One Year Home

by Marie Force

  “How come?”

  He shrugs. “Sleep has been a challenge in the last few months.”

  “Can you take something?”

  “I’ve tried a few things, but it doesn’t really help.”

  I tap my lip, trying to think of the remedies I’ve heard people talk about. That’s how I’m wired. I see a problem, I want to fix it. “Have you tried melatonin? My brother Rob swears by it.”

  “Yep. Sometimes it works, other times it doesn’t.” His lips curve into a small smile. “It’s okay. I’ll figure it out.”

  “Do you want to get some rest? We can pick this up later. I have other stuff I can do.” I don’t, really, but God, he looks awful.

  “I could go for some food. Are you hungry?”

  “I can always eat.”

  He laughs as he hauls himself out of the chair, balancing precariously on the crutches. “Good to know.”

  “Could I ask you something that’s none of my business and has nothing to do with the interviews?”

  “Sure.”

  I watch as he moves slowly toward the counter that divides his living room and kitchen to get his wallet and keys. Now that I have permission to ask the question, I’m not sure that I should.

  Propped on the crutches, he studies me with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. “What do you want to know?”

  “How long will you need the crutches? I’m sorry if that’s something I shouldn’t ask.”

  He gestures for me to lead the way to the door. “It’s okay. You can ask.”

  I hold the door for him and then close it, making sure it’s locked. We make our way, slowly, to the elevator as I wonder if he’ll answer my question. When we’re in the elevator headed down, he looks over at me. “I’m still pretty weak from the infection, although the doctors say I’ll rebound eventually. It’s just going to take some time.”

  “Are you still doing PT?”

  “I graduated, but I’m supposed to be trying to get some exercise every day because that’ll help, or so I’m told. All it does is wear me out.”

  “But doesn’t that help you sleep?”

  “I was in the gym from two to three a.m. and caught some sleep after that.”

  “Should you be, um, in the gym in the middle of the night by yourself?”

  “Probably not, but I figure if I fall, someone will find me eventually.” He glances at me with those intense blue eyes. “It beats trying to sleep. I, ah, I have nightmares.”

  I try not to overreact, but all I want to do in that moment is hug him and hold him until the haunted look in his eyes is replaced by something else—anything else. Amy’s words from last night bounce around in my mind, and I want to scream at her to shut up and leave me alone. “About the raid?”

  Nodding, he leans against the back wall of the elevator. “That and getting shot and seeing my friends killed and hunting Al Khad and trying to find Ava in places she shouldn’t be. It’s a jumbled mess of shit that comes at me when I’m asleep.”

  I feel his words—and his pain—deep inside, and I struggle to react appropriately, to retain my professional veneer.

  Clearing the emotion from my throat, I step off the elevator and realize I have no idea where we’re going or how we’re getting there, so I stop to wait for him to lead the way.

  “There’s a diner a block that way.” He uses his chin to indicate the direction, and we set off at the slow pace that he sets and I match, curbing my natural quick, New York pace so I won’t push him to walk faster than he’s able to.

  It takes restraint I didn’t know I had to walk slowly and to hold back the urge to pepper him with questions about his dreams. Does he have PTSD? Is it being treated? Does he have anyone he can talk to about it? Isn’t there something that can be done to give him some relief? In my world, there’s always something that can be done. I’ve never yet confronted a challenge that I didn’t meet head on, giving it everything I had until it was resolved. Solving problems is my forte.

  It takes fifteen minutes to walk to the diner, and by the time we arrive, there’s a thin sheen of perspiration on John’s face, which has gotten pale from the effort.

  My heart aches for him. Under my feet, the ground seems to tip ever so slightly, throwing me off-balance. I can’t let my heart ache for him. Amy is right. Allowing myself to care about him as anything more than a client would be a complete disaster on multiple levels. But I’d have to be inhuman not to feel for him as he tries to put his life back together.

