Her All Along

by Cara Dee

  Finn and I were the same age. I actually didn’t know who had been born first, but he had developed slower physically. When we were four, nobody would guess he was my twin. It wasn’t until we were around nine or ten that he’d caught up. It’d resulted in him being the kid brother and me shouldering the role of protector.

  I’d been good once upon a time.

  I couldn’t say that about the man I’d become, and that was why some memories and urges felt foreign.

  I didn’t do good things anymore.

  “I gotta pretend I have my shit together at dinner with the folks tomorrow.” Darius broke the silence. “You mind coming with?”

  I shook my head. “I’ll be there.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  It was nothing. It would give me the chance to check in with the girls too. Pipsqueak was trying to stay positive by focusing on school and the fact that Ryan was coming home from his deployment in January, but Willow was pretty distracted by Jake being gone. Last time I’d had dinner over there, she’d admitted that it was affecting her performance in school.

  “You got any plans for the holidays?” Darius wondered.

  “No. I’m trying to avoid them.” Both Pipsqueak and their mother had invited me over to their place.

  “So am I. You wanna head up to our cabin in Whistler?” he asked. “A week in the middle of nowhere—no one around for miles. Pizza and whiskey, no caroling, no gifts, no Christmas decorations.”

  “You had me at no one around for miles.”

  I could hear myself laughing, I could feel the effects of the alcohol, and I was in great company. It was a new year, Ryan was home, we were at our regular bar, the music was good… And yet, the happiness was skin-deep and veiled the reality, which was that I was a ticking fucking time bomb.

  “Hey!” Ethan tried to yell over the Friday night crowd. We laughed our asses off as he climbed up to stand on the table. Then he let out a sharp whistle and shouted again. “Hey!”

  The music didn’t stop, but all eyes turned to our corner of the old bar.

  Ethan dragged Ryan up to stand on his chair.

  “My big brother just got home from Iraq—”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Ryan groaned through his chuckles.

  “A real hero, this one.” Ethan grinned blearily and poked his finger at Ryan’s chest. “Ladies, if you wanna buy a Marine a drink, now’s your chance. Fucker’s single too!”

  I exchanged a drunken smirk with Darius and loosened my tie.

  There wasn’t a chance in hell Ryan was going home alone.

  The women at the bar threatened to raise the roof with their catcalls, the sheer volume so loud that it hurt my ears and made my grin falter. It was dizzying, all of it. Too much commotion, too loud, not enough air.

  Darius nudged me and jerked his chin toward the exit.

  I nodded.

  We managed to squeeze by the people crowding our table, and I gulped in some cold air as soon as we joined the group of smokers.

  Darius smoked, and I was drunk enough to ask for one.

  The cold air felt so fucking good.

  “Thanks.” I accepted the cigarette and lighter and turned my back on the wind to light it up.

  “You all right?”

  I nodded and took a slow drag, and I handed back the lighter. “Yeah. Good to have Ry home. Now we just need Jake, and then your family of crazy Irish hellions is complete again.”

  He chuckled and took a pull from his own smoke.

  We walked away from the other smokers, and I peered out over the marina that lay quiet and dark this time of year. But the boardwalk right next to it exploded with life on the weekends, regardless of the season, and I spotted several couples and groups of friends heading for the pier.

  I took another drag and eyed one of the couples. They were too far away, but I could see them kissing and holding each other.

  When was the last time I hugged someone? It had to be Angie, and that was before she stabbed me in the back. So…going on three years. Three years without human touch that wasn’t ephemeral—like the one-armed hugs and pats on the backs I exchanged with buddies—or laced with anything but affection, such as meaningless hookups.

  I blew out a breath and felt the nicotine kicking in, providing an extra buzz.

  “Sometimes I wish I were gay,” I muttered.

  “Yeah?” Darius bent down and retied one of his boots.

