Chief's Mess

by L. A. Witt

  We both chuckled, though it didn’t last.

  The silence was fairly comfortable. Not as fraught and miserable as it had usually been whenever we’d been in the same room in recent memory. It was weird that Noah’s drinking problem made me want to shove him away, but also gave me and Clint a way to reconnect. Like I could finally see why he’d been the way he had, even as I walked away from Noah without knowing why he drank in the first place.

  Maybe it didn’t matter why. In the end, Clint was sober. Noah wasn’t.

  I turned to my ex-brother-in-law. “Can I ask you something personal?”

  Clint nodded.

  “What happened?”

  He pursed his lips, and I had a feeling I didn’t need to elaborate.

  “Honestly?” He met my gaze, and the haunted look in his eyes made my stomach flip. “The word ‘classified’ doesn’t begin to touch how classified that incident was, but even if I could tell you and Mandy, I wouldn’t.” He swallowed. “It’s bad enough I have to live with it for the rest of my life. The two of you deserve to be able to sleep at night.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Yeah. Just believe me when I say I didn’t lose my mind over nothing.”

  “Do you still . . .”

  “Have nightmares? PTSD?”

  “Yeah.”

  “More than I care to think about, yes.” He gestured toward the kitchen. “Being with him has made it easier. He’s got his own PTSD to deal with, and we know how to deal with each other. It helps a lot.”

  “It does?”

  “Yeah. Makes a huge difference, having someone there who gets what it’s like to have flashbacks and shit like that.”

  I didn’t know what to say. It hadn’t occurred to me before now how much pain Clint must’ve been in while he’d been self-destructing. Or that what he’d needed—and still needed now—was support and compassion. His almost off-hand comment about things being better now that he was living with a man who’d also been traumatized . . . I didn’t know how to take that. Well, aside from realizing how terrible I’d been to him during the darkest years of his life.

  Funny. I’d always thought Clint would have to grovel to get me to forgive him. Now I suddenly felt like the opposite was true.

  “I’m really sorry,” I said again. “For what happened, and also for how I acted. I didn’t know.”

  “I know you didn’t. No one did. And they never will.” He shrugged. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I handled it the way I did and hurt the people I love.”

  I thought about it for a moment, then sagged back against the couch. “Fuck. Now I can’t decide if I’m being fair to Noah. What if something happened to him? Maybe he’s—”

  “There is such a thing as an alcoholic who hasn’t been traumatized,” he said. “And . . . I mean, quite honestly? Even if he has been, that doesn’t mean you need to stick around for the aftermath. I don’t begrudge Mandy for a second for leaving me. So if your guy won’t look for help outside of a bottle, that’s not your fault, and you’re not obligated to stay.”

  “But should I abandon him if there’s something going on?”

  “Has he told you there is?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, you’re not a mind reader.”

  “Did you tell Mandy? That something had happened to you?”

  He ran his hands up and down his arms like he was warding off a chill. “Yeah, but ‘something’s driving me into a bottle and I can’t tell you’ only goes so far when the cops have been to your house three times in a month.”

  I shuddered. “I guess it wouldn’t.”

  “So, if there’s something going on, and he hasn’t told you anything, that’s not really on you.” He looked right in my eyes. “It’s okay to protect yourself.”

  “Is it also okay to hurt like hell while I’m protecting myself?”

  “Absolutely.”

  We both fell silent for a long moment. And while I still felt like shit, I did feel better. Not better. Justified, maybe? Like at the very least, I didn’t have a reason to have a guilty conscience? Fuck, I didn’t even know. Just . . . not the same flavor of shitty as I’d been when I arrived.

  Clint cleared his throat. “Listen, as long as you’re in town, Travis and I are meeting Kimber and her boyfriend for dinner tonight. You’re welcome to come along if you want to.”

  Part of me didn’t like the idea of being a fifth wheel, but a much louder part didn’t want to be alone. “You sure?”

