I Hate to Stand Alone

by Casey Winter

“Woah, Jesus,” I say, almost laughing. “Okay, message received and understood.”

  We sit quietly like that for an hour or more. We don’t say much. When we do talk, it’s in short whispers. Then my cellphone starts to blare. I leap on it, not wanting to wake Mom.

  It’s Luke. I debate not answering, but I need to hear a friendly voice right now. Or maybe I just need to hear his voice. I don’t know. Going into the hallway, I answer.

  “I’m in the waiting room,” he says.

  “What?”

  “Of the hospital. I’m here, Hannah. If you need me.”

  My mouth falls open. I thought we were arguing, but he’s here … “How?” I mutter.

  “Your friend, Penny, I ran into her on my way home. She told me what happened. Listen, I know you said to give you a couple of days. If you want me to go, just say. But I want to be here for you.” His voice sounds tight. I can tell this is taking a lot for him to say. But he’s doing it, for me, for us. “You shouldn’t have to go through this alone. And your friend mentioned something about not liking hospitals.”

  “Mom’s asleep, like lights out, and her friend is here. So I could, just for a little bit, come and see you. Just give me a couple of minutes, kay?”

  “Sure.”

  I hang up, make sure Mom and Alejandra are okay (they are). And then—feeling a little bit ashamed by my vanity—I go into the bathroom and fix my hair and brush down my lazy-day outfit. It’s not a miracle transformation. There are stress shadows under my eyes, and I look tired, but it’s an improvement.

  When I get to the waiting room, Luke stands up, hands behind his back. All of a sudden, it’s easy to imagine him in his full military dress gear, complete with the medals he never talks about. “I know you said you didn’t want to see me—”

  Suddenly, at the sight of him, something in me breaks. All the pain of these last few hours comes rushing out. I throw myself at him, burying my face in his neck. I sob violently, maybe a little pathetically. I can’t help it. It just won’t stop. Luke takes me by the shoulder and leads me to the chairs. Sitting me down, he wraps his arm around me. He doesn’t say anything. He just lets me cry myself out. I’m grateful for that.

  Finally, the tears stop. I sit back, rubbing my face. “I feel like a little kid,” I murmur.

  “Let me get you some tissue and, uh, some water?”

  I smile through the tears. “Something tells me you haven’t got much experience with crying women, frogman.”

  “I usually use a military gun-fighting technique when the waterworks start,” he agrees.

  “Yeah, and what’s that?”

  “Cover and move, twinkle toes. Which is a fancy way of saying I get the hell out of dodge.”

  He gets me some water from the cooler and some paper from the bathroom. I paw at my skin, stinging from the tears.

  “Luke, can I say something?”

  He gives me a you-don’t-need-permission look, and then nods for good measure.

  “Can we just table whatever argument we were having last night? I got your flowers. They were beautiful. And I agree with them. Not easy, not impossible. Yep. But for tonight, can we just … just be like we’ve been this past week: just Hannah and Luke?”

  A flicker of tension moves across his expression at Hannah and Luke, like he thinks those two names being uttered so close together are poison or something. But then it’s replaced with a genuine smile, and I wonder if I imagined it. “I think that’s a good idea,” he says. “I want to be here for you. Even if it’s confusing, I’d feel like a no-good asshole if I didn’t support you in any way I can.”

  I huddle close to him. “Let’s just stay like this for a bit, kay?”

  He tightens his grip and kisses the top of my head. “Whatever you want, Hannah. I’m here.”

  It feels natural, being this close to him, all wrapped up. It feels like home. And, since apparently I really am trying to win the Worst Daughter in the Universe Award, I end up falling asleep.

  —

  I’m not sure how much later I wake up. But when I do, it’s to Luke bolting upright, his hands gripping the arms of the chair so hard his forearms tremble. A vein bulges in his neck and his teeth are clenched, his chest rising and falling as he breathes growingly. He looks like a man possessed, not like Luke at all. He looks like a man ready to kill.

  “L-Luke?” I whisper, almost scared to reach out and touch him.

  “Send it,” he growls. His eyes are closed. Oh my God, he’s still asleep. “Clear goddamn shot. Send that shot. Send it.”

