CHAPTER 11
Trent was late. He hated being late but that’s how it went sometimes when one was dealing with Fort Hood traffic. Some jackass had just rear-ended some other jackass at the Clear Creek gate and he’d sat on the bridge over Highway 190 and seethed for forty minutes.
He was supposed to be meeting Shane and Carponti at the Community Events Center to make sure things were on track for the wedding reception. It was going to be a small affair but Shane wanted somewhere small that they could have to themselves.
Carponti had suggested Hooters. Shane had not been impressed.
Trent parked in front of the Events Center next to Carponti’s bright red truck at the edge of the parking lot and headed toward the front door. The parking lot was crowded from a bunch of conferences being held in the Events Center all this week. They’d be lucky to see the room at all if the sheer amount of rank walking through the parking lot was any indication as to the madness inside.
Trent stuffed his cell phone in his pocket and reached for the door at the same time as another soldier.
He stopped. His skin went cold.
Lieutenant Jason Randall. The weasley little bastard who’d been a pain in Trent’s ass since the day he first arrived in Trent’s formation. The hackles on the back of his neck rose and he took a single step forward before he remembered that Randall was with a general officer and one simply did not assault one’s former lieutenants in front of general officers.
Trent badly wanted to know what ass Randall had kissed to get an assignment escorting a general around when he was pending many of the same charges as Trent.
Trent stiffened as General Ledbetter looked at him. He felt like a hamster being watched by a feral cat. “So you’re Davila.”
“Sir?” Trent kept his tone neutral, his body at the position of attention.
“I’m sure you two have lots to talk about.” He opened the door and Trent spotted a sign for a Warfighter Commanders’ Update Brief.
“Roger, sir.” Randall looked like he’d rather eat glass.
Trent waited for the door to close completely before he spoke.
“Nice to see your ass-kissing skills haven’t atrophied, LT,” Trent said, his voice lighter than it had any business being.
“Fuck you. Sir.” Randall’s face flushed deep scarlet.
“No, you’ve already done that,” Trent said dryly.
“You deserve whatever happens to you. You gave me nothing but shit from the moment I started working for you.” Randall lifted his chin.
“So sue me for expecting more from my officers than skating by on their daddy’s name. Your father earned that reputation. You did not,” Trent said. He clenched his fists, badly wanting to lay his ass out flat. Just once and he’d get it out of his system.
“Maybe if you were a better commander, you wouldn’t be under investigation. The Army can’t find things if there’s nothing to be found.”
Trent smiled coldly. “And how exactly are you planning on beating the charges against you? Because, as you said, the Army can’t find things if there’s nothing to be found.”
Randall flushed and clenched his fists by his sides. “I’ll never get why the troopers followed you so blindly.”
Trent took a single step closer. “See, that’s the problem with you, LT. You never figured
it out.”
“Figured what out?”
“That no matter how highly ranked you become, the boys will always see through you.” Trent rubbed the tip of his finger over the black thread that made up the lieutenant rank on Randall’s chest. “They’ll respect your rank because they have to. But they’ll never respect you,” he whispered. “No matter who your father is.”
They stood toe to toe for an eternity. Trent wanted so badly to hurt him that it felt like battery acid burned through his veins.
“Fuck you. You knew what I was doing.”
“No, I didn’t. And I never would have allowed you to put our boys at risk so you could make some extra money selling weapons parts.” Trent stroked his hands over Randall’s collar. “But you’re still under investigation, too. Tell me, does Daddy know you married one of your subordinates?”
Everything happened all at once. Randall hauled off and swung at Trent just as the doors to the Events Center burst open. Carponti and Shane dragged Randall and Trent apart before the blow could land.
Randall yanked away from Carponti, straightening his uniform. “Still the same undisciplined bunch of roughnecks you’ve always been,” he spat.
“God, it’s so nice to see you, LT.” Carponti reached forward to flatten the collar of Randall’s uniform. Randall slapped his hand away. “Tell me, has your sense of smell changed from having your nose buried up General Ledbetter’s ass?”
“Fuck you, Carponti. Shove your fake arm where the sun doesn’t shine.”
Carponti lifted his prosthetic and studied it for a moment, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “How about I shove it up your ass instead?”
“Carponti!” Shane’s sharp reprimand was a long familiar refrain with them, and Trent almost grinned. “LT, get back inside before you get hurt.”
Randall turned to head inside then paused. His fingers clenched by his sides for a moment and then he turned back to face them, his eyes zeroing in on Trent. “You’re not going to win this one.”
Trent rubbed his finger down the side of his nose then adjusted his glasses. “We’ll see about that.”
“Ta ta for now,” Carponti said from behind him, waving his prosthetic. Trent shot his friend a look as the LT disappeared into the Events Center.
“Why the hell was Randall allowed to be that guy’s escort? He’s still under investigation.” There was real anger in Carponti’s voice, a rarity for him.
