“Sweetheart is now.”
“That mission wasthen.”
“Bowling isnow.”
“Bowling is now,” Archer repeats during a frantic head nod. “Bowling is now.” The bobbing motion continues alongside a slow rock that I simply gently stroke his leg through. Eventually, his green eyes locate my brown informing me he’s back in the present yet the sadness that’s glazed over them screams shame. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for embarrassing you like this. I’m sorry you can’t take me places without worrying about this shit. I’m sorry I’m-”
My fingers pinch his jaw in a loving, firm fashion. “Enough.”
He immediately stops.
Seals his lips.
Shrinks into himself.
“I amnotashamed of you or these moments. I’m notscaredof you or these moments. What I worry about is you neverhealingfrom them. And you not getting the help youneedfor them. And as much as I wish I knew what they were about, what you were reliving, I know you’ll tell me when you’re ready. And just so you know, whenever that is,Iam ready. Just like I’m ready to be there for you as you tell a doctor about your limp and your nightmares and whatever else they need to know for your quality of life to continue to improve.”
Archer’s head slowly shakes at the same time he airily croaks, “Why won’t you give up on me?”
“You don’t give up on people you care about.”
Tears fill his eyes forcing them to briefly close. It takes what feels like lifetimes for them to finally open and meet mine once more. “The last mission I served killed everyone on my team except me.”
There’s no catching the gasp that leaves my lips.
“Yeah.” Archer’s jaw trembles as he lets his head fall forward as though facing me during his recounting is too painful. “It was a simple order. Clear the area. Get in. Get out. Retrieve the target.”
Desperation to hear more pushes me closer.
Has my hand tightening tighter in support.
“We knew they used women and children as decoys. We’d been briefed numerous times on the subject, but that little girl didn’tlooklike a threat. And I know what to look for in a fucking threat. I’ve been trained on that my entire life. From my father to predators in foster homes to the asshole you run into getting a slushie at the gas station. Iknowwhat a threat looks like, Jaye. And unlike the women we had sent out of the area, she didn’t look suspicious.” His eyes cut up to mine. “She looked genuinelyscared. Fucking terrified to be in the middle of a fucking combat zone.” Regret or remorse clogs his vocal cords. “There was…a bright flash. Then another. Quick. One right after another.”
The rapid lights that trigger him.
“They were blinding and the bang that followed deafening.” More head shakes arrive. “I don’tconsciouslyremember much more after that. I know there were bullets flying. I know it was hard for us to find cover. I can practically still hear the screaming and see my best friend bleeding out while I did the same.”
“Ohmygod!”
“I don’t really know how I survived. Fuck, the rescue team didn’t either when they finally arrived on the scene.” A slow, shaky break is expelled. “I had a severe concussion. Memory loss. Cuts. Bruises. A broken finger. Fucked up knees. And some shrapnel in my leg. I was furthest from both blasts but not completely out of the radius. And you know how that happened? Because instead of being in the front with my boys, my best fucking friends, my goddamn brothers, I was in the back. Concerned about our six. Concerned about that child that I didn’t want to die from a stray gun shot.” His jaw trembles, and I can’t stop myself from reaching out to cup it for just a second. “Frommygun shot.”
“Baby…”
“I had to look Hiltz’s pregnant wife in her face when she came begging for answers, pounding on my door to know what happened and tell her more than the bullshit classified line I was instructed to. And as if the dying howls of her husband I had somehow crawled closer to weren’t enough, I then had to live withthosenightmarish cries. Listening to her blame me. Saying it should’ve been me instead. Swearing to me I’d never see my goddaughter again – which I haven’t.”
“She was just…grieving.”
One shoulder slightly bounces. “And if all that shit wasn’t enough, mental and physical therapy sucked every dime out of me that I had. Turns out that wasn’t very much because the chick I had been calling my girlfriend while on duty had replaced me with some bartending asshole andwiped my accountdamn near clean.”
“Bitch!”
“One minute I’m just trying to learn basic functions again, and the next I’m out on my ass because I’m lost in a fucking jungle of paperwork with no guide, no mercy, no fucking clue how to get the help it’s obvious I need. I don’t have any money. I don’t have any family. I don’t have any ties. I don’t have anywhere to go because all the programs designed to supposedly help men like me require more hoops for you to jump through than the fucking Olympics.” Resentment suddenly rages through his stare. “I gave my goddamn life for this fucking country. For these…fucking people who make more money than God by exploiting our vulnerabilities, our need to fucking belong, our need tocontributeto society yet when the tables are turned, when itsuswho needthem,they can’t fucking give back? They can’t –at the very fucking least –help make the process of getting vets the assistance they needlesscomplicated or haveless pitfallsfor us to fall into? They can’t help us from becoming just one more case number in an endless line in their flawed fucked up system? Can’t they see we really need fucking help?” Ignoring the tears on his cheeks is impossible. “Can’t they show a little more…fucking compassion?” Hearing his sniffle has my hand leaning over to wipe them away. “Like you did, sweetheart.”
Heated hatred promptly fades into pure anguish of a broken man.
Geez, I can’t blame him for being the withdrawn and grumpy type knowing that. Can you?
Once his face has been rid of the clearly unwanted tears, I quietly state, “Maybe having the compassion ofonecan be enough to help you let go of not having the compassion ofmany.”