Page 1 of Waiting for Redemption

PROLOGUE

TANK

6 MONTHS AGO…

“What bringsyou here today Mr. Landry?” my therapist asks me from her brown leather chair. She’s wearing glasses propped up on the bridge of her nose, her hand is steady as she holds a pen against the notebook in her lap, and the stark blue eyes I can’t seem to shake the attention of, are trained solely on me. It’s making my skin crawl to see someone waiting so patiently for me to speak, so they can begin picking apart everything that went wrong in my brain to get me to where I am today. My leg shakes furiously against the leather couch I’m sitting on and my jaw is set tight, refusing to let any words escape from my lips as I let my gaze drift to her through my hooded eyes. She offers me a soft smile, likely trying to put me at ease. It doesn’t work the way I’m sure she’s hoping it will, however, I can appreciate her effort.

“That would be my brother, ma’am.” I give her a humorless smirk, doing what I always do. Using humor to deflect confrontation and the possibility that I may actually have to face the things I’d much rather keep hidden away. She returns my smirk with one of her own before setting her pen down in her lap.

“I see. And what reason would your brother have to think we needed to meet each other?” she asks rhetorically. I let out a deep sigh, realizing there’s no use in fighting the inevitable. I’m far too aware that Tucker would comeintothe next session with me if he found out I wasn’t actually trying to talk out my issues. With doctor/patient confidentiality I’m not sure how he would even know, but I wouldn’t put it past him to have some sixth sense about it.

He’s been on my ass for the last two weeks about when I would be coming in for this session after recommending this therapist. Apparently, she’s experienced in dealing with Veterans and comes highly recommended by those who have seen her.

It’s not like I don’twantto get better—to get to the bottom of what’s been going on with me and make sure I leave it in the past—I just needed some time to sit with my thoughts before I was ready to talk to someone else about them. My eyes are glued to my running shoes and my nose begins to sting at the emotions creeping through my body as I remember the day all too well. From writing Tucker a note while my hand wouldn’t stop shaking, leaving my dog tags on the coffee table, hearing the click from my handgun, and the color draining from Tucker’s face when I finally saw him standing in front of me—witnessing what I can only imagine to be a big brother’s worst nightmare.

Some may take my hesitation as a sign that I don’twantto work out my problems—the ones I don’t even know I have but I’m sure will become evident soon enough—I just don’t know where the fuck to begin.

So, I start by answering her question with the truth.

“I’m here because I tried to kill myself,” I admit, swallowing past the lump in my throat. My eyes finally come up to meet hers, and there’s not a trace of pity to be found. She just looks at me like she sees my hurt, and really wants to help me overcome it. She doesn't move, or pick her pen up and flip open her book. Her attention remains on me, and this time I appreciate the focus she seems to bear.

“What do you think it was that led you to that decision?” I let out a humorless laugh, unable to answer. “Remember, Mr. Landry, I need your complete honesty if I am going to be able to help you. That is why I’m here, after all. To help you,” she says, giving me a soft smile and a gentle nod.

“That’s a question that comes with many answers, Doc,” I admit, finding it hard to look up from my wringing hands. She takes a quick breath, repositioning herself in the leather chair. When I steal a glance at her, the expression on her face changes.

“That’s alright. I know it can be difficult to find a place to start. Why don’t you tell me how you’re feeling instead? After everything that’s happened, how are you feeling?” For the first time in 14 days, I allow myself to open up and find an answer to that question. The one I’ve not dared ask myself, knowing what my dark truth will be. I swore I would keep these demons locked up until the day that I died, but that day may not be as near as I once thought it was. I take a shaky breath, as I hear my truth spoken out loud for the first time.

“Broken and weak.”

And the journey that got me here was a fucking wild one.

“I am going to do whatever I can to help you see the strongest parts of yourself while you work on feeling whole again. I am so glad you are still here, Mr. Landry, and that you reached out for help.”

PARTONE

2 YEARS AGO

CHAPTER1

TANK

It’s beena long time since I’ve seen my brother, Tucker. He and I have always been close—seeing as how he basically raised me after our dad died—but our careers have kept us from seeing each other regularly over the past few years. Our father, Mitchell Landry, was one of the most well-respected officers on the Nashville police force, and the best damn dad we could have ever asked for—losing him turned mine and Tuck’s whole world upside down. After he passed away, our mom was so devastated and heartbroken that she started drinking and simply never stopped. With her living in a drunken denial all the time, Tucker was left to pick up the broken pieces of our family. No middle school-aged kid should have that much responsibility, but Tucker handled it in a way that made me feel like everything was going to be alright.

I did my best to stay out of trouble throughout my adolescence, but with a loss like that at such a young age, the grief would come in waves at the most inconvenient of times. Specifically any time Jimmy Halloway—the most obnoxious middle school bully—had the fucking audacity to make jokes about my family. I found myself in so many fights with him that the guidance counselor at our school finally suggested I join the wrestling team to keep from getting expelled and help me channel myangry energy.It didn’t take long for me to see the difference wrestling made in my life, and I quickly became the school's top wrestling champ. The last time Jimmy ever messed with me was the day I tossed him in the dumpsters behind the school after he made a crass joke during PE about my mother. He finally left me the hell alone and things started looking up.

I wrestled all throughout high school, and even started taking MMA classes in my free time. I probably would have dropped wrestling altogether when I started MMA, but I knew I had a better chance of landing a wrestling scholarship, so I stuck with it. Sure enough, before I graduated high school I was offered a full ride to UCLA where I eventually joined their Taekwondo team. I knew to stay sharp on fight weeks, but that didn’t keep me from getting into trouble any other time.

After four years of nonstop fights, parties, and getting in just enough trouble to appease my rebellious streak, I graduated with my bachelor’s degree in business management. I spent the next few years traveling and ended up training at a handful of the best MMA gyms in the world. Getting to see some of the most beautiful places on earth, all while perfecting my skill, was a high I don’t think I’ll ever match.

Once I was back home from my travels, I realized I never stopped moving from one fight to the next long enough to settle down. Not in theget married and repopulate the earthkind of way, more in thehaving a regular drinking buddykind of way. The only friends I’d ever made were ones I never let myself get too attached to since I had a bad reputation for causing trouble and leaving things broken in my wake. So I just kept moving—never in one place long enough to make any real connections.

Being back home felt good for a beat, but after a week of silence and not being able to contact Tucker while he was deployed, I had to get my ass out of the house before I died of boredom. I spent most of my time at the gym and soon realized how desperately I needed to find a job. Since I had the most experience in fighting, and couldn’t fathom a job where I had to sit behind a desk all day, I started looking for openings as a martial arts instructor. When I finally saw an ad for a position needing to be filled at a gym down the street, I was over there in no time—but I never made it inside.

After stopping to talk with a Marine recruiter set up outside, I left there with my mind made up about what I would do next. At 26 years old I joined the Marine Corps, and at 31 I am on a plane headed home—permanently.

It fucking sucks when you find something in life you believe to be your calling, to have one thing you’re doing that will actually make a difference, just to have it ripped away from you in one fell swoop. I’ve spent the last three months in a recovery center, forced to interact with an entire staff that looked at me with respectful pity every time they laid eyes on me. As if breaking my back and having to stop doing the one thing I love isn’t bad enough, every sad, puppy-eyed expression that crossed their faces made me want to bash my head into the wall. So I’m downright giddy to be back home with my brother, and more than ready to see what’s next for me.

When I finally step off the plane and see the big ass grin on Tucker’s face, it causes one to creep across my own as well. This is probably the first time I have smiled, genuinely smiled, in months – it feels so foreign and of course, he’s the first to point it out.

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