Page 29 of Proof Of Life

Up until now, I’ve let my anger numb my pain. But his love and his hurt have thawed the wall of ice protecting my heart. The tears that have been pooling behind my eyes for weeks finally fall in a hot rush down my face.

“Take me home.”

“I can’t, not until the doctor says–”

“No, home, to the cabin. Take me back home.” Away from the base. Away from the Army. Away from soldiers dressed in uniform, who look just like the members of our team we lost. I want to go home to the forest and the mountains. It’s the only chance I have of healing myself.

The front of the house isn’t much to look at, but the back more than makes up for it. The massive deck stretches across the entire back of the cabin. A seating area and a hot tub take up most of the space. Towering pine trees and giant oaks shade the deck and most of the windows. The built-in stone fireplace generates enough heat to warm the seating area on chilly nights.

With my head in his lap, I gaze up at the setting sun, grateful that I lived to see another glorious sunset. The pinks and purples and fiery oranges blend together like watercolors on a canvas. I would have missed this if I wasn’t here. Brandt would have missed this, too. It isn’t as pretty as watching the sunset in the desert, but it’s the next best thing.

His fingers card through my hair. “Where you at?”

“Right here. Just remembering the last time we had all the guys here for a barbecue.”

Brandt’s laugh is a balm for my soul. “Hell, which time? They practically lived here. We had to start lying about where we were going on the weekends because if they saw us throw a duffel bag in the back of the Jeep, they knew we were headed up here.”

It wasn’t just our team, either. It was guys in our company and anyone left behind at the barracks with no plans for the weekend. They would show up here with hunting rifles, fishing poles, cases of beer, and packages of meat for grilling.

The peace I felt earlier vanishes and a heavy weight settles over me. Moisture gathers in my eyes as my feelings rush to the surface.

“Fuck, man. We didn’t even get to say goodbye.” My voice cracks wide open, along with the floodgates holding back my tears. “Those motherfuckers robbed us of the chance to say goodbye.”

Tears glisten in Brandt’s eyes like sapphires. “We could always get in the car and make the rounds, go visit each one of them—their families, their graves.” His blinding white smile shines through his grief. “Are you down for a road trip?”

I laugh and swipe at my tears, sniffling like a snotty mess. “Shit, I can barely walk to the bathroom. I don’t think I can handle that. It’s too much pain and suffering and—fuck no. That’s not how I want to remember them. And what the fuck for? Closure or some shit? Fuck that. I’ll never get over what happened to them. Visiting their families isn’t going to help.”

My gaze drops to my leg—half leg. Losing them isn’t the only thing I can’t get over.

“You’re right, it was a terrible idea,” he agrees.

I struggle to sit up, feeling inspired as a smile stretches across my lips. “You know what we need? We’re gonna light that fire, power up the hot tub, put some fucking music on,” I spread my arms wide to encompass the entire deck, “and we’re gonna light the grill and put the beer on ice, and we’re gonna play some fucking cornhole.”

His smile starts small and grows wider the longer he stares at me. Then he stands and claps his hands together. “Hell, yeah!” Brandt starts toward the house and then stops and turns back. “Is this supposed to be some half-assed memorial?”

“It’s whatever the fuck you want it to be, but it doesn’t change what we’re about to do.”

“Micah loved cornhole,” he recalls wistfully.

“Fuck yeah he did. Didn’t you lose to him and have to wash his car or something?”

The memory dawns in his eyes, and his chuckle starts out slow, and builds momentum. “If only. He made me wash it in a jockstrap.”

I laughed out loud, a sharp crack. “Was it purple, like your Speedo?”

“You fucking ass,” he laughs.

“Well, come on. Let’s get in our jockstraps and do this right.”

“I don’t have a fucking jockstrap, you dick.”

“What did you wear that day?”

“I borrowed his!”

I threw a pillow at him, which he easily sidestepped. “That’s disgusting. Didn’t he have some kind of crabs or some shit from that girl he met at the laundromat?”

Brandt doubles over at the waist and grabs his knees, laughing so hard I’m positive he’s crying. “That was before he met his wife. Thank God for Marissa.” He straightens and swipes his eyes. “For the record and the honor of his memory, he cleared that shit up with meds.”

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