The Barrel House Series: Boxed Set: Bourbon Love Notes, Bourbon on the Rocks, Bourbon Nights, Bourbon Fireball

by Ryan, Shari J.

  “I’ll call my therapist today and get the name of someone who specializes in working with veterans. Is that okay with you?” he asks.

  “Yeah, that would be helpful. Thanks.”

  “From now on, if you get one of those thoughts or feelings, text or call me. I can talk to you. You don’t have to go through this alone, and if you aren’t ready to talk about any of it, I can just make fun of you until you get pissed off about something else.”

  Well, that’s what brothers are for, I guess. “I thought Melody was going to hate me last night after we got home, but she was way more understanding than I deserve.”

  “Don’t forget, she’s put up with Journey her whole life. She knows how to deal with a pain in the ass,” Brody says with a wink. A wink he’d get slapped for by his fiancée, Journey if she was here with him.

  One big happy family here, which means if one person says something about last night, our parents, Journey, and Mrs. Quinn will all know. I knew there would be pros and cons of Brody and I marrying a pair of sisters, but for the most part, it’s worked out great. But, for a private issue like this, I’m not sure I can handle the masses right now. “Please don’t tell Journey about this,” I request.

  “You know what will happen to me if Melody tells her, and I don’t say anything?”

  I lower my head to my closed fists. “This isn’t going to get better or go away.”

  “No, you need help, Brett. It’s not going to go away on its own. And you’re damn lucky to have a family who cares about you as much as we do. This doesn’t need to be a secret because we’ll support you and do what we can to help you through this shit. Let us in.”

  I feel like my fingers just gave out from the cliff I have been hanging onto.

  26

  “You’re not going to be better within eight months,” isn’t what I wanted to hear from the therapist who specializes in treating veterans with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

  I thought therapists were supposed to give s hope, not a dose of reality. I guess I had that wrong. I’m glad I went into the appointment by myself, although Melody insisted on sitting in the waiting room. The last thing I need is her thinking I’m going to become some kind of basket case throughout the pregnancy. I bet she was worried that I was going to blow off the appointment or that I’ll need moral support when I come out. Either way, it is nice to know that the love of my life is in the lobby waiting for me.

  I shake the therapist’s hand as he opens the door into the waiting area where a Parent's magazine article has captured Melody’s full attention. “I’ll see you next week, Brett,” he says.

  Yeah, weekly. I guess I'm in rough shape.

  “Thank you. I’ll see you then,” I say.

  Melody’s first ultrasound is this afternoon. I wish our appointments hadn’t been scheduled on the same day because I don’t want to be on center stage, taking away any part of the excitement she feels right now, but I know she’ll have questions for me. I’m going to be honest and not hide anything. If I sugarcoat the facts she’ll know and that won’t do either of us any good.

  Melody stands and waits for me by the door. We planned ahead and have coverage in the shop today since our appointments are scattered throughout the day, so we steal a little time for ourselves and go out for lunch before her appointment.

  “So, how did it go?” Melody asks as we walk toward the exit of the old building.

  “He doesn’t cherry-coat anything,” I tell her. “I don’t know.”

  “Did you tell him what happened last week?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  I was hoping that this conversation would wait until the end of the day, but we’re here now and she deserves to know after what I put her through. “He told me to write out what I see when I have the flashbacks and start keeping a journal of the entries.”

  Melody appears relieved as she slowly blows air out of her pursed lips. “I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe it will help.”

  “Maybe,” I say.

  “You can always burn them after,” she says.

  “He suggested that. Which is when I told him I wanted to burn the letters I wrote to you—just let me talk before you say anything.” I watch her lips pinch together, visibly stopping herself from speaking. “He told me I should go through them, maybe even share them with you so I can bring you into some of the moments I experienced. I guess it will make me feel less alone when I think about certain things. He said some people aren’t strong enough to be the listener, but if you are, it would be a helpful way to release—whatever is in my head.”

  Melody stops walking and places her hands on my shoulders, staring up at me with a circular reflection of the light-bearing down on us in the lobby. “Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean I’m not strong. I need you to know this. I am here for you and I can handle whatever it is you need to share. Everyone needs someone. You said so yourself. I’m your someone, Brett.”

  I lean down to kiss her. “You are my someone. My only one.”

  “As long as we have each other—everything will be perfect,” she says.

  “He said I might fall again,” I say, needing to give her a fair warning.

  “I’ll catch you.”

  “All five-foot-three of you?”

  “I’m stronger than I look.”

  Parker still looks angry when she spots the truck. Her backpack is chucked into the backseat first, then she climbs in and slams the door. “Hi Melody,” she says.

  I turn around, watching her buckle her seatbelt. “Is there a ‘Hi Dad’ in there somewhere too?”

  “Oh, hi, I didn’t see you there,” she says.

  I smirk as we drive off. “In the mood for some ice cream?”

