Page 26 of Embracing Trust

As the evening goes on, the family trickles out—all returning to their own homes, and I’m left alone with my parents. Dad pokes what’s left of the fire.

I yawn and stretch my arms over my head. “I’m beat. I think I’m going to head to bed soon.”

“I have your room all ready,” Mom says as she slips her sandals back on her feet.

“Thanks…I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble.”

“She was going to make me repaint and put in new carpet,” Dad teases.

Mom folds her hands in front of her. “I wish you would change your mind and stay here.”

I sigh. “Iamgoing to stay here for a week or so. I want to relax and catch up with you guys.” I smile as I hope to convince them how much I’m looking forward to our time together.

“I wish you’d stay here on a morepermanentbasis.” Mom studies me. “It would be good for you to be home.”

I chuckle. “Mom, Iamhome. I’m just thirty minutes away at Patrick and Lydia’s, you know.”

“Ryan, I think your mom just missed you a lot.” Dad rubs Mom’s shoulder.

Mom lets out a breath. “You put us through a lot, you know. We didn’t get many updates on your unit and didn’t even know where you were most of the time. We didn’t know if—"

“I’m tired.” I’m exhausted and can’t deal with my mom right now. I need sleep. “I can’t do this right now.”

Thankfully, Dad cuts in, “Good night, son. Head on up to bed and we’ll see you in the morning.”

I grab my duffle bag from where I haphazardly threw it down earlier when my family bombarded me. I hoist it over my shoulder and make my way up the creaky wooden stairs. I laugh to myself thinking about all the horseplay that took place with my brothers on this stairway. When I reach the top of the stairs, I take a left. Last room on the right. The door is partially closed. I push it open and it’s like going back in time. The twin beds with the navy-blue comforters still sit on opposite sides of the room with the desk below the window. I flop my bag onto the floor and plop down on my bed. I take a deep breath, letting everything soak in. Nothing has changed except for the memorabilia that Mom has added to the walls above our beds—our lettermen jackets in frames, my track jersey, Patrick’s baseball glove. There’s also a shelf with our trophies, medals, and photographs from our sporting careers. My high school pennant is on the wall above my bed. I pad over to our desk to get a better look at the framed photos. Dad with the six of us boys on a fishing trip at the cabin. Patrick and I making a mess with ice cream, Christmas at my grandparents’ house.

I turn to my dresser. Mom left everything untouched. My Texas Ranger’s mug, my Swiss Army knife, and a framed photo of Julia and me at our senior prom.

We had such a great time. Too bad that was one of the last times we spoke to one another.

Chapter Thirteen

Ryan

I never thought I’d be so happy to get back to work in all my life. Although I only spent a week at Mom and Dad’s, I was more than ready to end the visit. I love my parents, but Mom’s insistent questions about my plans and why I didn’t want to live with them started to grate on me. Not only that, but they also put a good deal of pressure on me about taking the necessary classes to sell insurance with Dad’s agency. I didn’t feel like starting an argument, but I did finally say that selling insurance was not something that appealed to me. Mom answered with, “You may change your mind after you’ve been home a while.” Not sure what good that will do since I’veneverbeen interested.

Although I yawn as I drive, my body feels good after a day of physical labor with Patrick’s framing crew. After my week at Mom and Dad’s, I couldn’t imagine sitting idle for another week, so my brother put me to work. I’ll be stuck in the military routine—not something that will disappear overnight. It was my life for six years. I still wake up early and can’t get back to sleep, so I get up and go for a run. I also joined a gym so I can work out a few nights a week.

It’s been ten days since the wedding, but who’s counting? I haven’t heard a word from Julia. So many times, I’ve wanted to drive out to the beach house, but she’s seeing that other guy. Although I’d love to take back what’s mine, I can’t. Not only would Julia most likely be angry with me, but she might pick him over me and there’s no way I will jeopardize my standing with her.

If I let her into my life, she’s going to see the weakness. She’s happy now and her life is what she deserves—not to be brought down into the bowels of my pity. I should’ve been in the truck that day. I came home and everyone thinks I’m a lucky bastard—no scars on that guy, no missing limbs. Lucky bastard. Yeah, that’s me. One lucky bastard. My scars are on the inside. Limbs are all in place, but my heart and soul got ripped out of me the day I saw the blood of my buddies pour out onto the sands of Afghanistan.

A buzz from my cell phone rescues me from my thoughts. Internally, I groan, positive the text will be from Mom. She’s called every day since I’ve been at Patrick’s. I’m too tired to deal with the questions, the suggestions, the ideas, and their disappointment. Although they don’t come right out and say I’m a disappointment to them, I see the regret on their faces—probably wishing they somehow could’ve stopped me from joining the military.

I take my eyes off the road for a quick second to steal a glance at the incoming text. Not Mom. Aubree.

Aubree Jensen is one more reminder of a time in my life I’d like to leave in the rearview mirror. She’s a lack in my otherwise clear and well-defined judgment. Aubree found the hole in my heart, the crack in my armor, and managed to gradually work her way into my life. She used the lack of my usual self-confident and easy-going nature and helped fuel a fire in my perspective that I’m not proud of.

There’s nothing worse than a weak man who blames his circumstances on someone else—who becomes a victim of his own mistakes. That’s not me. That’s not who I am. I was a willing participant in all that Aubree had to offer.

I ignore the text and when I get home, I will be deleting it and hope she’ll take the hint. I’m not interested in keeping in touch with her.

Keeping my attitude and life on a positive note is one of my first steps to healing and leaving the scars of war on the sands of Afghanistan. Where they belong.

Once I’m in Collingsworth on this two-lane highway, I notice a slowdown in the traffic. Road construction ahead. The traffic has come to a crawl as I travel past the road worker. He holds up his sign that reads slow.

I rub my neck and give it a stretch. I crank up the air-conditioning and turn the vent so it blows the cool air directly on my face.

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