  “Baby, it’s okay,” I whisper, feeling groggy.

  Like so much else today, I wonder if this is a dream. But it’s not. When I touch Luke, he feels oven-like, sweltering. Drops of sweat slide down his skin, sticking his shirt to him. I’m terrified, I can’t lie. This version of Luke is a dangerous man. Blinking away the last of my sleep, I rub his back softly. “It’s just a dream, Luke. It can’t hurt you. You’re here, with me. You’re not over there anymore.”

  His eyes snap open. He deflates for a moment. “W-what?” he mutters. Then his face drops. “Oh, Jesus. Oh, no. No.”

  He springs to his feet, fast, and strides for the stairwell exit.

  “Luke,” I call, chasing after him. “You don’t have to be ashamed.”

  “There’s a woman battling cancer in there.” He spins, furious, waving a hand at the hospital rooms in general. “And here I am making it all about me. I fell asleep, Hannah. I fell asleep.” He says this like it’s some unforgivable crime, like he’s a monster. “I never wanted you to see me like that.”

  Spinning back around, he paces to the stairwell, basically punching the door open so it whines on the hinges.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Luke

  I take the steps two at a time, needing to get out of here, needing to get some air and see the sky. I feel trapped. I feel ashamed. I feel … I feel, and that’s the problem.

  I’m supposed to keep that dark part of me hidden from the world, locked in a box inside myself. I was so good, making sure I never fell asleep around Hannah, making sure she never had to see me like that. But just now, I made it all about me. Her mother is sick and I let myself relax. I made it all about my messed up problems, my past, gun smoke and blood and pain.

  I made it about that mission that haunts me every night of my life, that never lets me rest.

  I pace across the main lobby and through the automatic doors, sucking in night-cold air. But I don’t feel my head clear. I just feel more muddled, more pathetic.

  People with the sorts of problems I have are always told they shouldn’t think this way about themselves. They’re told to accept and forgive themselves. They’re told that it’s natural, a normal part of being human.

  Screw that.

  I’m a Navy SEAL, dammit. I’m supposed to have a bulletproof mind. I’m supposed to be carved from steel, unbreakable. I let Hannah in, and she saw me, just for a moment, the real me.

  The soldier. The mercenary. The fighter.

  I end up just pacing up and down in front of the hospital, not trusting myself to drive right now. I think about calling Morgan. But Morgan has always been colder than a tundra, frozen to the middle. The scars in his mind were made early, when he saw his family burn to death in front of his eyes. He’s never let himself get emotional. He barely even smiles. We’re not the same, me and Morgan.

  I don’t think I can speak to him right now. I’d feel stupid, bothering him with this. I keep thinking, over and over, I fell asleep. How did I let myself get so comfortable? How was Hannah’s touch so home-like, so welcoming, that I drifted into the pain I knew would be waiting for me in unconsciousness?

  Vignettes from my tours are superimposed over this quiet night. In the yellow glow of the hospital lights, I see muzzle flash. In the light wind, I hear a thousand screaming voices. In the scent of the trees and the bleach stink of the hospital, I smell combat.

  I turn at the sound of approaching footsteps. It’
s Hannah, her expression so concerned and forgiving I can’t look at her for long. It threatens to make me feel again, to break down my defenses. “Luke,” she says quietly, putting her hand out. “Please, don’t do this. You don’t have to—I’m not judging you. I don’t think any less of you.”

  My fists are clenched so damn hard, my fingers are jabbing into my palms. My breathing won’t slow down. I’d feel sorry for Jock Hanlon if he chose this moment to come swaggering into my life. I don’t know what I’d do, but I know what I’m capable of. And it’s not pretty.

  “Just go inside,” I sigh. “Go and be with your mother.”

  “This is why we never spend the night together, right?” she says softly. “Night terrors?”

  “Oh, good,” I grunt sarcastically. “It has a name.”

  She bites down, exasperated for a moment. Then she softens again. “I know about night terrors, Luke. I’ve—I’ve had them myself. But I’ve known someone who had them really, really bad. I was there for them. I can be there for you, too.”

  “I don’t need anybody to be there for me,” I bark. “I don’t deserve it.”