  Clint smiled. “Of course. And if you need a place to crash before you fly out, our door’s open.”

  I slowly pushed out a breath. “Thanks. I really appreciate it. Especially after I was such an asshole to you before.”

  “Let’s agree we both had our reasons, and we were both assholes, but going forward, we’re good.”

  At that, I managed to smile too. “Okay. Deal.”

  He clapped my shoulder. Then he looked at his watch. “We’ve got a few hours before dinner. You want me to throw together some lunch?”

  “How about if we go out? I’ll buy.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. I think I owe you lunch at the very least.”

  He didn’t argue. We got up and headed into town, and I didn’t know how to feel. Noah was gone. It was over. Time to move on.

  But hey, I’d managed to reconcile with my ex-brother-in-law. That had to count for something, right?

  Rough shaking jerked me out of . . . not sleep, but darkness. Every shake made my head pound harder.

  I batted away a strong hand that was holding my shoulder painfully tight. “Fuck off.”

  Two snarled words brought reality crashing down on me:

  “Chief Jackson.”

  I opened my eyes. Everything was fuzzy and threatening to double, but the blue digicam uniform was unmistakable. My living room was blurry in the background, and little by little, the face in the foreground came into focus.

  The rigid, pissed-off face. Eyes narrow. Lips drawn tight, twitching at the corner like an explosion was imminent.

  “Get up.” Will glared down at me. “I’ll make some coffee.” Only he could make that sound like a threat.

  Then he was gone, leaving me alone in the living room.

  Oh . . . shit.

  What time was it, anyway? Why was he here and not at—

  Work.

  Fuck.

  Work!

  Wait, it was Friday. I was off for the weekend. So was Will.

  Stomach churning, I felt around for my phone, and looked at the screen. Finally, enough numbers came into focus to tell me it was 0913. On Monday.

  Yeah. Oh shit was right. Oh fucking shit.

  I scrubbed both hands over my face and tried to decide if standing was worth the effort. And if it was, could I make it across the living room to the bathroom before I puked? Okay, maybe sitting for another minute was the way to go. On the other hand, if I stayed here much longer, Will was going to be back, and that explosion I’d seen twitching the corner of his mouth would finally go off. The man had a long fuse, but it was finite, and I had the distinct feeling he was at or near the end of it.

  Carefully, I sat up, and I looked around like I’d never been in this room before. I didn’t remember coming into the living room last night. Or falling asleep.

  Falling asleep? Yeah right. I’d passed the fuck out, still wearing what I’d had on when—

  My gut clenched, and it wasn’t my hangover that was doing it.

  I was still wearing what I’d had on when Anthony had left. Three days ago.

  A three-day bender? I hadn’t done that since I’d been a much younger Sailor in port trying to make up for lost time. I was probably lucky I wasn’t dead.

  The slamming door echoed in my mind, adding to the throbbing as if it had really happened right then instead of days ago. Unfortunately, the numbness that had hit me after he’d walked out—that was gone. Now his absence was sinking in, and it hurt like hell.

 
; Fuck.

  When the room stopped rocking, I got up and went into the bathroom to throw some cold water on my face. I didn’t bother looking at my reflection. If this had really been a three-day bender—and all signs pointed to Yep, you moron—then I didn’t have to see myself to know I looked like shit. I definitely didn’t smell any better.

  I went into the kitchen to face Will.

  He was leaning against the counter, arms folded across his chest. The overhead fluorescent light made his badge gleam painfully, and I flinched away from it.

  “Coffee’s ready.” His tone was slightly gentler than earlier, but the don’t fuck with me edge was absolutely there.

  “You want any?”

  “No.”

  Without looking at him or that blinding bastard of a badge, I took a cup down from the cabinet and poured myself some. In silence, we stood and I drank, the walls of my tiny kitchen closing in around us.

  As my head cleared, I chanced a look at him. “How did you get into my apartment, anyway?”

  “Front door was unlocked.”

