
Ryan pushes himself up out of the booth, squeezing my shoulder gently as he walks past. He doesn’t wait for me to respond, and he doesn’t say goodbye. He only gives me that reassuring squeeze before walking out the door.
I sit and stare at the table before me, thinking about what he said, for who knows how long. Long enough for Kevin to become concerned I guess. Because the next thing I register is his fingers snapping in front of my face.
“You okay, bro?” he asks, his expression filled with concern.
I stand, my legs feeling shaky beneath me. Ryan’s words must’ve hit closer to home than I’d realized.
“Yep. You need to take off?” I ask as I walk over to the bar.
“Yeah, it’s about time. Are you sure you’re up for this? I can call and ask Rachel to record it for me. Gabby will be upset, but she’ll get over it if I bring her a present or something. Kids are easy like that,” he says with a soft laugh.
I shake my head. “No. Go be with your family. I’ll be fine.”
Kevin looks at me skeptically, as if he doesn’t believe for a minute I’ll be fine. “Well, if you’re sure you don’t need anything else, I guess I’ll get out of here. I’ll call you after the recital, check and see how things are going. ”
I give him an exasperated sigh. I appreciate his concern, but I’m tired of everyone’s pity. “I have done this before, Kevin. I know what I’m doing. I don’t need you to babysit me.”
He holds up his hands, palms out in a placating gesture. “Okay, okay. Sorry. Have a good night, bro.”
With that, he turns and heads for the door, swinging his jacket over his shoulder. Once he’s gone, I slump onto the barstool hidden under the counter.
Why am I such an asshole?
I spend the next few hours refilling pitchers of beer and pouring fingers of Scotch. A few other smaller groups have arrived as well, making my wish for a quick evening a reality. Before I know it, it’s half time, and the guys are all ordering another round of appetizers to munch on during the second half.
Relieved I have a short break while they’re distracted by the waitresses, I take off my apron and come out from behind the bar. I’m about to head to the kitchen to beg for some food from Carl, our head cook, when the door swings open.
Emma steps inside, her cheeks flushed from the cool night air. It was cooler than normal tonight, the forecast calling for heavy rain and strong, cool northern winds. Her eyes instantly land on mine, and she lifts a tentative hand when she sees me.
The look in her eyes tells me she’s here for a reason and that reason would be better discussed in private. But I don’t trust myself with her in private. I need to keep this out here in the open. Where others can see us. So I don’t immediately give in to her words and lose my resolve because I’m doing this for her. Whether she knows it or not, this is for her own good. I need to find a way to make her understand that.
She places her hands on the counter, looking at her fingernails. Her normally short, rounded nails are chewed to the quick, as if she’d spent the afternoon gnawing on them in concern. I can’t say I blame her. I’d be a bit frazzled if a crazy person broke into my house too.
I clear my throat, trying to keep my tone all business. “What can I get you to drink?”
Her eyes flash to mine, and I can see the brief moment of hurt pass through them at my indifference. “Just water, please.”
I turn, filling a glass with ice and water before sliding it over to her. She doesn’t touch it.
“What can I do for you, Emma?”
Her face sharpens, resolve hardening her features as she sits up straight and squares her shoulders. She looks me in the eye.
“I’m here because I love you, and you love me. And I’m not letting you go anywhere, Isaiah Wright.”
Her words are firm, her tone harsh. If she hadn’t just told me she loved me, I would assume she hated me based on the severity of her statement.
“Emma,” I begin, but her hand darts out, grabbing my forearm and pulling me closer to her. Once my elbows are on the bar and I’m eye-level with her, she lets go, her eyes softening.
“Don’t. I’m not letting you walk away from this. You need time to deal with Jim’s death? Fine. I’ll give you all the time in the world, but you will not shut me out. His death was not your fault. You do not have to feel guilty for living because his life was cut short. It’s a terrible tragedy, along with Jonah and Rob, but none of those men are dead because of you. You heard the words Jim said to you. He would’ve followed you anywhere. And I know you would have done the same for him because that’s who you are, Isaiah. You are loyal. You are dependable, and you can’t fucking handle when things are out of your control. So you blame yourself, but I’m telling you, none of what happened was your fault. Including whoever this asshole is screwing with you.”
“Emma,” I interrupt. “You can’t say that. He would’ve never been there last night if it hadn’t been for me—”
She covers my mouth with her hand, cutting off my words.
“Maybe he wouldn’t have, but then neither would you. And I will never regret the night we spent together. It was beautiful and amazing. And I’ll take whatever fear or anxiety I’m experiencing today happily if it means I get to spend a thousand more nights with you. Because you are worth it. You are worth everything.”
I feel my resolve crumble around me. I lean forward, pressing my forehead to hers as her words wash over me. She links her fingers around my neck as we both close our eyes and absorb the moment. The noise from the bar fades away until it’s just me and Emma.
She releases one hand from my neck, grabbing my hand, and placing it against my chest. Her warm fingers encircle mine as we both feel the thump of my heartbeat beneath my shirt.
“You feel that? This heart beats for a reason. You were spared that day because this world wasn’t ready for you to leave yet. I am not ready for you to leave yet. You still have a lot to offer the world, Isaiah, and I intend on being right by your side through it all.”