“Randall’s father called in a few more favors, I guess,” Trent said. He glanced at Shane. “Let’s go make sure this wedding of yours still has a place to party. I need something good to replace the slime that fucker left on my skin.”
* * *
“So how are things going with the kids?” Emily sat in one of the comfortable chairs perpendicular to Trent.
The office door was closed. His back was to the wall. Still, he felt a level of vulnerability he hadn’t felt since his first deployment, when incoming rounds had kept him from sleeping— and when he did, they’d exploded so frequently and so often, he’d only slept bits and pieces at a time.
This was his second session with Emily and already he was unearthing things he didn’t want to feel. Things he didn’t know how to process. Things he’d run from since he’d gotten hurt.
“They’re…tough,” he finally admitted. He told her about the other morning and his explosion with Ethan.
“So you’re still feeling a lot of anxiety around them?” Emily’s voice was calm and quiet. Smooth. She made him want to relax.
“Yeah. And when I get anxious, my temper gets short.” He twirled his glasses in his hand, avoiding her gaze. “I feel like I’m failing at everything. Being a husband. Being a father. I can’t get ahead back here. The only thing I’m good at is being a soldier.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” Emily said. “If it were true, you wouldn’t be here, now would you?”
He glanced up sharply. “I guess not,” he said. “When is it going to get easier?” he asked. “When is it going to feel normal and not like I’m one egg short of a dozen?”
“It takes time, Trent. You’ve only been home, really allowed yourself to be home, for a really short period. You can’t expect miracles.” She tipped her head at him. “This isn’t the same thing as preparing for a deployment,” she said.
“I know that.”
“Do you? This isn’t a paint by numbers event, Trent. It’s going to take years for you to get your normal back. It’s a slow decompression. You’ve had ten years to wind yourself up, to get used to a certain kind of stress. This is the same thing. New stress. Different stress. Not life- threatening but stressful all the same.” She shifted, crossing one leg over the other. “Was there ever a deployment when you came home and things felt more normal than they do now?”
He frowned, staring down at his hands in his lap. He’d deployed so many times. Each time he’d thought he couldn’t wait to get home. Each time, he’d rushed back out the door as soon as he could. “Nothing has ever felt right since I got shot,” he whispered after a silence that stretched until forever.
“Do you want to tell me about that?” she asked gently.
The memories rose up, sharp and poignant. He could smell the stinking sulfur, hear the screams of his men. The fire that ripped through his skin as the round that had damn near killed him tore him apart.
“I should have died that day,” he whispered.
“You did die, Trent.” He looked up at her. She tapped his file on her lap. “Your medical records show your heart stopped. You were medically dead.” He looked back down at his hands. There was a weight pressing down on him. Like an elephant sitting on his chest. Too much, too many memories. A thousand faces stared back at him, swirling around him, taunting him that he should have been better, faster, smarter. Should have seen the bomb that had taken out their truck.
“Trent?” Her voice penetrated the racing thoughts. He looked up at her. “You came home. But you don’t feel like you deserve it, do you?”
Her words settled on his shoulders like a heavy, wet blanket. Thick with recrimination that seeped into his bones. And though he tried, there was simply no way for him to wriggle out of this conversation since she’d laid it so plainly in his lap.
“Maybe I wonder what’s the point. Good men go to war. They don’t come home.” He looked up at her. “I didn’t deserve to come home. I’m a shitty husband. A shitty father. There are good men, good fathers, who didn’t come home. Why the fuck did I?” Harsh words, ripped from his soul.
“Good men do come home,” Emily corrected. “They just don’t come back the same as when they went. And you have to accept that war asks good men to do bad things, that death in war isn’t something you can control and that punishing yourself isn’t doing anyone any good.”
“What am I supposed to do?” He stood abruptly, pacing the small office, unable to sit with the disquiet in his thoughts. “How do I wake up in the morning and not see everything that’s screwed up around me? Things that I screwed up by leaving. By running. My wife doesn’t deserve this. My kids don’t.”
The strain was back, squeezing around his heart.
“Start with something small,” she said quietly.
He looked down at her where he stood. The woman was unflappable. Calm in the face of his frustration. How did she manage that? “Like what?”
“Take the kids. By yourself. Do something with them, just them. Show them you’re still their daddy but more importantly, show yourself that you can do this.”
“I’m not sure Laura would be comfortable with that.” A very real fear. “What if I lose my shit again?” he whispered.
“Then don’t freak out. Then walk away for a second. Go into the bathroom, close the door and give yourself a minute. And if that doesn’t work? Then you stay in that bathroom until it does.”
Trent sucked in a deep breath, the shame from the other morning crashing over him.
“You have to give yourself permission to take things slowly, Trent. You can’t come back from being at war for most of the last decade and expect to just miraculously turn things off.”
He smiled bitterly. “When you put it like that, it sounds a little silly.”
“This isn’t silly,” she said quietly. “This is the hardest thing you will ever do.”
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