Page 20 of Embattled Ever After

The man’s face tightened and he swallowed, hard. “I don’t belong here anymore. I don’t know if I ever did.”

“What do you mean?”

Hank shook his head and the movement pulled his head away from the shotgun. If he could just keep him talking…

“I don’t think I should have come home. None of my team did.”

“Who were you with?”

Hank sighed, but Duncan could see a glimmer of pride on his face. “Army Airborne, 1stBattalion, 502ndInfantry Regiment. Screaming Eagles.”

Duncan moved in a little further, leaning heavily on his cane. The cold was seeping into his bones and he really needed to sit down, but he didn’t dare. “You guys saw a lot of action. Weren’t you in Kandahar?”

Hank nodded, his face falling. “Fucking Kandahar, man. Hell on earth.”

“But you miss it, don’t you?”

Hank’s gaze jerked to Duncan, and he held it for a long time. “Yes. Yes, I do. At least over there, I knew what the hell I was supposed to be doing. We had guidelines for everything. They told us when to eat, when to go to the can, when to shoot the bad guys. Now I don’t know anything. I say the wrong thing all the time. I can’t stand people. Other than my wife and daughter.”

His voice drifted off and his eyes filled with furious tears. “I try to do what she wants, but it almost kills me. We go out and I imagine Taliban everywhere. I’ve drawn my weapon a couple of times. It totally freaks her out. She doesn’t want my daughter around me when I get antsy. Then, tonight, she wanted to go over to her parents’ house, which is fine, but I know it’s going to be madhouse with all the relatives. I told her I didn’t think I could do it and she went off on me. Said I wasn’t thinking about her feelings. Idothink about her feelings, but I can’t changemyfeelings—my anxiety.”

He fisted his eyes, taking one hand off the shotgun.

“So,” Duncan asked him slowly, “do you really think your daughter would be better off without you in her life? I don’t think so. I don’t think your wife thinks so either.”

Hank shook his dark head, but Duncan couldn’t tell exactly what he was responding to. “I know you’re going to counseling. Are they helping you out?”

The other man nodded, reluctantly. “But they can’t help when they aren’t here. I started having thoughts of offing myself and just being done with everything. I called the hotline and they’re only on duty from nine to five, and not on holidays. Sorry I couldn’t have my breakdown during business hours.”

He laughed bitterly, and Duncan couldn’t blame him. Hotlines were supposed to be available when regular help wasn’t.

“Has your wife gone to counseling with you?”

Hank looked up at him. “No. Says she doesn’t have time between the two jobs she works to support us, plus taking care of our daughter. And you know, I don’t blame her. I try to help out but I don’t do anything the way she’s used to doing it. I was deployed for most of my daughter’s life, so she raised her without me. I’m having to play catch-up.”

He shrugged uncomfortably and the shotgun shifted. Duncan tried to appear nonchalant as Hank moved the weapon to lean barrel away.

“That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be in her life, though,” Duncan told him firmly. “And I want to tell you something that I’ve seen many people deal with. The children of parents who have committed suicide are three times more likely to commit suicide themselves.”

Hank blinked at him as the information began to sink in. “Oh, hell.”

His eyes filled with tears again and he set the shotgun aside. “Ican’tmake her life any harder than it already is. And I know my wife would kill me.” Hank barked out an ironic laugh, shaking his head, then settled his head into his hands. “What can I do to make my life better, sir? Because I’m just barely keeping my head above water here.”

Duncan moved forward, kicking a short stool beside the chair where Hank sat. With a careful arrangement of his legs, he lowered himself beside Hank, resting a hand on the man’s broad back. “I think you’ve just taken a huge step.”

The shotgun slipped and slid along the wall, then fell to the floor and went off.

Chapter Six

Alex saw the carpull in on the street. A small, dark-haired woman climbed out of the vehicle. She was bundled in a tan coat and her expression looked pissed. Alex slid out of the truck and circled it to meet the woman as she headed up the sidewalk. “Excuse me, are you Mrs. Fryman?”

The woman stopped, eyeing her warily. “Yes. Can I help you?”

“Actually, do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions about your husband?”

The shorter woman rolled her eyes. “Oh, God. What’s he done now?”

Alex cocked her head, curious at the dismissive way she referred to her husband. “Your husband called my partner. He was having some issues.”

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