Page 17 of Warrior

The door opens easily and I let myself in. Bottles and cans litter the floor; it smells like stale beer and bad decisions in here. I instantly recognize Zane passed out on one of the couches, snoring loudly, and try not to laugh. Voices carry fromthe kitchen. I hold my breath, ready to head into battle, when movement at the bedroom door catches my eye. Colt steps out. My eyes widen because he’s wearing only his boxers, and so much skin and muscle is on display. I miss him. I miss lying under all that while he played with my hair and kissed me until I couldn’t breathe. My brain melts. My eyes don’t do anything but stare.

“Lyric,” he says my name in surprise, laced with a tinge of guilt that makes my eyes jump to his face before sliding behind him. The girl from the bonfire slides out of the room, stopping to look between us. She’s wearing the T-shirt he had on last night and her hair is messy. Her eyes drop to the floor and she scurries to the bathroom.

Heartbeats pass between us, but I can’t bring myself to look at him. I’m crying again and pissed at myself for coming here.

“You slept with her?” My voice sounds hoarse and not at all mine. I hate it. I don’t want to feel weak in front of him right now.

Colt opens his mouth to say something before closing it. His head drops down and that’s all the answer I need.

For the third time, I walk away from Colt. Only this time, any hopes or dreams of him coming after me, chasing me, burn up in flames. I think I might die from this broken heart. Somehow, though, I make it back to my house.

“Lyric?” Momma stops me on my way up the stairs. “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

I should smile and put on a brave face, only I can’t. Everything in me crumbles with every sob that tears out of my throat. Momma moves fast, catching me in her arms and walking me up to my room. I don’t stop her as she removes my shoes and cradles me on my bed. Her fingers comb through my hair while she lets me just be.

“I feel like I’m dying,” I whisper into her shoulder, where my fingers grip her shirt tightly.

She chuckles softly. “You aren’t, I promise.”

“How can he leave me? Why did he end things this way after everything?”

“I wish I could make this better for you, love. I wish I had the answers. All I can say is that Colt has had demons for a long time. I like the kid and I’m happy he was your first boyfriend. He treated you right, which is all your dad and I could’ve asked for. Whatever his reasons are, it has nothing to do with you, Lyric. You are smart and funny and beautiful. You’re kind to everyone and you work hard in everything you do,” she croons into my hair.

“It hurts so much,” I sob, pulling my legs into my chest.

“It will stop.” She kisses me. “It will get better, I promise.”

“What if it doesn’t?” I huff, snuggling deeper into her.

She laughs. “It will. Just keep going. Go to school. Meet new people and study hard. As time goes by, you will see, things will get better. It just takes time.”

We sit like that until my body finally relaxes and my eyes close to sleep. Momma must have calmed my daddy down because he doesn’t try and talk to me the rest of the day. Even Kyler and Posey stay clear of my room. Camryn texts me and we exchange a few boy-bashing memes before my stomach hurts again. Clearly, getting over Colt Street is going to take all of my strength.

I grab a bowl of fruit from the fridge and lie back on my bed plotting. I make the choice then and there to harden my heart. I’ll go to Alabama for a semester, and if I hate it, I can transfer to my choice of schools or maybe I’ll join Camryn or Jamie Lynn. My options are endless and open. I plan to join a club or two. I may never make it to the football stadium, though, and I just need to be okay with that. I pray that eventually this pain will goaway. Someday, I will wake up and not miss Colt Street. Until then, I’m taking that plane ticket out of this town and finding my own life, no matter how scary and terrifying that sounds. Never again will I beg a boyfriend to stay with me.

Eight years later…

Chapter 9

Colt

I’ve heard taps being played at a funeral more than I care to acknowledge. I’ve lost people I’ve loved, people I worked beside, fought alongside, and each time, I shoulder guilt that they’re gone and I’m still standing. This funeral hits harder today than the rest. I haven’t been to Tennessee in over eight years. Not because I haven’t wanted to, but the memories are just too much. Everywhere I look, I’m reminded of cool blue eyes filled with tears and the dreams that I let die.

Staring at another box holding the body of one of my best friends is a burn in my chest that leaves a wake of ash in my throat. I can’t do this.

“I can’t believe we’re here,” Zane echoes my thoughts when he slides up next to me. His hand touching the coffin gently.

“This isn’t right.” I nod in agreement. A year after I was in the military, I spent time overseas training and working when I met Tric, only to find out he grew up in a city not far from my hometown and was a year younger than me in school. We hung out, and when we were all able to get together, we hung out with Zane. It had been nice knowing that wherever I ended up, I hadbuddies stationed all over that I could talk to who understood the life of an active soldier.

One year for Christmas, Tric had made our entire platoon T-shirts that read “I Hate Sand” on them to commemorate the nine months we spent in Iraq. He was the jokester of our group and the one who kept us all chill, even when we were carrying heavy arsenal into enemy territory. I will never hear ACDC’s “Hells Bells” again and not think about him. He’s been as close to me as Zane for the past seven years. I can’t believe he’s gone, and that the world is now deprived of one of the greatest men I’ve ever known.

I would have shed blood for any of my brothers in combat, and Tric sacrificed his life for me. It was a mission we shouldn’t have been involved in. His death was ruled a casualty, only there was nothing casual about it. It was a mistake that could have been avoided if the right people had been watching. I’ve spent the past few nights going through everything in my head, and nothing makes sense to me. I will never understand how it happened, and now that I’ve started my discharge paperwork, I will never get the answers I crave.

Zane clears his throat, his head nodding toward the parking lot. “There's a man in a motorcycle club patch waiting back there. He wanted to talk about Tric.”

“To me?” I ask, confused as hell.

“That’s what he said.” Zane nods and looks around, stalling. “Any idea what that could be about?”

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