  She flinches slightly. This is it. This is the moment where she finally sees the darkness inside of me and runs away. I’ve never let anybody get close enough for this to happen before. I’m stunned by how badly it hurts me, the pain in her eyes.

  She looks so damn beautiful, even if she probably thinks she looks scruffy in her baggy T-shirt and sweatpants, old sneakers on her feet because she didn’t have time to change. Without makeup, her hair ruffled, she looks even more vivacious and real. She looks—goddammit—like a woman who I could see myself being with.

  But she doesn’t run away. She steps forward. “Luke,” she whispers. There’s a croak in her voice that hits me slap-bang in my heart, in a place I didn’t even know existed. “I told you about Noah, what happened there. I’ve never told anybody that before. Do you want to know why? Because I trust you. Because I …”

  Because I love you? Is that what she was going to say?

  I want to laugh, to tell myself that’s not possible. But that would be a lie. I don’t know a lot about love, but I know enough to understand it makes no damn sense.

  “I didn’t ask you to tell me about that,” I mutter.

  She steps forward, suddenly angry and flustered. “No, you didn’t,” she snaps. “But I did anyway. Because I trust you. I know you want to act like there’s nothing in the world that can hurt you. I know you think you need to be tough, I dunno … impossible to break into or whatever. But you’re a person, Luke. You’re allowed to be vulnerable. Just come back upstairs with me. Please.”

  I feel myself weakening. I try to callous myself, which I’m usually so good at. But this is Hannah. That means something. Somewhere in these past few weeks, Hannah has gone from the woman I should hate to the woman I can’t hate. My defenses are crumbling like a sandcastle in a storm. I feel lost.

  “I can’t believe what Noah did to you,” I whisper. Now there’s a croak in my voice, too. “It makes me so angry, Hannah. This whole thing makes me so damn angry. You and Noah, childhood sweethearts. And you were just the little skater next door … and now look at us. Look at us. Of all the people I thought I’d show this part of myself to, it was never you.

  “Hell.” I laugh darkly. “I never thought I’d show it. Period.”

  She’s pressed herself against me now. The comfort she offers is so tempting, so right. When she wraps her arms around my waist and places her head against my chest, I don’t fight her.

  “Please don’t leave,” she murmurs. Her hands tighten on my back. It’s like she’s scared I’m going to just bolt for my Chevy. “Like I said, I can help you. I’ve helped people—well, a person—with night terrors before.”

  “Who?” I ask.

  She sighs. “I can’t tell you that just yet. I need to get her permission first.”

  I look down at her, smoothing her hair from her face. She smiles with crushing cuteness when I push the hair over her ear. “How are you so beautiful?” I whisper. “Not just your looks, Hannah. Everything about you. How are you so good? A man like me doesn’t deserve somebody so good.”

  “That’s just silly, and we both know it. Will you come back?”

  “Yes,” I say quietly. “Okay, twinkle toes. I’ll come back.”

  She takes my hand, squeezing fiercely, and together we walk back into the hospital and up the stairs.

  —

  A few minutes later, I’m sitting in the waiting room nursing a paper cup of coffee as she goes to check on her mom. She returns and tells me she’s still asleep, and then adds, “I need to go and make a phone call. Promise not to ditch me, frogman?”

  As silly as it is, the frogman nickname helps me a ridiculous amount. It makes me smile. It makes me remember all the carefree fun we’ve had this past week. “I promise,” I tell her.

  She leaves and I watch the steam rising from the coffee. I try a SEAL breathing technique to calm my frantic nerves, but it’s difficult to focus. Hannah has busted my ribcage right open, and now she’s prodding at the soft stuff underneath. That should piss me off. I can’t say how shocked I am that it doesn’t.

  She returns after about ten minutes and sits softly down next to me. Putting her hand on mine—I have abandoned the coffee on the table now—she whispers, “I was just talking with my friend, Penny, getting her permission. I think it could help if you know where I’m coming from.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask. “Is Penny the friend you mentioned … the one who had night terrors?”

  Hannah nods slowly. “I asked her if I could tell you. So you’d understand that you don’t have to be ashamed. She said I could … with the condition that, if you ever tell anybody else, I get to make a handbag out of your nuts. Sound fair?”