  “I don’t know. Is it secret ice cream?” Clearly, Parker has spent the day stewing over everything, but I’d rather her be upset about the secret rather than what happened last night.

  “It could be,” I tease.

  “Then, no.”

  “Tough. We’re going anyway,” Melody tells her.

  “Fine, but only because you are saying it,” she responds.

  “Parker,” Melody continues. “Go easy on your dad.”

  I spot Parker pulling her book out of her bag through the rearview mirror. I don’t know how she reads without getting carsick. I could never, but she is a devout little bookworm. Melody reaches across the middle console and takes my hand.

  “Ew,” Parker groans. Melody wraps her arm around mine and rests her head against my shoulder. “What is wrong with you two?”

  “Nothing, we love each other,” I say.

  “Gross.”

  I wasn’t looking forward to this attitude after watching Hannah’s tween years. Still, I’m thankful to have Melody next to me, and now that I’ve seen Hannah get over most of her attitude issues, I’m sure it’s only a temporary phase.

  Parker brings her book into the ice cream shop and plops down into a seat without telling me what she wants. I already know, anyway. She gets the same thing every time we come here. Cotton Candy with hot fudge, which sounds disgusting, and also something Abby would have gobbled up.

  When we’re all seated at the table, Melody and I both stare at Parker until she lifts her head from the book. “What?”

  “We’re ready to tell you the secret now,” I tell her.

  Parker slowly closes her book and places her hands to the sides of her cup of ice cream. “There’s a real secret?”

  “One, you’ll be the first to know about,” Melody says.

  Parker grins and taps her finger against her chin. “Am I getting a puppy?”

  “No,” I answer. “I think this is better than a puppy.”

  Parker seems confused by my statement, as if nothing could be better than a puppy. Melody reaches into her purse and pulls out a small wrapped gift to hand her. “What’s this?”

  “Open it, silly,” I say.

  Parker tears the paper off and flips the gift over to see it�
��s a journal, labeled: “My life as a big sister.” Parker’s eyes grow wide, and her mouth falls open as she glances up at us slowly.

  “You said you want to be a writer someday,” Melody says. “I think you might have a lot to write about soon.”

  Tears fall from Parker’s eyes, and I don’t think I’ve witnessed happy tears with her before. She’s growing up so quickly it’s hard to keep track of her emotions sometimes, but I know she’s never reacted like this before. “I’m going to be a big sister?” she confirms.

  “The world’s greatest big sister,” I tell her.

  Parker looks back and forth between the two of us with a smile from ear to ear. “This is the best secret ever,” she shrieks and jumps up from her seat to hug us both. “I need to start getting books for the baby, so I can read him or her all the stories.”

  “You know you’re always our number-one, right?” Melody asks.

  Parker shrugs. “I know neither of you are the ones who put me in this world, but it doesn’t matter to me because you’re my family, and I know things wouldn’t be this good if you weren’t.”

  Parker has asked a lot of questions over the years, some I wondered if she was old enough to to hear the answers to, but over time, she has learned and accepted some sad truths about life. However, it’s clear Parker has an appreciation for our family situation, one neither Melody nor I could ever understand. “The baby won’t see me any differently. I’ll be there from the start, and we have the same parents. It’s simple.” I hope it always feels this way for her.

  “You’re going to be a big part of this baby’s life, maybe even the biggest,” Melody tells her.

  My heart feels full, and a little overwhelmed at the same time. I adopted Parker without a second thought. I would have fought for her if I had to because I needed her as much as she needed me.

  She needs this loving family and a strong unit.

  She needs to feel like everything is normal.

  She needs me to be okay.

  Melody needs me to be okay.

  Our baby needs me to be okay.

  I have to figure out how to make all of this happen before I make a mess out of our lives.

  It’s all on me.

  “Oh, how was your doctor’s appointment today, Dad?” Parker asks, staring at me as if she knows what I’m thinking. She spoons the soupy ice cream into her mouth, waiting for an answer.

  “Good. It went well,” I say.

  “Can he fix you?” No filter on this kid.

  “I have to fix myself, but I will.”

  Melody places her hand on my leg and squeezes to tell me everything's okay. “There’s no way for me to respond and tell her how scared I am that everything may never be okay.”

  27

  The officers and ranks above us said writing letters home would ground us and give us some comfort, as well as peace of mind to our families. Though Melody never responded to any of the letters I wrote, I still took comfort in putting my thoughts and feelings on paper and envisioning her reading them. I felt more comfort in writing to her than my own family. I know Mom and Pops constantly worried, and Brody was probably bottling it all up inside or cracking jokes about me getting blown up because that’s how he dealt with “crap,” but Melody felt like my listener, mostly because she didn’t respond, but it was easier to write to a silent audience, even if it was only one person.

