Page 101 of The Darkness Within

Then it’s Victor‘s turn. Violet comes up on the dais to stand beside me, and I take her small hand in mine. The Colonel repeats all the same words, and then presents her with the same two boxes. She leans over to press a kiss to my cheek.

“Say something nice about my Victor,” she whispers in my ear.

This isn’t the time or the place to spill my secrets. To tell the entire room about my shortcomings, about how I failed to keep my best friend alive, how I failed in my mission as Sergeant to lead my team to safety. This is about survival. This is about pomp and ceremony, yes, but also about what we got right that day. Not the day I fell through the hole in the floor, but the day I left through the mouth of the cave. The day the United States Army came and dragged my ass out. The day they brought me home.

After thanking the special forces for their assist, I thank my unit and my command. And then, with a deep, steadying breath, I thank my best friend.

“He’s the real hero. Victor is the only reason I’m still alive. He kept me going, he kept me sane, and if I was ever brave, it was because he needed me to be. When my mission failed, he became my mission. I vowed to him every single day and night that I would get us home. No matter what I suffered, or what they did to me, I couldn’t let him down, and I couldn’t let his mother down. That’s why I’m still here. Victor Gutierrez saved my life.”

Everything after that is a blur. The handshakes, backslaps, and the pictures. Reporters and journalists shove mics in my face. I just block it all out and focus on Brewer, waiting patiently in the wings. Then there’s Tex, wearing a leather messenger bag strapped across his chest. He grabs my hand and shoves it inside the bag.

“Jesus, Tex, what the hell?” I have no idea what he’s doing. Is he setting me up? Am I about to grab a handful of slime or a dildo?

Something warm and soft and furry touches my skin. A sandpaper-rough tongue licks my palm.

“You brought Valor?”

“He didn’t want to miss your big day,” Tex grins. “He’s really proud of you.”

Fucking perfect. How can something so small as a tiny kitten make me feel so strong?

“Nashville? Nashville, honey—” That voice. I’d know that voice anywhere. It’s my fucking— “Congratulations on your award. Is that what you say, congratulations? Anyways, it’s not an award I’d hoped you’d receive after so many years in the military, throwing your life away, but—”

I haven’t seen my mother in years, and I can count on one hand the amount of times I’ve talked to her in that time, and the first thing she says to me is another of her famous backhanded compliments. Fucking figures.

My father holds his hand out, and I shake it. The kind of overly strong shake he expects from his son, a decorated soldier.

“Good job, son. It’s a shame about your leg, but at least you’re still alive, unlike your friend.”

Overwhelming fury boils over inside of me, like an unwatched pot, and I lunge forward, ready to tear his throat open with my bare hands, until someone pulls me back. Brewer. And Stiles.

“These are the kinds of dangers your father and I warned you about when you joined the Army,” my mother adds, completely unaware that I’m about to commit murder. “At least now that you’re finished with all that business, you can go back to school and get a real job. Your father’s accounting firm is hiring.”

“Nash, don’t do it, man,” Stiles hisses in my ear.

“I have a job, Mother. But thank you for your concern.”

She hasn’t even hugged me yet. She came all the way from Arizona, and she won’t even put her arms around her son.

“Well, that’s good news. Doing what?”

“Looking after the surviving family members of fallen soldiers. Taking care of things that need repair around their houses.”

She shares an incredulous look with my father. “You’re a glorified handyman? Oh, come on, Nashville. You can do better than that.”

Nostrils flaring, I ball my hands into fists and take a deep breath. “I’m not a—”

“Mr. and Mrs. Sommers, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Brewer Marx, Nash’s therapist.”

“Therapist? Are you ill, son?”

“Ill? No, why would I be ill? Fucked in the head, yeah. I spent twenty-two days in captivity being tortured while I watched my best friend die slowly. I guess I just needed someone to talk to,” I finish lamely, lacing my voice with sarcasm. “And Brewer isn’t just my therapist, he’s more than that. He’s the man that I’m in love with and plan to spend the rest of my life with.”

My mother makes a sour face, like my choosing to sleep with my therapist is in bad taste. Then she fixes him with a less than polite look, and that’s when I’ve had enough. Absolutely fucking enough. If she wanted a reunion, she could have chosen any day besides today. This day isn’t about her, it’s about me, and Brewer, and Violet Gutierrez, and my friends. It is not about my parents.

Brewer slides his hand in mine, reminding me that I would rather be anywhere other than here. “Thank you for coming to see me accept my award.” Award, fucking bullshit. It’s a goddamn medal of distinction, two of some of the highest honors you can receive in the military, and she acts like it’s a second place ribbon at the science fair. “Don’t let me hold up the rest of your afternoon.”

Brewer still has my hand, all the way to the parking lot. Touching Valor made me feel strong for a moment, but my real source of strength is Brewer. He wraps his arms around me, and I take a deep breath for the first time today. All of my anxiety settles. All of my broken pieces come together.

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