by A. E. Wasp
Dmitri gave her an evil look over the lip of his third cup of coffee. He would pay for that later, but right now, he needed the warmth. “Thanks, Dr. Phil.”
Angel sighed. She yawned and stretched out, throwing her stick into the air. Moby appeared from nowhere, catching it mid-flight. “So these are really your only options? Stay and drown in debt, or leave and lose him?”
“No, of course not. I could stay here, drowning in debt, and lose Troy. So which is more wild and reckless? I can stay here for Troy, an amazing guy I’ve only known for two months and three days – but who’s counting – and who will probably leave me when he learns the real me. And who, I might add, is not responding to texts or calls right now and might not actually want to see me. Or I can go to California. Be fiscally responsible, get some really good experience, get out of debt, and leave potentially the best relationships I’ve ever had.”
“Being a grown-up sucks.”
Dmitri nodded.
“I’m only going to say this once because I love you. Stop being a coward. Think about what you want. And fight for it. Fight for yourself. Stop just letting life happen to you. Take a risk, Dimmy. Don’t lock yourself off because you’re vulnerable. It’s what makes us human.”
“I’m an idiot.”
“That I can agree with.”
He pulled Angel against him in a tight hug, ignoring her wiggling attempts to get free. “But you love me anyway. And as you pointed out, you’re not an idiot.”
His phone rang, and he snatched it up without looking at the display. “Troy?”
“No, sorry,” Vincent said.
“It’s Vincent,” Dmitri told Angel.
“I wouldn’t normally do this,” Vincent said. “But do you know where Troy is? He’s supposed to be covering for lunch, but he’s not here. I drove by his house on the way to work, and his truck wasn’t there. I assumed he was with you.”
“He’s not here.”
“I called him, but his phone goes right to voicemail, and it’s full. I can’t even leave a message.”
Dmitri stood up, looking down the road as if he would see Troy’s truck rumbling down it. “Ah, that’s probably my fault. We kind of had a fight last night. A huge fight, actually, and he just split in the middle of the night. I’ve been calling and texting all morning.”
“Doesn’t he have class on Friday mornings?”
“Yeah, but it should have been over an hour ago.”
The three-way silence was strained. Nobody wanted to be the first to give voice to their fears.
“Should we look for him?” Angel asked finally.
“Yes, I think it would be a good idea,” Vincent said in Dmitri’s ear. Dmitri clenched the phone, hard plastic sides digging into his palm. His brain shied away from serious contemplation of what Vincent was implying. Troy was fine. He was just hiding, processing. They’d find him and go have a beer and talk about everything.
“Where should we look? I can drive over to the school,” Vincent offered. “It’s right down the block.”
Dmitri nodded, staring into the distance at the mountains. “I have some ideas where he might be.”
“I’ll go grab Jay, and we’ll drive around town.” Angel said into the phone. “We’ll stay in touch.”
“Actually, can you cover lunch for me, Angel? I’m a little shorthanded.”
“No problem, Mr. D.”
“Thanks.”
Headed south in his crappy Sentra, Dmitri hoped the little car would make it through some of the roads he and Troy had driven down. He hoped he could remember which roads they were. As far as he could tell, Troy had just turned at some random tree, stopped at a wide spot on the side of the road, and called it camping. He punched the name of one of the campgrounds he remembered passing on one of their trips. He remembered it because he’d been jealous of those campers and the covered porta potties they got to use. Luxury was relative.
His hand jittered on the steering wheel, not even close to being in time to the music blasting from the speakers. Thoughts circled in his brain, and he didn’t want any of them to settle. He was fine. Troy was fine. He was probably just sitting on a rock somewhere, staring at the sky. Every single statistic Dmitri had read on suicide in veterans came back to haunt him. His research on PTSD had been scary enough; he hadn’t even mentioned suicide to Troy. He wasn’t going to be the first one to bring that subject up. But he remembered. Dmitri had a great memory for data. A blessing in vet school, not much of a comfort right now.