  After Melody and I reconnected, I found out my boot camp letter never made it to her. That one remains a mystery. The other four though, should have made it to her but never did due to circumstances out of our control. Maybe Melody would have felt differently about me now, had she read all those letters. She might have been scared off by the damaged person I would likely become after witnessing so much death and destruction. Those thoughts crossed my mind every time I sent another letter to her, butI needed to talk to somebody, even if it was just words on a piece of wrinkled paper. It made me feel like there was still life back home and a light at the end of the tunnel. I knew I might never see or meet up with Melody again, but if she had feelings for me all those years, as I did for her, maybe the letters were enough to let her know I was still out there somewhere, thinking of her.

  That’s what I told myself and it seemed like a good idea at the time. Now, I’m not so sure that I want to open these four envelopes and face my protected, innermost feelings from a time when I didn’t know what the next minute held for me. Melody's head and back are resting against my torso with her legs between mine. My arms are wrapped around hers as I hold the first letter up to read:

  * * *

  Dear Melody,

  * * *

  I know it’s been a long time since that night at the party, and I realize you might not have wanted to receive the letter I sent from bootcamp, but now I’m in Afghanistan and I have a free minute to write home. Selfishly, I think I’m writing this letter partly for myself because I can clearly picture you sitting on a chair somewhere, carefully reading each of my words, taking them all in. That image alone gives me comfort. I know it sounds weird, but I can’t explain it any better. In truth, I don’t know if I should hope for a response and even if you do write back to me, onlyGod knows if the mail will ever reach me here.

  Anyway, Eastern Afghanistan is where I’m currently stationed. We’ve been here just over a month now and I think my body is finally starting to acclimate to the heat. The sun is brutal here; it feels like a torch is being pointed at me, almost touching my skin, for twelve hours every day, but oddly enough, there’s so much dust, sand, and smog, it’s hard to actually see the ball of fire. Maybe that’s somewhat of a blessing, though.

  We’re outside of a city that has been destroyed by explosives. We’re here to secure the area then continue moving forward to our next location. I can’t give many details, so you’ll have to use your imagination as far as my whereabouts. I’ll just say it’s not pretty. Half of the locals walking around the area we are in seem angry because they don’t want us here while the other half is hoping we can free them from the turmoil of war. We handout food and supplies to families in between the attacks, assuring them things will be okay, but I feel guilty because I’m not sure I believe my own words. So many of the buildings have already been flattened to the ground and we find people hiding under rubble, among the dead bodies. Fortunately, I’ve been lucky so far. I have a good team and we’re on top of everything. Our communications are strong, and we’re good on supplies.

  Yesterday was probably the hardest day I’ve experienced here so far. There was an attack on one of the local street markets. A suicide bomber took out the entire outdoor display in less than three seconds. Bodies and body parts were flying everywhere, and I stood there stunned from the explosion and the sight of so much hate and destruction. It was shock—it held me frozen for what seemed like an entire minute when it was only a second. A limb fell from midair and landed at my feet. That’s how close I was—or how massive the explosion was. The limb was an arm, and the hand attached to it still had rings on the fingers. It was hard to digest that this arm belonged to a living, breathing human being just minutes earlier. The blood oozing from the arm spilled onto my boot. I knew I needed to move—to act quickly because there could be other bombers.aIt turned out, there was only one, but we spent the next few hours searching for bodies, trying to help those who were wounded, and clear away the ones who were dead.

  It was the first attack we’ve witnessed here. I had never seen a dead body other than at a wake, so it was tough. I saw more yesterday than anyone should ever see in a lifetime. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to erase those images. Some of the people were buried alive beneath falling rubble and I wondered what their last thoughts were or even if they had time to have a last thought. I was supposed to be on a mission to save people, but I don’t feel like I did much saving yesterday.

  Anyway, we’re getting our MRE’s (Meal-Ready-to-Eat) so I better go eat before we start moving again.

  I hope college is treating you
well and that I didn’t cause you distress with all the details in this letter.

  I think about you a lot, maybe more than I should, but that smile of yours can get me through anything. So, whatever you’re doing right now, on the other side of the world, keep smiling for me.

  —Brett

  * * *

  I drop the letter onto Melody’s lap, and she grabs my arms and ties them tightly around her chest. I never thought I’d be listening to my words while holding this woman in my arms. I didn’t think I was going to make it out of there alive, not after that first attack. “That was a brutal awakening. I didn’t think we would skate by without seeing the effects of combat and attacks, but no matter what I imagined or tried to prepare myself for, it didn’t come close to what I saw that day. It didn’t get easier after that andI didn’t become numb like I thought I would. I walked around in fear, stayed awake at night in fear and wondered if those days that felt like we were in Hell, were my life’s purpose. The training I had—it prepared me for all the physical strength I would need to survive, but there’s no training for luck, and luck is all we had most days.”

  “Did you lose any of your men that day?”

  I shake my head. “No, none of us were in the market thankfully, but whether it was one of us or another innocent human being, no one deserves to go out that way.”

  “What did you do after you finished cleaning up from the attack?” she asks. No one has asked me this question before because no one knows about that attack.