  I blinked. Shit. Anthony had left, and I hadn’t gone near that end of the apartment after that. So I hadn’t locked up. Damn. Good thing he was the only one who’d decided to try the door.

  “We gotta talk, Noah.” Will sounded more tired than pissed off now. “This has to stop.”

  “I had a bad night. A bad weekend, okay? My boyfriend, he—”

  “Don’t.” Will shook his head slowly. “You can try to tell yourself last night was a bad night, or this was a bad weekend, but we both know it wasn’t that far from normal for you.”

  Ouch. Jesus.

  He wasn’t finished either. “I know how rough it is when shit goes south in a relationship. Believe me. I do.” His pointed look made me cringe. His six-year relationship was barely cold in the grave, and though you could still see the hurt in his eyes now and then, it was a safe bet he hadn’t gone and drunk himself into the ground. Not even that first night after Vince had left. I’d offered to take him out for a beer, and he hadn’t. Hell, it hadn’t been a few days later that he’d pulled me into his office to read me the riot act about driving myself home after I’d been out drinking.

  Son of a bitch could get cheated on and dumped without touching a drop, and I was trying to feed him that line about losing Anthony? It was true, though. I hadn’t known what else to do. Anthony had left, and everything with him was a mess, and what else had been left? A pint of Häagen-Dazs and a movie marathon? That wasn’t me.

  The fucker still wasn’t done, though. “Do you realize that every time you’re late to work, I think Anchor Point PD is going to show up and tell me you’re in custody?” He swallowed. “Or that they found you wrapped around a tree? I mean . . .” He threw up a hand. “When was the last time you went twenty-four hours without drinking?”

  I thought about it and, with a sickening sense of shame in my already queasy stomach, realized I didn’t have an answer aside from Whenever I’m with Anthony. That was a moot point, because there wouldn’t be any more I’m with Anthony weekends after this.

  Will pushed out a heavy, disappointed breath. “Noah, how the hell did this happen?”

  “How did what happen?” I shrugged. “Am I the only guy in our command who drinks?”

  He rolled his eyes, and seeing him do that made my own eyes hurt so much I almost got sick after all.

  “For God’s sake,” he said. “You’re not some Sailor who likes to tie one on now and then. I covered for you when you should’ve been hemmed up for a DUI. I’ve covered for you when you’ve come in late. Let you stay in your office when you’re obviously hungover.” He shook his head, never taking his eyes off me. “That ends now, Noah. You fuck up again, I’m not only not covering for you, I will personally drag your ass into the CO’s office and make sure you go to Captain’s Mast. Am I clear?”

  I gritted my teeth. “Fine. I’ll make sure I’m not late again, and I’ve already told you I’ll take a cab when I—”

  “Jesus. Noah.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. “Do you hear yourself?”

  “What?”

  Dropping his hand, he glared at me. “It’s always about how you’re going to make the drinking work. Whenever we’ve talked about this, your solution is always that you’ll keep it out of sight. Or stay off the road. Or . . .” He made a sharp, frustrated gesture. “Anything that isn’t ‘Hey, you know what? Maybe I’ll stop drinking so fucking much.’” He narrowed his eyes. “Or ‘stop drinking at all,’ since apparently you don’t know the meaning of ‘moderation.’”

  “I don’t need to give it up, Will,” I threw back. “I’m perfectly functional when I didn’t just get dumped and—”

  “Are you?” He cocked his head. “Because I seem to recall I had to commit breaking and entering to make sure you weren’t dead. And it doesn’t seem like very long ago we had a discussion about you driving.”

  I pressed my lips together. “I’ve very carefully made sure I had a cab or a DD since then. I haven’t driven. Look, I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. I’ve had a rough couple of days. But I’m not a damn alcoholic, okay? It’s not like I’m showing up to work still hammered or—”

  “For fuck’s sake,” he snapped. “Your drinking doesn’t become a problem the day it makes your life fall apart. Maybe you could stop before that point?”