Every truck that passed him made his heart catch in his throat. It didn’t matter if it looked anything at all like Troy’s. Why were there so many damned trucks in this state? Not everybody was a farmer. What did all these people need pickup trucks for? Damn it! He pounded the steering wheel and shut the radio off with a violent twist of the knob. If he had to listen to some stupid disk jockey blathering about nothing for five more seconds, he was going to lose his mind.
Breathing deeply, he tried to hope for the best as he turned his car down CR 66 and headed towards the mountains.
The sun was much higher in the sky than Troy had expected it to be as he walked back to his truck, afternoon shadows starting to creep out from underneath cars and bushes. He must have spent longer talking to QT than he’d thought. He faltered as he caught sight of Vincent.
“Mr. D? What are you - oh, shit. Lunch.”
Vincent pushed away from the truck and adjusted his Forty and Fabulous trucker’s cap on his head. “Yeah. Don’t worry about that. Angel’s on it. Glad to see you’re okay.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Vincent frowned, then sighed. “Look, I don’t want to step into your personal life. But I like you, a lot. I’ve come to really care about you, and I would hate if anything happened to you.”
The blood drained from Troy’s face. “You talked to Dmitri.”
Vincent nodded. “It’s not like you at all to do the no-call, no-show thing. So when you didn’t show up and didn’t answer your phone, I called Dmitri. Your voicemail is full, by the way.”
“Did he tell you what I did?”
“He just said you guys had a fight and you left in the middle of the night, and no one had heard from you since. I think he was more beating himself up about it than worried about you until I called.”
Troy opened the door and put his backpack on the seat. He took his phone, scrolling through all the texts he’d been unable to read earlier. None of them were accusing, none of them told Troy that Dmitri had had enough and he should leave. Several of them were apologies. “But you were worried?” Troy asked Vincent.
“I’ve been watching you. And I worry. So when I heard you were missing, well, I assumed the worst.”
“I’m sorry.” Troy sat down in the front seat. He hadn’t really stopped to consider all the people who would be hurt if he killed himself. And he wasn’t going to hide it from himself; that had been his plan. “I just…I can’t…”
Vincent opened the other door and climbed in. “Want to go for a drive?”
Troy nodded. That sounded perfect, actually. “Yeah. Where to?”
Vincent waved out the window. “Head north and east. I’ll show you a new place.”
“What about your car?” No matter where Vincent had parked, there was a good chance it was illegal. Parking on campus was the pits
“Don’t sweat it. I’ll have Kevin come and get it. You can drop me off at the bar later.” Vincent tapped on his phone, sending texts.
“You don’t have to go to all this trouble for me.”
“I’d do more than go for a ride with you, son. You’re a good kid.”
Troy didn’t know what to say to that, and wouldn’t have been able to respond even if he’d had the words. So he put the truck in gear and headed east.
chapter thirty-five
Dmitri’s phone pinged. I got him. All’s good, the text from Vincent read. Dmitri let out the breath he hadn’t even known he was holding, wrenched the car over to a sto
p at the side of the road, and then burst into tears.
“Oh, thank God,” Angel said, holding the phone out to Jay and Danny.
Danny sat down hard on a bar stool, shaking his head.
“When I see him again, I’m going to kill him.” Angel slid the phone in her pocket.
Dmitri wiped his face, took a long drink of water, and let his head fall back heavily against the seatback. What now? He desperately wanted to call Troy, but he should probably give him some time. He stared out the window, not quite sure where he was. He’d been driving mostly blind. Peering up ahead, he could see the light that marked the turn off to Lyons and his parents’ house. He remembered Troy’s first visit to the house, their first weekend together, and he knew what he had to do.
He called his parents. “Hey, Mom, do you have Ron’s phone number? He is? I’ll be there in ten minutes. Can you ask him to wait? I’ll explain when I get there. Love you, too.”
Vincent and Troy had stopped at the store, picking up some sandwiches and a six-pack of beer. Then Vincent had guided Troy down twelve miles of dirt road winding past the scattered ranch houses sheltering beneath the granite bluffs, through herds of longhorn cattle that ranged freely across the road and lowed threateningly at Troy when he slowed down to take their pictures. He’d listened carefully as Troy told him about his nightmares, his unplanned visit to the Student Veterans’ office and his personal revelations as he talked to QT.
