Page 22 of Warrior's Walk

Rhett Marsh was a soldier in the 82nd Airborne.

Rhett Marsh is…

I don’t know how to answer that last one, but I’m gonna fucking find out.

“Look at me, Marshmallow,” Liza demands. “Haven’t you suffered enough? Don’t set yourself up for failure. Find someone who is available and willing. Focus on your health and recovery. Get your life back.”

Everything she’s saying sounds wise and logical, but I don’t hear a fucking word because when I want something, I go get it, and what I want is Navarro Riggs.

“Enough about him,” I evade, changing the subject. “I need to focus on my next steps. I’ve got two weeks left before my contract runs out. My Staff Sergeant is still deployed with my unit, but the Staff Sergeant I’m reporting to in my rear D unit came by to see me this morning.”

Liza looks grim. “What’d he say?”

“Basically, I’m fucked. The Army is fuckin’ me, deep and without lube.”

“Well, that’s how they like it, rough and dry.”

I blow out an irritated breath. “With only two weeks left, they can’t find temporary housing for me, so they’re insisting I use my accrued paid leave to cover the few remaining days of my contract, essentially forcing me out. So when I leave tomorrow, I’m done. I’m out. On my own. The problem is, I’ve got nowhere to go. I never filled out my paperwork to transfer my belongings because I thought I was reenlisting. I’ve got two days to pick up my stuff and my car and get my ass off base. Also, I qualify for VA benefits, but not disability pay.”

“What?” Liza shrieks. “You shattered your legs! You got shot down in combat.”

“I did, but I healed.” My overly bright smile is meant to be sarcastic. I give Liza two thumbs up and she snorts. “If I develop complications from here on out, I can file a new claim with the VA, but I don’t have a standing one. I’ve got some combat pay saved up from when I was overseas, but it’s not much.”

“Well, fuck that,” she swears, rounding the bed and taking a seat by my feet. “The day you’re discharged is my day off, and I’ll help you pick up your stuff and your car.”

“And go where?” I ask, feeling hopeless and overwhelmed. Lately, everything feels like a series of unfortunate events compounding my sanity. It would be so easy to just give up and hide my head between my legs and cry like a little bitch, but where would that get me?

“Lucky for you, my best friend has a condo in Black Mountain. She’s living with her boyfriend right now, so she’s willing to sublet it. The building is safe, and I can vouch for your next-door neighbor. He’s a great guy. Fair warning, though, she’s going to collect the security deposit. The last tenant Irecommended to her threw a shovel through the wall and splintered the front door.”

“Jesus. What kind of company do you keep?”

Liza laughs. “Nash is a good guy. He’s just got some dark demons haunting him.”

“So, you think she’ll rent to me?”

“Of course she will. Who could turn down a cute marshmallow like you?”

“God, would you quit with that shit? No self-respectin’ man wants to be described as a cute marshmallow.”

Liza leans forward to pinch my cheeks, and I kick her playfully with my good leg… well, half-decent leg. She laughs so hard she snorts like a little piggy, and then we’re both laughing. It’s got to be the first time I’ve heard the sound of my own laughter in weeks. Instead of making me feel better, it just makes me feel sad. I have to fight back tears as I recall my life before the fall. I used to laugh all the time, with Brian, Warren, and Ormen. My life was full of laughter. I used to take it for granted. I hope I never take happiness for granted again. It’s a precious commodity that I’m in short supply of.

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but what am I gonna do with a whole apartment? I’ve got, like, two boxes full of stuff in storage. Some clothes, paperwork, and medals, my gaming console, and some games. I don’t have shit to furnish an apartment with. I’ve lived in barracks housing for four years.”

Liza’s face pulls tight in concentration. “Let me make some calls,” she suggests, patting my leg before pushing to her feet.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Can we not listen to somethin’ other than… than whatever the hell this is?” I bitch. Liza just laughsand turns the music up louder, singing along to the pop song on the radio. “There, that’s the turnoff,” I say, pointing to the exit sign over the highway.

Two days ago, I felt overwhelmed lying in my hospital bed, feeling a total loss of control over my life. Today, I feel slightly hopeful, but also afraid to hope. After all I’ve been through, I can’t take another letdown. Not getting this apartment would be a crushing defeat.

When the song ends, Liza turns the volume down. “So, my friend is going to meet us there. You can walk through the apartment, and if you like it, you can sign the lease. Then I’ll leave your car with you and she can take me back home.”

“Thanks for driving.” My leg isn’t solid enough to put the kind of pressure on it I would need to make the four-hour drive.

“Anytime, Marshmallow. You want to stop for lunch?”

“Sure, just drive through somewhere.” Then I start thinking about how I have to buy groceries, but I’ll need a ride to the grocery store. That segues into worrying about how I don’t have pots and pans to cook in or plates to eat on. And then my good mood spirals right out the open window.

Fucking fuck, I’m a damn mess. I’m a soldier trained to survive under the harshest conditions, and yet here I am, not able to even fend for myself to cover my basic needs. What a joke.

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