  I stared at him, startled by the sudden anger, and also struggling to comprehend what he’d said.

  “I mean,” he went on, “if we bust someone DUI on base, was it only illegal because they did it in front of a cop? Or was it illegal before we caught them?”

  I dropped my gaze.

  His tone softened. “You’ve got a problem, Noah. I covered for you because I was hoping you’d get it together, but I think you’re in worse shape than either of us realized.” He paused. “I’m not just here as a senior chief. You’re my friend, okay? I’m worried about you. But I can’t save you, and quite honestly, I’m done trying. As your friend, I don’t want to see you kill yourself or fuck yourself over. As your senior chief, though, I have to do my job. If that means putting you in front of the skipper and letting her decide what happens next, then that’s on you. Not me.”

  I swallowed. Across my kitchen, we locked eyes. We both knew the unspoken rule that members of the chiefs’ mess looked out for each other. Chiefs, senior chiefs, master chiefs—we didn’t throw each other under the bus even when someone richly deserved it.

  Here in the painfully bright morning light, Will silently dared me to try him.

  “So, what?” I said. “Are you putting this on paper?”

  “Not this time.” He chewed his lip. “I’m hoping after this, I won’t have to.”

  I said nothing.

  “You’re not fucked yet,” he said, “but you do realize you’re on an express train down that track, don’t you? You’re aware that if you’re booted out of the Navy over this, you won’t ever be able to escape it, right?”

  I winced. They wouldn’t give me a dishonorable discharge unless I committed a felony or something, but the words administrative separation on the DD214 form didn’t look good to prospective employers. Basically anything other than an honorable or medical discharge had the potential to be a kiss of death, especially if the interviewer asked for clarification.

  I scrubbed a hand over my unshaven face. “Yeah. I know.”

  “Then why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

  I didn’t have an answer. There wasn’t one. There was no explaining how the glass at the end of the day was sometimes the only thing that got me through the day. Or how I lived for that oblivion when I’d finally had enough to give me more than a buzz. Especially since, now that I was thinking about it, looking at it through a lens of long overdue shame, it didn’t even make sense to me.

  “I want you to get help,” Will said after a while. “There are resources on base. Fleet and Family Services has counselors. They can refer you off base if
they need to.”

  I laughed bitterly. “Oh yeah. And that’ll look great when it comes time to try to make senior chief.”

  “It’s confidential.”

  “Yeah? And how often is confidential shit really confidential in the military?”

  He regarded me silently, his expression unreadable. “Honestly, there’s nothing a counselor or a rehab center can do to your career that you continuing on this road isn’t already doing.”

  That . . . was not what I was ready to hear. Maybe it was obvious to him and to God and everyone, but the words were a slap across the face. I couldn’t argue with them, either. Not when I could still hear the hurt in Anthony’s voice and feel the disgust radiating off him before he’d walked out and slammed that damn door. Because of the booze. The booze I’d promptly done my level best to drown in after he’d left, only to wake up to Will issuing me an ultimatum.

  Whoa.

  I’m . . . I’m really fucked up, aren’t I?

  I showed my palms. “All right, you’ve made your point. Let me grab a shower and get ready for work and—”

  “No.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “You’re not in any shape to work today.” He pushed himself away from the counter. “Get your shit together, and be on time tomorrow.” He stabbed a finger at me. “And don’t let me think you’ve had a drink. You feel me?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “You feel me, Chief?” he growled.

  “Yes, Senior Chief.”

  “Good.” Once again, his voice softened. “If you need help, talk to me.”

  I couldn’t look at him. “Okay. Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He left, and I stared out the kitchen window, wondering when the hell this had become my life. And if it was too late to do damage control.

  And even if I could pull myself together, what about Anthony?

  “You going out tonight?” Jay studied me from his end of the sofa.

  “No.” I pulled my gaze away from him and looked at the TV instead. What were we watching? How long had it been on? Whatever.

  “Still upset over Noah?”