Vincent was right; Troy hadn’t seen this park yet. He had a feeling he could spend years in Colorado and only see a portion of what it had to offer. They sat under the shade of the picnic shelter right near a trailhead. The trail paralleled the river, still gurgling even in late summer, and disappeared around a curve beneath a cliff striped like a layer-cake and showing the bones of the Front Range. Red-tailed hawks circled above, drifting on thermals.
Vincent unwrapped his sandwich. “That all sounds great. I’m really glad you have a plan and someone to reach out to now. And a support group is going to make a big difference.” He peered between the slices of bread, then handed the sandwich to Troy. “Why do I see doubt on your face?”
Troy took a bite of sandwich while he struggled to put the thoughts swirling around in his head into some semblance of order. “What do you think is the point of life? Why are we here? Is it just to live and die?”
Vincent held out his hands. “Woah there. You’re asking the really big questions, kid. Whole religions have been created by people trying to answer those questions. Way better men than me have tried. You need to talk to a priest.”
“I’m a Methodist.”
“A minister then, whatever. Someone.”
“Just tell me what you think. What’s kept you alive all this time?”
Vincent quirked one eyebrow. “All this time? All these endless years of my life? Are you calling me old?” Vincent waved off Troy’s sputtered attempt at an apology. “Naw, I am old. I know it.” He took a deep breath, puffing out his cheeks, and then exhaled explosively.
“And don’t tell me it’s because suicide is a sin,” Troy said.
Vincent frowned. “I haven’t been to confession in decades. But you’re making me feel like I should go back. Didn’t that church of yours give you a reason?”
“Maybe. Once. But I must have lost it somewhere in the mountains of Afghanistan.”
“Yeah, I hear you. I left mine in the middle of a rice paddy on the border of Cambodia. I need a drink for this conversation.” He reached into the bag for the six-pack. “Beer?”
“Sure.” Troy didn’t even care what kind. It had never been his coping mechanism before, but alcohol sounded good right now. He waited until Vincent had popped the caps, and they raised them in a silent toast to fallen brothers in arms. “So?” he asked. “What does it for you? What do you live for?”
Vince shrugged. “The usual, I guess. My friends, family. Kevin. Getting to live someplace I love like this. Besides, I kind of want to see what happens next, you know? Who will I meet, where might I go. I’m not bored of life yet. I keep finding new things to do. I still haven’t learned to play that guitar yet, so there’s that. We’re all going to die, so many of my friends and family already have. Why rush it?”
Troy rolled his beer bottle between his palms, peeling the label off as he thought. “I see what you’re saying. I get it, I do. But…I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a jerk.”
“Just say it.”
“What if I need more? What if that’s not enough?”
“What do you mean?”
“All that you mentioned, it just doesn’t seem like enough. I know that might make me a douche, but I, well, I always wanted to make a difference in the world, you know? And now I feel it more. I need to know that I did some good in the world.”
Vincent studied him silently, and then deliberately put a hand on top of Troy’s, pulling it away from the nervous peeling of the label. “To balance out the bad you feel you’ve done?” he asked softly.
Troy nodded, not looking up. He tightened his fingers around Vincent’s.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Vincent said firmly.
Tears slid down Troy’s cheeks.
“You don’t know…”
“And you don’t know what I did, what I saw other people do to each other. But I can’t imagine it’s all that different.”
“You tell yourself it’s what you’re there for,” Troy whispered. “That you’re making the world safer. It’s what I was trained for. And, and you do these things, ignoring the voice that says ‘I was just following orders’ is what the Nazi soldiers said. But then – then they’re shooting at you and blowing up your friends, and some kid comes up with a bomb wired around his chest and-”
Vincent interrupted. “And someone tries to sell you their eleven-year-old kid. And you just get so fucking angry you want to shoot every single one of the motherfuckers in the head. Hell, you’d strangle the next child-rapist you saw with your bare hands, right?”
