Page 2 of Tattered
One
MAVERICK ~ FOUR YEARSLATER
It’s been years since I’ve got a full night’s sleep. As the days have passed, sleep is starting to feel like a distant memory. The nightmares that plagued me were just a reminder of the hell I was reliving when I was awake. After two tours, one in Iraq and the other in Afghanistan, these nightmares haven’t seemed to let up. The only difference now is the monsters chasing me wear a new face.
Life has delivered a bitter pill that I haven’t been able to swallow. It’s hardened my heart, which when you’re in the military, is exactly what you need to serve. If you let shit get you down or get lost in your emotions, you’ll end up taking your eyes off the purpose of why you’re here.
I know what can happen if you do. You make mistakes, and if you’re not careful, you may end up being called home, and I’m not talking in the way you want to be either.
The heat from the humid air is stifling as sweat drips down my forehead. Crossing my arms beneath my head, I adjust the pillow as I close my eyes and enjoy a few minutes of silence.
My platoon and I are about seven months into our time in Kabul, Afghanistan. We’re still waiting to hear the official word, but sometime in the next two weeks we should be making our trip back home and fuck if I’m not ready to set foot back on American soil.
“Night, wake up. You got a call.”
The loud command bounces off the walls of the tent as I peek my eye open.
James peers his head into the tent. There’s a look of surprise on his face as he nods his head toward the tent on the other side of our bunk.
Letters sent to me are few and far between, much less a phone call, so I know, like me, he’s wondering what’s going on. Once he sees I’m awake, his head disappears again. I wonder who the hell could be trying to get in touch with me.
Stepping out of the tent, my eyes glance at the picnic tables set up outside on the base. Several of the guys are sitting around, playing cards and shootin’ the shit. There’s not much to pass the time, but you’d be surprised at what you can come up with to keep your mind off what’s going on outside the base.
My eyes connect with James standing off to the side. His arms are crossed as he looks on at the other guys playing a game of cards.
“Who is it?”
“No name, but sounded important.”
I nod my head. I don’t have a good feeling about this and I’d like to get this over with.
Stepping into the Communications Center, I pick up the phone and press the line, connecting the call.
“This is Maverick Night,” I state, swallowing down the ball in my throat.
“Mav.” It’s hard to hear through this phone but I can make out the voice.
“Dean?”
“Yeah, buddy. I’m sorry to call you like this. It took jumping through some hoops to get in touch but listen, your grandmother contacted me yesterday. She was looking for some help in trying to reach you. Got some news for you about your dad.”
He pauses for a moment, and I want to tell him to spit it out already. After our fight, I didn’t talk to him for several months. When I got back home from basic training, there was a letter from him waiting for me along with one from Ryan. I know Dean holds a lot of regret for the way shit went down. I needed him to know me enlisting wasn’t his fault.
Every time I’ve called him to check in, I fight the urge to ask him what I really want to know. How is Ryan? Is she seeing anyone? Does she miss me as much as I fucking miss her?
“He passed away, man. They’re saying his liver failed.”
His words rattle around in my head as I replay them over and over.
He is gone.
The mother fucker is actually gone.
I should be surprised at the age of fifty-three, but I know he stopped taking care of himself long before we lost my mom. Her passing away just sped up the process. He started drinking heavier, which led to his anger. I doubt he’s even been to the doctor since I left, so any signs or symptoms likely went missed.
“Shit,” I mutter, not knowing what to say. “What are the plans then?”
Running my hand over my face, I clench my hand around my jaw as I think of everything that needs to be arranged. The only people my dad had was his brother, Richard, who I don’t think he’s talked to in over fifteen years and my grandmother. The last thing I want to do is put this on her.
