Page 120 of No Going Back

“But she was my mom and I loved her. What did I know that what she was doing wasn’t normal?”

He took a swig of his beer as he was transported back there.

“If I made a noise or asked for food, I’d get beat, by my mom or whichever guy was around. I was six when I saw her murdered. Shot point blank by her dealer. Obviously, I didn’t understand what I’d seen until years later, but the image never went away of what I witnessed.”

A few curses reverberated around the room. Tyler ignored them.

“As my birth certificate had my father listed as unknown, I was driven away, given something to eat, then taken into foster care. I was fed, had my own bed.” He shook his head. “I thought everything was going to be OK. How fucking gullible was I?”

“Ty, you were six years old,” Ryan reasoned.

“I must have gone through about eight foster families. Apparently, I was a difficult child. Moody, angry, unsociable. Had a temper. Hell, I didn’t know how to be sociable, how to be happy. I’d never experienced either.” He finished his beer, Donnie immediately gave him another one.

“The families couldn’t handle me, so I would be sent back every time. Returned, like some goddamn broken toy. The social workers at the home would tell me I was the problem. I had a bad attitude and needed to make more of an effort. Eventually, they gave up and I stayed in the group home. At least I got to go to school, and I learned how to fight. Quickly.” He paused, rubbing his chin.

“At around age fourteen, another family took me in. I thought it was weird. Why would anyone want a moody teenager. Turns out, strong young men were good to do all the work around the house. If I wanted to eat, I had to finish the chores. I told the social worker what was going on, but because of my reputation, they didn’t believe me. As time went on, my foster father started to get handsy. A clip around the ear at first, then a slap, a punch.” Tyler heard a few more curses, but he kept his eyes averted.

“I could fight, but the guy was much bigger than me, and fighting back made it worse. When he started with the belt, I ran away. Cops picked me up and one actually listened, saw the bruises, the welts. I’m not sure what happened, but I ended up back at the group home and was never sent to another family. I was good with that. The place was shit, but at least I got fed and was left alone.”

He took another long swig of beer, wanting to numb what he was feeling.

“The day I turned eighteen I was shown the door. I had no fucking idea what to do, where to go, but they didn’t care. The home was already overcrowded, so once you’re eighteen, you’re on your own. I moved around doing manual work, laboring, anything that didn’t ask questions and paid in cash. I got paid, went to a bar, got drunk and got laid. A never-ending cycle, getting angrier every day. Angry at my mom, her boyfriends, the foster families, the kids in the home, teachers, myself, life in general. I was playing victim, feeling sorry for myself and blaming the world. Drinking numbed the pain, but after a few drinks, bar fights became the norm. I went looking for them. An outlet for all that anger. I was speeding head-on down a road to self-destruction.”

He remembered those days like they were yesterday. He’d had an attitude from hell. The same attitude that had reared its head over the past week.

“One night I hit on a waitress in a bar, who happened to be with the biggest, ugliest, fucker I’d ever seen. With all the laboring, I’d gotten pretty strong, but no match for this son of a bitch. It was one hell of a fight, someone called the cops and boom, I was in jail with no one to call.”

Jesus, just talking about it, made him feel ashamed. Weak. Unloved. A victim. Weird how he now could acknowledge he was one.

Steve and Donnie finished making sandwiches and placed them on the table. Nobody touched them.

“That night saved my life. Sergeant Allan Davis, man, if it wasn't for him, I’d be dead or in jail. I had fake ID, had been drinking underage, and faced assault charges. It wasn’t looking good, but Davis, I don’t know what the fuck he saw in me, but he gave me a choice. Jail or enlist. I gave him attitude.”

That raised a few chuckles.

“But damn, he wouldn’t give up. Turns out he served in the Navy. Started telling me about his time in service being the best years of his life. He was a medic. Something resonated with me, because finally I listened as he talked about his missions, what he achieved, the camaraderie. He assured me enlisting would give me an outlet for my anger, much needed discipline, purpose, and a family. Something clicked. The next day I was in the recruiting office, enlisting. Never looked back.”

“Sounds like an awesome guy. You still in touch with him?” Mackie asked.

Tyler shook his head. “He was killed six months after I enlisted. Shot in a home invasion. It hit me hard and I almost quit. I lost focus, had my CO up my ass. I didn’t witness the shooting, but I was the one to find him. For those few months I knew him, he’d been the closest thing to a father I’d ever known. It brought up everything I had tried to forget. Two people whom I loved taken from me. I decided there and then it was easier not to get close to anyone. I put walls up. No one got through them. I shut it all away, got my shit together, and focused on being a sailor, then a SEAL.”

“And a damn good one,” Ryan acknowledged.

“I loved being a sailor, but if I’m honest, I still didn’t quite feel I belonged. I trusted my teammates to do their job, but I didn’t let myself get close. They weren't friends. And, because I was a medic, I got drafted all over the place, never staying with the same guys too long. When I made SEALs, that was the first time I felt like I had a place I belonged. I got to know you guys. Felt like I was more than just the medic. After what happened...” He turned to face Dex, the apology on his lips. “I don’t regret anything about going rogue to rescue Kelly.” It had been shitty of him to suggest otherwise.

Dex nodded.

Tyler continued. “When we didn’t know what was happening to the team, what our punishment would be? I was resigned to history repeating itself. As soon as I found something good, it gets fucked up.”

“Jesus, Ty, you should have said something.” Mackie said.

“We were all going through our own shit. It was easier to put the walls back up and block it out. It’s how I dealt with it all these years. Then, Dex, you offered me Onyx. You have no idea what that offer meant to me.” He stared at his team leader, voice thick with emotion.

“You could ask whoever you wanted, and you asked me, and the Sam Harrison fucking agreed.”

“So why did you leave?” Ryan asked.

“Everything was getting way out of control. That fucking HRT op. Shooting that fucker in front of those kids. And Mira. It was supposed to be a casual thing, but it isn’t and it scares the fucking crap out of me. I didn't handle it well. I hurt her. Then that fucking bomb went off. It triggered every insecurity I ever had. I loved my mom, she died. I loved Allan, he died. And Mira was suddenly trapped beneath a ton of concrete fighting for her life because of me.”

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