  “You’ve figured out I struggle with women—” I huffed when he snorted. Fine, so I’d been obvious. Whatever. “Well, it gets fucking lonely sometimes, but it’s difficult letting someone close when you kinda hate them based on their gender.”

  Darius grunted and rubbed his shoulder as he straightened, and then he took the cigarette from between his lips and flicked away some ashes. “You’ll realize one day that both men and women fucking suck.”

  “That’s comforting.”

  He slanted a lazy smirk. “You want me to hug you, buddy?”

  I flipped him off.

  He chuckled. “Kidding aside, we gotta do something about your woman-hatin’ ways.”

  Did he think I wasn’t aware?

  I blew out some smoke through my nose and looked over at the boats.

  “You’ve met some good women in my family,” he pointed out.

  “Every rule needs an exception.”

  “Firstly, that’s a lotta exceptions,” he said. “Secondly, who’s to say that wretched hag of a mother of yours wasn’t an exception?” He pushed forward, despite my flinch. “Or your ex-wife, for that matter. But the jury’s still out on her, if I’m gonna be honest.”

  I cocked a brow at him. What the fuck?

  “Hear me out,” he defended, to which I suppressed a sigh. This was pointless. Once the hear-me-outs began, I knew Darius was shit-faced. “What she did… Trust, I would’ve flipped my shit too. I get your anger—and the level of betrayal. I get it. But one action doesn’t make a person. If that’s the case, I’m thoroughly screwed, and you should be hating my guts too.”

  “Why would—”

  “You think I haven’t cheated?” He widened his arms. “Fuck, man, I’m no saint. I’ve lied to friends, betrayed women, and fucked up plenty. I’ve been betrayed too. I’ve been cheated on and lied to.” He shrugged. “We’ve all done asshole things.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Technically, I knew he was right.

  “Ryan more so than me,” he added with a grin.

  I snorted.

  “Legit, if you have thoughts about trying out guys, I’m sure he can help you,” he chuckled.

  It was impossible not to get struck by the humor. Ryan wasn’t merely bisexual; he was into some kinky shit and had shared more than one story about being one of those dominant fuckers. The image in my head was just too funny. I didn’t have a gay, or subservient, bone in me, so I was sure that conversation would go over well.

  “Christ, I’m picturing it.” Darius cracked up.

  I shook my head in amusement.

  “I wonder who’d get locked up for murder,” he mused.

  “Are you kidding me? Do I look like I can take on a Marine?”

  He was fucking nuts. I might share the height of these Irish bastards, but they were certifiable, had years of experience in fields that made most people piss their pants…

  Darius laughed. “Maybe not, but never underestimate a survivor.”

  Survivor.

  I wasn’t sure I’d use that word to describe myself.

  “And Ryan isn’t the warrior who’s survived war?” I threw back.

  “That’s—that’s different.” He waved it off and lit up a new cigarette with his old one. “You think I’m joking, but hear me out. Hear me out. I have this theory.”

  This oughta be good.

  I took a final pull from the smoke and then stubbed it out.

  “It all depends on how we deal with trauma,” he said. Or slurred. “You can be a runner—most of us are, to an extent. It’s ingrain
ed in us to try to escape trauma. But real runners…they reach a whole new level. They stop at nothing and will even take physical flight to get away.” He exhaled some smoke. “You can be a fighter. That’s me. Fighters can be good—but they also carry a shitload of anger and rarely know what to do with it.” Hence his bursts of rage? “I stand up against everything I’ve been through and think I can conquer it by taking on even more work. I’m a cocky son of a bitch, in other words.”

  “No argument.” I smirked wryly.

  “Then there’s you.” He threw an arm around my shoulders and nudged me toward the bar. “Even survivors have limits, but you can take more shit than anyone. To others, you come across as a bottomless pit.”

  “I already knew I was full of shit,” I chuckled.

  “You’re not listenin’,” he bitched. “Hear me out.”

  Oh Christ.

