Page 90 of The Unwanted Wife

I bark out a laugh, the sound nowhere as joyful as it’s supposed to be. He knows, sometimes making it out of a war is to be cursed spending the rest of your life fighting the demons that never leave you. "For me; not so much for the others."

He waits. The silence stretches, inviting me to fill it with my confessions. Edward’s the former priest, the man to whom I’ve been tempted to confess in the past. It’s the first time someone else has invited the same confidence from me.

"Two of my team were killed in front of my eyes."

He whistles. "Tough on you."

"Tougher on their families."

He searches my features, a shrewd look in his eyes. "You understand, they knew what they were signing up for?"

"They expected to fight. They gave up their youth, their laughter, their hopes and dreams for the country. In return, they expect the country to help them when they and their families need it."

"You think the system failed them?"

"Ask their families, who were handed a flag and compensation that’s barely enough to take care of their living costs. Then, there are those who succeed at their given mission but, like me, suffer from PTSD. So many are given an honorable discharge, and then what?"

He tips up his chin. "There are career transition programs, housing assistance, grants, and benefits in place to help vets adapt back to daily life.’

"Bullshit." I slap my palm on the table. "What’s on paper and what happens in real life are two very different realities."

"Nevertheless, there is help for them, provided they’re willing to be helped."

"You mean, they come back irreparably broken, unable to help themselves, and the inevitable happens. A higher percentage of veterans take their lives than any other demographic."

"Not you," he murmurs.

"Not you, either," I point out.

"I had a reason to live. A family— As dysfunctional as the Davenports are, I had blood to come back to."

"So did many of these men. But it didn’t seem to help."

"No, it depends on the person. If they can find the resources within themselves to crawl out of the hole."

"The hole we put them in." I stare into my empty glass.

"If by we, you mean?—"

"The country. The system. Call it what you want, but this endless cycle of serving up our youth as fodder to serve the bidding of politicians is something I have always questioned."

"Yet, you joined the military."

"I was young and foolish. I thought I could change the system from inside." I rub the back of my neck. "Why are we talking about this, anyway?"

"Because you feel for the lives that were lost. And you want to do something about it."

"Perhaps." I roll my shoulders, glance around the room, then back at him. "You, on the other hand?—"

"—still believe in the power of the armed forces, yes. If that last mission hadn’t gone wrong in the way it did, if that one particular life hadn’t been lost, I’d never have left."

"Who was she?" I tilt my head. "I assume it’s someone Ryot had feelings for? Did the two of you serve together?"

"We served at the same time, yes. As for the rest, it’s his prerogative to talk about it; not mine."

"Understood." Both of us lapse into silence for a few minutes. He tosses back the rest of his whiskey, then tugs at his sleeves. "I’ll see you around." He rises to his feet.

The movement catches the attention of the rest of the men. Knox pushes away from the bar and walks over to stand in his path.

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