Page 75 of Proof Of Life

“My whole team fucking died, and I did nothing to save them! I was trapped and pinned under a wall of concrete. That doesn’t make me a hero just because I was lucky enough to live. Or unfortunate enough not to die—however you wanna look at it.”

Worry pools in my gut like acid. This is going to trigger him, and it’s going to be bad. Like days spent beneath the covers bad. Not one ounce of my being wants to take part in this bullshit, but I’ve got to put a good face on it for West. Because the truth is, we really don’t have a choice. The letter is dressed up and worded as a pretty invitation, but it’s a direct order.

“That depends if you’re a glass is half empty or glass is half full kind of guy.” There it is, his signature what-the-fuck face. He’s not amused with my little cliché. “Look, I completely agree with you. I have zero interest in participating in this dog and pony show either, but do we really have a choice?”

He drags his fingers through his hair, making the ends stand up like porcupine quills. “Fuck! I just feel like I’ve given enough to the goddamn Army. My body, my head, they’ll never be the same again thanks to them. I know I signed up for this. I brought it on myself, but I’ll be honest with you, I never believed in that mission. And I’m not just talking about the day we got blowed up. I’m talking about the whole fucking reason we were in the desert in the first place. We shouldn’t even have been there. It was all just a political coup I wanted no part in. The only thing that mattered to me was protecting my brothers, and I failed my mission, therefore, I will accept no awards.”

Tears spring to his eyes, his voice breaking on the last words, and I wrap my arms around his waist and hold him tight. I’m all out of clichés. I have no words at all. He said exactly what I’m feeling and thinking.

“I only did it for them,” he cries into my shoulder, “and now they’re gone. I don’t have anyone to fight for anymore. Nothing matters. It’s all gone.”

“You have Mandy. He’s got a long fight ahead of him, and he needs you, your strength. You have Jax. He’s angry and closed off, and you might just be the leader he needs, or the friend. You have Stiles. I’ve never met anyone who needs more direction than that guy. And you have McCormick. You can’t give up on him before he finally finds his true love. He’s counting on you to get laid.” He chuffs a snotty, teary laugh. “Your team is still fighting. They still need you, West. Don’t give up on them. There’s still so much that matters.”

“Fuck you,” he sniffles, fighting a smile. “Those knuckleheads are a damn mess. They’re tore up from the floor up. In fifty years, they’ll still be fighting the same fight. If I were still enlisted, the Bitches would bomb my eval, and I’d be demoted.”

He’s right. McCormick is never getting laid.

“I need you to show up for me again. I can’t get up there alone. I need you to hold me up. It’s bullshit. We both know it. But don’t make me be the only liar on that stage.”

West swipes his eyes on the back of his sleeve and draws a ragged breath. “I told you, I’m always gonna show up for you, Reaper. Always.”

“You look like a total bitch!” West cackles.

“I still can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Mandy complains, hefting his borrowed Bitches With Stitches bag up his shoulder. “I don't even know how to knit.”

“That's not a big deal. We'll teach you the basics. You'll catch on in no time.”

Despite West's reassurance, I can tell Mandy is conflicted.

“Trust me,” West swears, “you're going to fit right in.”

“In case you haven't noticed, I don't fit in anywhere,” Mandy gripes.

“The Bitches are just like us, imperfect. Right Brandt?”

“Imperfectly perfect,” I insist, always reaching for the bright lining, the positive reinforcement to correct the negative soundtrack that plays in a constant loop in West’s mind.

“Imperfectly perfect,” West repeats, slapping Mandy's knee.

I bite back my smile. “Look, you're there for you, not them. You have nothing to prove to anyone. Just be yourself and you'll be fine.”

It's the truth. Mandy is a likable guy, buried under layers of anxiety and trauma. He's honest and loyal and real. I liked him immediately after meeting him. He could benefit from being a Bitch. He certainly has the stitches to earn his seat in the circle jerk.

“Afterwards, if you're up for it, we can go out with the guys and grab beer and wings. It's sort of a tradition, and it will give you a chance to get to know them better, and for them to get to know you better,” West adds.

As soon as we enter the classroom, I spot Riggs, back from deployment, with a scratch on his cheek.

“Riggs, glad you're back. Welcome home. I thought you were medical,” West asks. “Did you see action? Were you outside the wire?”

A dark shadow passes over Riggs’s face and he tenses. “Let's just say it was a close call. But I'm fine. This scratch is the worst of it.”

West and I exchange concerned looks. There's no such thing as a safe job in the Army. The Bitches file in one by one, filling up the empty seats. McCormick high fives me and West on his way by. Today his shirt reads “I'm a BALLSY Bitch”. The word ballsy is written in the BALLS logo.

That shirt would look great on West, I think with a snicker.

I would have to hold him down and hog tie him to get him to wear it, but it would be perfect for him. Reaching into my bag, I pull out my ball of blue yarn and get to work. The left sock is almost complete, barring a few dropped stitches, and for the right side, I’ll make a sleeve to cover his stump. West pulls out his pink yarn and attempts to teach Mandy how to cast on.

Stiles takes a seat next to McCormick, wearing his ALR t-shirt and leather jacket, practically his uniform, and Pharo trails behind him, taking the seat to his right. When Jax enters the classroom, he stalls when he realizes the only empty seat is right beside Pharo.

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