“Yes!” Troy slammed his bottle on the table, his shout echoing in the quiet air. A rabbit dashed out from beneath a bush on the far side of the trail. “Yes,” he said more softly.
“Are you still angry?”
Troy covered his face with both hands. “All the time. And scared and on edge all the time.”
Vincent heaved himself off the bench and walked around the table to sit next to Troy. He put an arm around the younger man. “Come here.”
Troy stiffened, and then gave in to the comfort, sagging in Vincent’s arms, and sobbing like he hadn’t done once since landing in a country where people who didn’t know him, who had never heard of 9/11 or West Virginia and thought the Americans were still Russian soldiers from thirty years ago tried to kill him over and over.
He cried for his lost friends, he cried for lost innocence, for the dead civilians of all the wars who just wanted to live in peace. He cried for Dmitri who wanted so much to love him but had no idea how broken Troy’s soul was.
His sobs quieted, and he became aware that Vincent was patting him gently on the back and rocking him gently back and forth. “It’s okay,” he repeated. “It’s going to be okay. You’re okay. We’re going to take care of it. You’re okay.”
Troy hugged the old soldier back tightly. His cheek pressed into the broad, strong chest. He thought he could hear Vincent’s heartbeat beneath the soft flannel he wore.
One last squeeze and he pulled back, wiping his eyes.
Vincent grabbed a napkin from beneath his sandwich and handed it to Troy.
“Thanks, boss.”
“No problem. I have high hopes. Now let’s get you back home, and you can call Dmitri. He’s probably going out of his mind.”
chapter thirty-six
Dmitri sat at the wrought-iron table on Starry Night’s front patio, his leg jiggling hard enough to vibrate the chair. Sweetie lay at his feet, calmly surveying the lunchtime crowd, the end of her lead wrapped around the arm of Dmitri’s chai
r. Dmitri also scanned the faces of the people enjoying the sunny day, though not nearly as calmly as the dog.
His heart lurched at every black-haired guy that came into view, then settled down as, one after the other, they turned out not to be Troy. Maybe his mom was right; maybe he did need glasses. And maybe Troy wasn’t going to show.
It had been a week since Troy had gone missing. He’d texted Dmitri that evening, letting him know everything was okay. They’d texted a lot in the last seven days; they’d had long conversations about Troy’s school, Dmitri’s job, what the purpose of life was, everything and anything. They’d talked more than they had the entire months previous. They talked about everything except for what the future held for them as a couple. And they hadn’t seen each other in person or even spoken on the phone.
Troy didn’t offer to come over, and Dmitri didn’t want to force his way in. But last night he had broken. He needed to see Troy’s face again, to hear his voice, to see all of him. He’d asked Troy to meet him here at the Starry Night, where they’d had their first date. And endless ten minutes later, Troy had agreed to meet him at noon. High noon. Perfect time for a standoff. Only it was fifteen minutes past and no Troy.
Dmitri stirred his cold latte, the foam leaf long-dissolved into a muddy puddle, and picked up his phone. A black screen stared back at him. Oh, crap. He’d turned it off for that stupid meeting and forgotten to turn it back on. When it finally turned on, he found he’d missed three phone calls and two texts from Troy.
Hey, my truck broke down. Pick me up?
That was the first one. It had come in about 11:45
Vincent’s giving me a ride. Don’t leave!
The second text had been sent only five minutes ago. Great, Troy was going to think he was the biggest jerk on the planet.
“Damn it!” He slammed a fist on the table, coffee sloshed over the lip of his oversized cup. He heard the deep rumble of a muscle car engine, the slam of a car door, and Sweetie lurched to her feet, tail wagging wildly. She woofed, and Dmitri looked up quickly.
His eyes met Troy’s over the low patio fence, and much like the first time their eyes had met, Dmitri’s breath caught in his throat. He would swear Troy had gotten even more gorgeous in the seven days they were apart. His deep brown eyes sparkled, his hair was a tiny bit longer, and, if he wasn’t mistaken, a new tattoo peeked out from the collar of his black V-neck t-shirt. Unlike his other tattoos, this one seemed to have a bit of color, a flash of baby blue against his olive skin.