  “You keep getting up,” he told me. “Regardless of what life throws at you, you keep getting up in the morning. You get up after every fight, you get up after every blow you’re dealt.”

  I side-eyed him, uncomfortable.

  He took a deep pull from his smoke before throwing it away, even though he had more than half of it left. Then he patted my chest.

  “That’s why I know you won’t use that sweet 686 that you’ve hidden in your towels in your bathroom upstairs.”

  Fuck. I swallowed hard. With those words, I sobered up.

  “Doesn’t mean I necessarily think it’s safe for you to keep it,” he said. “But you won’t use it.” He formed a gun with his fingers and pressed them to my temple. “It goes against your nature to stop breathing, my friend.”

  I withdrew from his arms and cleared my throat.

  “That’s a good thing, Ave.”

  Yeah, whatever.

  “I think it’s time for me to call it a night,” I said.

  Darius shook his head and locked his arm around my neck, shoving me closer to the bar. “Nice try. Just because you’re a survivor doesn’t mean you’re not going through a lot of shit right now, and I don’t think you should be alone. Come on, I’ll buy you another beer. You’re part of the family—start acting like it.”

  I released a heavy breath and just let it go for now. I’d be alone soon enough.

  Eight

  Growing up, I learned how to analyze levels of pain through someone’s scream.

  Children were especially easy. They cried at nothing, and often, and most of the time, there was nothing to worry about. As long as Finn’s screaming had a tint of whining in it, all was good.

  It was the equivalent of a teenage girl declaring it was the end of the world because her nail broke.

  After that, however…

  If my brother let out a sharp, blood-curdling scream, he was in pain. A lot of pain. At that point, I was locked inside our room, and no amount of pounding on the door would make our mother let me out and take his place. Instead, I’d be forced to stand there and listen. I’d hear his screams go from sharp and clear to jagged and raspy and choked and breathless. Sometimes, he’d scream until he gagged and threw up. The lack of air would send him straight into panic, and that scream… That particular scream still gave me nightmares sometimes.

  The sound wasn’t necessarily loud; in fact, at this level, it came out as static. As fragments of fear, pleas, desperation, and heartbreaking hurt. It could be hoarse and wheezing and cut off by gasps and whimpers.

  Spring had arrived. I was outside working on the deck, and I heard Pipsqueak from across the playground; she screamed my name, and I just knew. By the gut-wrenching wail of despair in her scream, I knew we’d lost Jake.

  As my eyes flooded with tears, I somehow managed to function on autopilot. I grabbed my phone and clenched my jaw, then zipped up my hoodie and made my way across my yard. I jumped over the picket fence and picked up the pace until I was running. My breath misted in the chilly air, and my beanie was damp with sweat after I’d worked outside all morning.

  Please tell me I’m wrong.

  Pipsqueak stood there on the bike path that went through the playground and led to her street, and she was fucking shaking. And crying.

  “Come on, sweetheart.” I grabbed her hand, and we jogged back to her house.

  “You—you have to c-call the others,” she sobbed.

  I swallowed my emotions and nodded once.

  A black SUV with government plates was parked outside the Quinns’ house.

  Pipsqueak whimpered and covered her mouth with her free hand, and I pulled her closer to me as we slowed down to a walk. Darius was the first Quinn brother in my contact list, and I called him first.

  “You can go inside, Pipsqueak. I’ll call your brothers.”

  She shook her head and wiped at her face. “I don’t wanna be in there.”

  My stomach tightened at the sound of Darius’s yawned, “Damn, I overslept. Hey.”

  “Get over to your parents’ house, buddy.”

  I was met with a stretch of silence, and maybe he’d heard something in my voice. It wouldn’t surprise me. Whether he was in the private sector or not, he knew the military as well as Ryan and Jake and their father. This was their life.

  “Darius, you have to come home,” Pipsqueak croaked.

  Darius released a breath and cleared his throat. “I’ll be right there. Does Lias know?”