  The hostess at the diner, an older woman with gray hair and a kind face, lights up when she realizes who he is. “Captain West,” she says breathlessly, “it’s such an honor to welcome you.”

  John is immediately uncomfortable. “Thank you, but if you could, you know, not make a thing of it… I’d really appreciate that.”

  “Of course,” she says in a conspiratorial whisper, as if they’re in this together now. “Come this way. I’ll give you a table in the back where you won’t be disturbed.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  As we follow her through the restaurant, everything comes to a stop as others recognize him. John walks faster than I’ve ever seen him move to get to the safety of the table. And when we’re seated, his pasty, sweaty appearance worries me.

  He quickly drinks half the glass of ice water the hostess put on the table and seems to have trouble catching his breath.

  I stay quiet and give him the time he needs to recover his equilibrium. I’m startled to realize just how compromised he is. Of course, I knew he was still recovering, but for the first time, I’m really seeing his limitations. Again, I ache for him, and I don’t care that I’m not supposed to. I’ve seen the pictures of him from before the deployment. The change in him is dramatic and heartbreaking.

  A waitress brings mugs to the table. “Coffee?”

  “Yes, please,” John says for both of us.

  I watch the waitress, noting how she tries not to act silly in his presence. She’s about to spontaneously combust from trying to contain herself.

  I look up at her. “Please don’t tell anyone he’s here.”

  “Oh, no, I wouldn’t do that.”

  Yes, you would. In fact, I’d bet money she’s already texted someone.

  “I’ll be back to take your order in a minute.”

  When she’s gone, I glance at John and find him watching me. “What?”

  “Thanks for thinking of that.”

  “You know she was going to blow up her social media the second she walked away.”

  “No, I didn’t know that, but you did.”

  I shrug. “It’s my job to anticipate these things.”

  “You do it well.”

  I’ve gotten some tremendous compliments from clients over the years, but I can’t say that any of them have ever meant more than those four words do coming from a client who didn’t want my expertise as much as he needed it. My desire to protect and shield him from anything that could add to his pain seems to grow exponentially with every hour I spend in his presence. Everyone in the crowded diner would like to be me and have the chance to break bread with the man who helped to bring down Al Khad.

  But I’m the one who gets to spend this time with him. I’m honored to have earned his trust and to know that he enjoys my company. Or at least he seems to.

  The waitress returns, and we both order the veggie omelet with turkey bacon and English muffins.

  When she walks away, I grin at him. “Copycat.”

  He smiles. “What? Yours sounded good.”

  “That comes right from the Tilden siblings, who’re constantly copying each other’s orders for everything from drinks to food to vacations to you name it.”

  My phone chimes with a text from Muncie. Where are you guys?

  Eating at the diner.

  How’d you get there?

  Walked.

  Whoa. How is he?

  Ok.

  You want me to come there?

  I don’t think you need t
o unless you want to. As I send that text, I secretly hope he doesn’t come.

  “Who’s that?” John asks as he stirs cream into his coffee.

  “Muncie, wondering where we are.”

  “Ah, my keeper.” The smile he adds indicates the affection he has for Muncie.

  “He seems like a good guy.”

  “He is. He’s been a trouper to put up with my crap the last few months.”

  “I’m sure he’s honored to be working with you.”

  “It’s still weird to me that anyone would be honored to work with me.”

  “I’m sure it is after so many years of operating off the grid and under the radar.”

  “I hate it,” he says softly. “That everyone knows who I am. I hate that there’s video of the raid. I hate all of it.”

  “I know you do.” I stir cream and sweetener into my coffee. “My grandmother used to tell us that we don’t get to choose what happens to us in life. We only get to choose how we react to it.”

  “Your grandmother was a wise woman.”

  “Yes, she was. She died ten years ago. I still miss her.”

  “You were lucky to have had her. I wonder all the time if I had grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins.”

  “You don’t know anything about your family?”

  He shakes his head.

  “That must’ve been a really difficult way to grow up.”