  I laugh, ticking her under the armpit, loving the way she squirms and shoots me you’re-a-jerk eyes. “I think you would, too,” I say. “But don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. Not if you don’t want me to.”

  “It’s not like it’s a secret, anyway,” she says. “Most of the town knows. But it’s what she wants.”

  “Like I said, the not-a-secret’s safe with me.”

  “Good,” she mutters. “Because she’s basically a sister to me. I don’t know if I could forgive that.”

  I nod, admiring her sense of loyalty.

  Letting out a shaky breath as she sinks deeper into our embrace, she goes on, “Penny was involved in a home invasion when she was a little girl. Two men broke into her house because apparently they overheard her dad talking in The Jukebox about how he kept a safe under his mattress. They … they did horrible things to her parents and to her little brother. Torture. That sort of stuff.”

  “Jesus,” I whisper.

  “Yeah, and she saw it. She saw it all. They kept them all in the same room.”

  Suddenly, my blood turns cold. Murderous intent runs through me. “Where are these men?” I ask.

  It might be selfish of me, but my first worry is that, as Penny’s friend, these men will somehow get their hands on Hannah. Of course, I’m worried for her friend, too—the same way I’d be for any civilian—but I don’t know or care about Penny like I do about Hannah.

  “In prison, thank God,” Hannah says. “Well, one died in prison: a stabbing. The other is still serving his sentence. They were going to … ah, torture Penny, too. But then the police arrived. A neighbor heard the commotion, and he called them.”

  “Why didn’t I hear about this? I still would’ve been in Little Fall at the time.”

  “Penny used to live in Lorham.” Hannah shrugs. “I mean, everyone here was talking about it, too. Maybe you were just busy?”

  I grunt in assent. She’s right. I was a self-absorbed little prick as a teenager. Girls and wrestling and training for the SEALs was my life.

  “Anyway, she has PTSD from it. She’s been in therapy for years and she’s actually made really, really good progress.” A note of pri
de enters her voice. “But some things, like coming to hospitals, still freak her out. That’s because her little brother didn’t die right away. He died after, in Lorham Hospital, so she’s always associated hospitals with that horrible event.”

  “Of course,” I mutter.

  I think about Morgan, about his own childhood horror, knowing that he’s never been to therapy. Hannah said Penny had made good progress. Could Morgan? But I know that my friend would never go. He’s even colder than me.

  “We were friends through Family Roller,” she goes on. “Even though she was in Lorham and I was in Little Fall. Our moms were friends. So, when that happened, she came to live with us. And she had night terrors, Luke. Terrible night terrors. Scream-until-she-bursts-blood-vessels sort of night terrors.

  “At first, they scared me. I didn’t know what to do. But then I started researching it, and I was there for her. I’m not telling you this to try and make myself out to be some sort of a hero. She’s as good as a sister to me. It’s what anybody would do. But the point is I’m telling you because it obviously didn’t change how I saw her, did it? Even now, she’ll sometimes call me up at three in the morning. I don’t judge her. I would never dream of it. And she’d never dream of being ashamed, at least not around me.”

  I reach for my coffee, and then let my hand fall. I feel all this useless energy surging around my body. “Men like that should be put in the dirt,” I snarl.

  She doesn’t say anything for a while. I think she can sense the tension in me, the need to share something with her. I try to stop myself. I try to remind myself that, if I share this, I’ll be risking some sort of major breakdown. Or could it help? Is locking it all up what’s really messing me up in the first place?

  That possibility hits me like a shotgun blast to the chest.

  For the first time since it happened, I feel myself on the brink of bringing it out in the open. I need to stop. But I can’t, not with Hannah.

  —

  “They gave me a Navy Cross for it,” I whisper. My throat feels tight. “We were in Helmand Province, in one of the most insurgent-heavy places in Helmand Province, actually, which was itself one of the most insurgent-heavy places in all of Afghanistan. Our mission was to either capture or take out the most evil piece of dirt you can imagine. This man, he assaulted little girls in their childhood beds, he killed their parents’ in front of them. He forced little boys to …”