  “Not yet, I’m—”

  “I’ll call him.” With that, Darius hung up the phone.

  “You don’t have to call Ryan,” Pipsqueak sniffled. “The officer said they’d notify Ry at his base.”

  I swallowed. Ryan was stationed at Camp Pendleton in California, but I assumed he’d be allowed to come home for a while.

  Next, I called Ethan.

  Jake had been killed in action during an ambush in a mountain village in southern Afghanistan. Rebels had been using young children as shields, which had caused Jake’s superior to call off the close-air-support by the Air Force unit that’d been in the area to assist them. During the squad’s brief hesitation to fire back, the rebels had gotten the upper hand and killed Jake and eight others.

  Jake was awarded the US Army Distinguished Service Medal for having barricaded an underground shelter before he’d been killed, thus ensuring the survival of twelve rebel hostages that they’d freed, as well as the only surviving service member of Jake’s unit.

  I’d seen Jake’s father annoyed, I’d seen him worried, and I’d seen him shout furiously at politicians on the news. But watching him accept the medals and ribbons that summed up Jake’s career and life in the Army… It unleashed a rage within him that would scare most people half to death.

  I did what I could. I took a week off from work to accompany the family to Virginia where the funeral would be held, and I did my best to shove aside my own grief and be there for Pipsqueak and her mother. Willow had long since shut down and gone nonverbal, and she alternated by plastering herself to Ethan and Darius. She didn’t speak; she didn’t cry. When left alone, she sat on the couch, her bed, or on the floor, and just rocked back and forth.

  After we’d arrived at our hotel outside of DC, we were served a light buffet in a closed-off area of the breakfast hall, where a team from the Army guided the family through the funeral arrangements. Given the number of soldiers who’d fallen, they were organizing a bigger memorial for the squad.

  I listened with one ear, but I put most of my focus on Pipsqueak. Right now, she and Ryan were grabbing some food from the buffet, and she was in a decent mood for the time being. Unlike her sister, Elise didn’t shut down as easily or frequently. Instead, she went through different stages of grief every day, forward one step, backward two steps, and vice versa. She was difficult to predict.

  “Avery.” Mary scooted closer to me and put her hand over mine. “I want to say thank you.”

  I furrowed my brow. “For what?”

  She chuckled softly and patted my hand. “For being an amazing brother to my children, of course. I don’t know what Elise
and Darius would do without you.”

  Oh. I shifted in my seat, instantly uncomfortable. Every fiber of my being was ready to object to her kind words. They didn’t feel right, whatsoever.

  “You also knew a side of Jake that the rest of us were never lucky enough to see much,” she murmured. “You met him in a place where his dreams didn’t guide him to a damn desert.” She swallowed hard and became misty-eyed. “I was so happy when he told me he wanted to become a teacher.”

  I managed a pathetic little smile. “He would’ve made an excellent teacher, but I’m not sure it would have been enough for him in the long run.”

  It was certainly true that Jake had once dreamed about a life far away from uniforms and combat, though 9/11 had changed it all.

  “He and I got drunk after finishing an exam once,” I admitted. “He told me he wanted what everyone called average—house, minivan, wife, dog, a bunch of kids… In between shots, he even named his kids JJ, Grace, and Todd.”

  Mary chuckled thickly and wiped her eyes.

  “But he was afraid too,” I continued quietly. “He said he wasn’t sure he’d fit in his own dream, because part of him wanted something bigger, and he’d immediately move on to talk about James’s past in the Army.”

  When the towers came down, the decision was made in a heartbeat.

  After years of studies, falling behind when he’d changed his mind and pursued something else, he’d found his path. And it led him directly into war.

  “Jake stopped questioning his choices once he was in the Army,” I explained. “I may not understand his decision, but we’re lucky that he, and men and women like him, made them—and continue to do so. He was at peace with his choice, Mary. He was happy in the service, and he was a proud soldier.”