  “You don’t miss what you don’t have, you know?”

  The question is asked in a cavalier tone that belies the deeper pain of not knowing where he came from.

  “Do you know,” he says, “that in all the time I was with Ava, I was never able to tell her anything about my childhood or my life before her?”

  Why am I elated to know something about him that she never did? I tell myself that’s dangerous territory, but I’m beginning to fear that all territory with him is dangerous. “That must’ve been hard.”

  “It was. I made up a story about being the son of a retired general, told her I was from all over, when the truth of it is that I was a borderline delinquent who got in big trouble his senior year of high school and faced down a judge who gave him a break.”

  “What did you do?” I probably shouldn’t ask, but I’m dying to know.

  “I helped some of my idiot friends steal another kid’s car in revenge for him stealing my friend’s girlfriend.”

  “Whoa.”

  “I know, so stupid. I got incredibly lucky with a judge who recognized a kid in need of some structure in his life. I say all the time that judge and the Navy saved me from myself.”

  Our breakfast arrives, and we dig in. As we eat, I think about the things he shared with me and how different our lives have been.

  “What about you?” he asks between bites. “Any juvenile delinquency in your past?” The teasing grin that accompanies the question devastates me. Dear God, the man is handsome, and when he smiles…

  It’s all I can do not to sigh. “I never stole anyone’s car, if that’s what you’re asking, but I did get busted egging houses on Halloween once. My dad made me go back and clean the eggs off every house the next day. Did you know that yolk is a bitch to clean after it dries?”

  He laughs—hard—and I’m again captivated by the change in him that laughter brings. I catch a glimpse of the man he must’ve been before the terrorist attack changed everything for thousands, including him. That man was young, lighthearted, handsome and gorgeous.

  A sinking sensation overtakes me. Amy is right. I’m attracted to him—and I was even when he was being a grumpy pain in the ass. My stomach starts to hurt. I nudge my plate toward him.

  “Are you full already?”

  Nodding, I sip from my coffee and try to stop the wild spinning in my mind. He’s Ava’s ex. Eric is so happy with her. The last thing either of them needs after everything they’ve been through is me developing feelings for the man who put both of them through hell, even if that wasn’t intentional on his part. Amy is one thousand percent right. That can’t happen. Except, it already has. I’m not sure when or how… But the feelings exist as much as I wish they didn’t.

  Although, to be fair to myself, how could anyone not be moved by him, his story or his valiant effort to carry on in the face of devastating loss?

  All good points, Jules, but for God’s sake, get your shit together!

  After he finishes his breakfast, John tucks into the remains of mine and eats most of it before conceding defeat. “I can’t take another bite. I think that’s the most I’ve eaten in months.”

  “That’ll help to build your strength.”

  He rubs his stomach. “And my gut.”

  From what I can see, he’s all muscle without an extra pound on him. Once all those muscles regain their full strength, he’ll be formidable again. By then, our time together will have come to an end, and that will be for the best.

  “Let me get this,” I say when the check lands on the table.

  “No way. I’ve got it.”

  “You paid for all of us last night.”

  Propping his elbows on the table, he leans in, his voice low. “You know what happens when you’re a Navy commander who’s deployed for close to six years?”

  I’m forced to lean in so I can hear him. “No, what?”

  “You stockpile a lot of money. I got this.”

  I hold his gaze a beat longer than necessary. “Thank you.”

  He looks right back at me without blinking. “I should be thanking you for everything you’re doing for me. Buying you breakfast is the least I can do.”

  I want him to go back to being an asshole. I could handle that guy. This guy… I’m utterly defenseless against the humble, vulnerable, wounded warrior who’s slowly but surely wrapping himself around my heart.

  Chapter Eleven

  JOHN

  Despite the nearly sleepless night, today is turning out to be a good day. After the breakfast outing with Jules, we returned to my place and made good progress on her seemingly endless list of potential questions I might face on the media tour. As we go through the process, I’m finding it easier to talk about things I normally avoid.

