Page 76 of Dravin

“I know that. But live instead.” I know that’s fucking cheesy, but when we’re talking like this, it’s a plea straight from the depths of me.

He smiles, breaking some of the tension. “I will. I’ll only act if we’re backed into a corner with no other way out. Only then.” He kisses me tenderly. It makes me less likely to tear out of my own skin. “When it comes down to it, I’ll always choose you.”

“Because you’re obsessed with me,” I deadpan. I’ve said that before and not in a nice way. I don’t want him to remember only that when he goes back to it. I want him to hear me saying it now, right here, like this.

“Yeah.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “In a way, I guess I fell in love with you from Marcus’ stories. Not that kind of love, but… admiration. He never talked about you until you were in college. He told me about how he forced you to stay after your mom died. About how artistic you were. How you created the most amazing things from nothing. How growing up, even when you two really did have nothing, there was still joy, and that was often solely because of your spirit.”

“And his. His too,” I protest, but my heart is beating hard at Dravin’s admission. “He made it possible to dream by providing for and protecting our family before he left, and then after, he was the one who sent money for college. When I wantedto leave, he forced me to stay. He wouldn’t let me give up on myself. He couldn’t be there physically for me when I was at my lowest point, but he was there in the way he could be.” I duck my head, the motion sending hot tears trickling down my cheeks. My throat is a bed of spikes, but I speak past it anyway. “I’ll have regrets forever, but I know I have to let then go.”

Dravin’s hands bracket my face, his thumbs swiping away the moisture. “He’d want you to. He never stopped loving you and he knew that you never stopped loving him.”

“You found this place against all odds. However we came here and for whatever reasons, it’s a place we could stay.” I sniffle. “We could fit. We could grow and live. You think I can’t have a choice right now because of what’s still out there, butthis is my choice.” I blink away another wave of tears. “You’re worried that I’d have to give something up to be here, but that’s not true. Things might have to change for me, but change is growth.”

“That’s a very brave way to look at it,” he responds huskily.

We lay there in silence for a while. He shifts his arm, wrapping it around me and guiding my face to his chest. I drink in the scent of him, his warm solid strength.

“Will you tell me your name? Your real name?” I whisper. I know this could shatter our peace, but sharing parts of ourselves with each other is necessary. If he’s not ready, he can tell me no. That’s why I asked him, and didn’t demand it.

“John. Just John.”

“That’s it?” I giggle. “Just John. Wow.”

“Yeah… I was raised by my dad. That’s a hard word for what he was though.” The sadness bleeds out of him into me. I wriggle out from his hold and wrap my arms around his neck, kissing his cheek to let him know that I’m here, that I sense his pain, that it’s going to be okay. “I don’t know when my mom left,” he confesses. “But I do know why. She was a lot younger than him. I wish she would have taken me with her, but she wasn’t equipped to do that. I didn’t get it at the time, but I can see it now. In my father’s defense, I guess he did try. He had his own demons. Something from his childhood that ate him up on the inside. Probably abuse, but I didn’t get that as a kid. I just saw how those demons ruled him. He was all emotion, wild, burning, out of control moods. He’d try and silence the shit inside of him with alcohol. Eventually, he’d pass out for the night and that would be the end of it. It didn’t get really bad until I was eight.”

“Eight? Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah.” His hand smooths down my back like I’m the one who needs reassurance. “It sounds young—”

“It fucking is young!”

“It was. I felt totally alone, and when I was there in our trailer with him, I was. He never tried to beat me, though. Never laid a hand on me. He’d do scary shit. Scream and shout and act like he saw things that weren’t there. Maybe he did. He’d throw shit. Break shit. Stumble around. Lose his mind. Pass out. I stayed out of his way. I was smart and good at surviving, even from a young age. He did use his sober moments to make sure there wassomethingin the cupboards. Like I said. He tried. He was just locked in his own head.

“When things got really rough, I found a way to cope. I invented this older, wiser version of myself in my head. A hero or kind of an imaginary friend, but not really. Just someone to talk to. A safe space to go. My dad was really into war movies—which I’m sure helped nothing for him in reality—but I saw those men as heroes. I dreamed of doing what they did when I grew up. That imaginary name I gave that version of myself—it was Dravin. I have no idea from where. It just was. I made sure that I went to school and that everything seemed normal from the outside. As bad as it was at home, I didn’t want to be taken away and I’d seen how social services got involved with other kids from the same trailer park.”

He pauses and runs his hand through his hair before continuing, “Things were pretty much just like that all while I grew up. When I graduated, I knew what I wanted to do. My dad knew. He never once told me to go, and he never asked me to stay. By then, I don’t even know if he was coherent enough to realize I truly existed. I never went back there. He died two years later, in a hospital, alone. I regret that I wasn’t there, but I couldn’t leave. I knew that it was the reality that was coming for him.”

“Still though.” I don’t know what else to say. I can’t believe this is how this kind, gentle, beautiful soul grew up. I understand where his maturity comes from now. Forged in the ashes of a childhood he never got to have.

“I don’t want you to think that I’m something that has to be fixed.” He tilts my head up, searching my face urgently. “I’ve done a lot of work. Reading. Seen therapists after I got out of the SEALs. I don’t believe happiness is a real concept when it comes down to it. That’s just a term used to enslave people and ensurethe opposite. But I have tried to be a better man. I’m not an empty vessel asking for you to fill me.”

“No. I know that.”

“I know I didn’t have a mother, and I didn’t have affection from my father, and some people would call that a big red flag—”

“You had brotherhood. Years of it. You know what it is to feel, even if you never wanted to be ruled by emotions. Feelings aren’t facts anyway.”

He grunts, his version of a reluctant laugh. “I truly, truly never wanted to become my father. I never wanted to be at the mercy of my thoughts or memories. I had to find a way to move past it. After I was out of the SEALs, I did a degree online. Just to have it.”

“In computer science?”

He nods, eyes crinkling with amusement when he smiles. “I guess that’s fairly obvious. I could have just made myself a fake ID with any classifications I wanted, but I craved that learning.”

“I can’t see that they would have taught you much.”

“No, but that wasn’t the point.”

“No.” I whisper my lips over his until he responds, just for the sheer need to be close to him. “But you still call yourself Dravin. I would have thought you wouldn’t be able to do that.”

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