Page 32 of Warrior's Walk

The guys order a round of drinks, and I can’t help but notice that the table is split in two, with one half sharing a pitcher ofbeer, and the other half, our half—with Nash and his partner, Mandy, and me—drinking soda. I remember Nash saying he was a recovering addict when he introduced himself in group, and I guess his partner is either supporting him, or also a recovering addict.

I lean into Mandy. “I hope you aren’t not drinkin’ on my account.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not a big drinker. Makes me feel depressed and anxious.” Mandy snorts. “Like I need more of that.”

I love to drink, but Mandy was spot-on about my meds not reacting well with alcohol.

“That’s funny for a guy who hangs out in a bar every weekend,” West snipes.

“Hooters isn’t a bar; it’s a family-friendly restaurant,” Mandy defends.

West rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sure, Mandy. Those tiny orange shorts are fun for the whole family.”

“Hey, Rhett. This is Brewer,” Nash introduces.

I nod at him. “Is Nash your ball buddy?” I tease, having already guessed they’re a couple.

Brewer snorts. “Be careful. That’s how it starts. Then, before you know it, bam! You fall asleep together every night and you’re watering his plant and feeding his cat. It’s a slippery slope,” Brewer warns.

The guys in hearing distance snicker, and Brandt adds, “I don’t think that’s how it works, Brewer. Mandy has two nuts in his sack and he’s not dating either one of them, far as I know,” he says to me with a smirk.

I like him. These guys are as ridiculous as my buddies. Slowly, I start to relax and listen in. The conversation flows easily with lots of snark and banter. Seems they love to rib each other.

“I’ll be right back,” I say to Mandy.

Gathering up my courage and my crutches, I make my way to the bar.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks.

“Wonderin’ if y’all are hirin’?”

“Maybe. What kind of work are you looking for?”

I take a deep breath and look him straight in the eye. “Look man, I’m willin’ to do whatever y’all need. I just really need to get back to work.” I’ve never applied for a job in my life. I graduated from high school and joined the Army.

“I get it. Do you have a resume?”

Heat creeps up the back of my neck and I feel a bit nauseous. “Uh, no.” What the fuck am I supposed to put on a resume? I jumped out of planes? Once, my sergeant made me mop the entire first floor of my barracks after tracking mud inside. Would that count as janitorial experience? I can pack a chute quicker than anyone in my unit, but that means fuck-all in a bar. “I’ve been deployed for the past nine months. Before that, I spent three years at Bragg. I’m 82nd Airborne.”

The bartender looks me over. “That how you broke your leg?”

I nod before answering. “Yes sir. I’m healin’ up. Got rehab all day, every day, but my nights are free to work.”

“You got ID?”

I reach into my back pocket and pull out my wallet, fishing out my military ID. He looks it over and smiles. “That’s good enough for me. If you can take orders from Uncle Sam for four years, you can take them from me. I’m Brian.”

The name stabs me in the heart, but I can’t fault him; it’s a common name. “Rhett Marsh,” I offer, shaking his hand.

“I need help tending bar and stocking liquor. Might ask you to push a mop now and then.”

“That sounds great. I’ll do whatever needs doin’.”

McCormick comes up behind me and claps my shoulder. “Hey, Brian, you give my brother a job?”

“Well, hell, Rhett. Why didn’t you say you knew McCormick? That’s the only resume you need ’round here, man,” Brian laughs.

I laugh with him, shaking my head. Mandy wasn’t lying when he said Black Mountain was a small town.

---