  I’m trying to surrender to the inevitable, to give the Navy brass what they want so I can have what I want that much sooner—retirement with full benefits. After that, I have no idea what I’ll do, but I don’t need to figure that out today.

  By late afternoon, the sleepless night is starting to catch up to me. I’m sure she wants to get back to her sister.

  “How about we hit that craft beer place tomorrow after work?” I ask her.

  “Sure, that would be fun.”

  I don’t want her to go, but I also don’t want to be selfish and keep her from her sister. I’m also mindful of what Muncie said about keeping things professional with Jules in light of who her new sister-in-law is. As I have that thought, I realize it’s the first time I’ve thought of Ava in hours, which has to be a record.

  It’s all thanks to Jules, who is a ray of sunshine in the bleak landscape that has become my life since I left the hospital and lost Ava. Jules is endlessly upbeat and optimistic, two qualities I used to embody before life kicked me in the balls.

  Muncie left an hour ago for a meeting on base. Staring down another night alone has me feeling edgy and anxious, but I’ll get through it. What choice do I have? I’m going to be spending a lot of time alone going forward. I need to get used to it.

  “I checked the messages on your phone last night.” Jules hands me a sheet of paper ripped from her ever-present notebook. “Lots and lots and lots of people wanting to talk to you about sponsorships, publishing opportunities, endorsements, speaking opportunities. You name it, they want you for it.”

  “Thank God you’re dealing with that now. What will you tell them?”

  “I’ll return the calls and let them know Captain West will be considering future opportunities after he completes the upcoming media tour. Does that work?”

  “Yeah, I guess. Just
don’t give them too much hope. I’m not sure what I’m doing after the Navy is finished with me.” In the immediate future, I can picture myself temporarily in New York and in LA. After that is a big blank space with a huge question mark on it. Will I stay here in San Diego or disappear into a remote corner of Idaho or some other random place where no one knows me? Is there anywhere I can go where no one knows me? I have no idea.

  There was a time, pre-deployment, when not knowing what happened next would’ve been an adventure. Those days are over. I thought I had a plan for the rest of my life after the Navy, but that plan got blown to smithereens the day Ava told me she planned to marry someone else.

  Jules’s brother.

  Remember that. Ava is married to Jules’s brother, and as I watch Jules gather her things and tuck her notebook into her humongous purse, I tell myself that I can’t ever, ever, ever think of Jules as anything more than a colleague and a friend.

  She can’t be my ray of light. Someone else may be again someday, but it can’t be her, no matter how pretty I think she is, no matter how reassuring her presence is to me, or how much I enjoy her company.

  It. Can’t. Happen.

  That’s the story of my life lately. It’s like I’m not allowed to want anything more than to survive another day.

  When she’s ready to go, she turns to me. “What’s on the docket for the rest of your day?”

  “Uh, nothing much. Another trip to the gym and maybe a nap.”

  “You want to go to dinner with Amy and me later?”

  Yes, God, yes, I want that. If Amy is going, too, there’d be nothing wrong with it, right? It’s not like I’d be on some kind of date with Jules. It’s been so long since I dated anyone that I don’t even know what constitutes a date anymore. “Um, sure. That’d be good.”

  “We’ll get an Uber and come by around six thirty? Would that work?”

  That’ll give me three hours to work out, take a nap and get cleaned up. “That sounds good. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  Her dazzling smile is right out of a toothpaste commercial. “See you then.”

  She leaves, taking all the energy in the room with her. I hate being alone with my own thoughts. That’s the worst. My brain spins through all the bad stuff, the devastating attack on the Star of the High Seas, the years of deprivation and desperation hunting Al Khad, the loss of my two closest friends, the egregious injury that took my leg, the endless weeks in the hospital and the excruciating reunion with Ava that left me shattered. I relive it all, over and over again, like a horror movie that never ends.