My lips come down hard on hers, desperate for her love. She matches my intensity, giving me everything right back. My fingers curl into her hair, and I curse this stupid bar for being between us. I want her next to me. Beside me. Pressed against me. Whatever I can get. As long as she’s with me.
And as soon as it begins, our paradise shatters. Behind us, the door flies open, smacking into the wall as a gust of wind rushes into the room. The cold air hits us, causing Emma to shiver as she pulls away. Patrons clamber for napkins and personal papers as they get caught in the current of air. I look toward the door, the man who pushed it open still standing in the open space.
He steps inside, his eyes planted firmly on me. They’re familiar, but I can’t place where I’ve seen them before. He doesn’t push the door closed behind him. Instead, he takes a few steps toward me.
Another gust of wind fills the room, causing more chaos and complaints among the customers. I move around the bar, walking toward the man and the door.
“Hey, bud. Would you mind grabbing that? There’s no way it’s going to close on its own with that wind keeping it open.”
The man grins at me. But it isn’t a friendly gesture. No, this grin is full of malice. Full of hatred.
I recoil, stopping dead in my tracks. My mind whirls as I try to place where I’ve seen this man before.
His smile widens, a venomous laugh escaping him. An awful feeling washes over me. This is the man who’s been sending me letters.
And before I can move, before I can act, the man reaches inside his jacket.
And pulls out a gun.
A scream rips through the room as a woman catches sight of the gun. This ignites a chain reaction. Panic and terror ripple through the air as people rush to get to safety. Then a shot rings out, causing everyone to hit the floor.
I look back at Emma, seeing she’s on the floor in front of the bar, her arms over her head. I turn back to the gunman, seeing the gun pointed at the ceiling. I briefly consider rushing him, but there are too many people around. I don’t want to risk him squeezing off an accidental shot and injuring someone. Instead, I put my hands up pleadingly, attempting to diffuse the situation.
“You’re here for me, right? You don’t want to hurt any of these people. Let’s take this outside, okay?”
The man lowers the gun, and instead aims it at my chest. My heart stops, sweat breaking out across my brow. This isn’t the first time I’ve had a gun trained on me, but it’s the first time I’ve had one on me in the middle of my family’s restaurant, dozens of innocent people around.
“Please,” I plead with the man. “You don’t want to do this. Let’s go outside. We can talk. We’ll figure this out, but you don’t want to hurt anybody.”
He laughs. “No, I don’t want to hurt anybody. But I want to kill you.”
He seizes my arm, bending it behind my back as he pulls me to him, the gun now pressed to my temple. Emma lifts her head off the floor, her eyes meeting mine. Terror fills them. I stare at her, silently telling her to stay put. Don’t move, Emma. Don’t move.
The man drags me outside, throwing me to the pavement once we reach the parking lot. I land on my hands and knees. His foot slams into my back, knocking me to the ground. He lands a few more well placed kicks into my abdomen, knocking the wind out of my lungs.
He backs away slightly, and I roll over with a groan. When my head falls to the side, putting him back in my line of sight, I see him pacing back and forth. He pulls at his hair with one hand as he keeps the gun trained on me with the other.
I push my upper body off the ground, bracing it with one arm. My ribs scream in protest. I’m positive at least a few of them are cracked. The gunman’s head whips around at my movement, and he stalks toward me, fury and terror in his every step. His eyes gleam wildly, as if conflicted about what he’s going to do next.
I put my hand out in front of me. “Wait, wait. Let’s talk, man. I know what it’s like to be angry. To feel like you have no other choice. We can work this out. Let m
e help you.”
His lips curl back off his teeth in a snarl. “Help me? Now you want to help me?” He finds something incredibly humorous in my words because he throws his head back and laughs.
“You know who helped me? Jonah,” the man says with a sneer.
And that’s when it all snaps into focus. His familiar eyes. They’re Jonah’s eyes. I have seen this man before—at Jonah’s funeral. His younger brother, Ethan.
My mind races with memories of Jonah telling us stories about his younger brother. The abuse the kid had endured at the hands of their father. The rages the man would fly into at the slightest provocation. Ethan had been his punching bag. The thing he turned to when the world got to be too much for him.
Jonah had told me shortly before the man died, he’d been diagnosed with bipolar disorder and paranoid schizophrenia. With the right help and medication, he could have turned his life around, but several weeks later, they’d found him in the garage, a hose running from the tailpipe of his car into the driver’s side window.
Their mother had taken off years before, and nobody had any idea how to get in contact with her, or knew if she was even still alive. Jonah, having just turned eighteen, became the sole guardian of Ethan.
Not long after, Ethan fell into the same pattern their father had. Extremely high highs. Exceptionally low lows. Jonah had gotten him into a therapist immediately, and the diagnosis was similar to his father’s. Bipolar disorder with schizophrenic tendencies.
Jonah had made sure he had the best treatment, but it came at a price. He’d enlisted in the Army in order to be able to pay for Ethan’s treatment and have access to health insurance. Ethan became his whole life. He was determined not to let the boy fall into the same fate as their father.
Ethan had had a tendency to go off his medication each time Jonah was gone though. He’d tried everything to get him to stay on it, but unless he was there to make sure he took it, Ethan refused. He’d told us on our last tour he’d had to institutionalize Ethan for his own safety while he was gone this time.
