Page 41 of Holding Out

It was when Jake led groups that Griff admired him most.Anyone could run a hotel for wounded vets, but only someone with guts could tell and re-tell the story of how his own life had been shattered in order to help other people heal.Not to mention listening, without flinching, to all the other stories of pain, neglect, guilt, and betrayal.

Griff could do the listening part, but the rest he would leave to Jake.

“The only thing you have to tell us is your first name.If you want to tell us anything else—age, rank, life story—it’s up to you.I’ll start.My name is Jake.I’m an Army Ranger ...”

He always said it in the present tense, and yet Griff knew Jake had no plans of returning to active duty.He’d loved fighting, but he didn’t miss the army.He was serving now in the best way he knew how.

Griff had missed the army so bad in the beginning—the sense of purpose, the ease of always knowing exactly what he needed to do next, the brotherhood.It felt like he’d lost part of himself when he left.But gradually, that feeling had dulled.R&R had its own routines.Its own ever-changing brotherhood.

Griff couldn’t claim that doing odd jobs for Jake was his life’s mission, though it was reassuring for him to know where he was going and what was expected of him each morning when he got up.He just didn’t feel like he’d chosen his path.Becca had nailed it—he didn’t know what he was going to do when he grew up.

Becca.

He’d been trying to put Saturday night out of his head.It wouldn’t do him any good to dwell on it—not how good the sex had been and not how the evening had ended.Remembering how he’d cowered on the curb drenched him with shame, even though Becca had been unbelievably kind about it.

Becca had been fucking amazing on Saturday night.Bits and pieces of it kept coming back to him, vivid flashes of how hot she’d been, how eager.The noises she’d made, how the red lace had hugged her curves.He’d been wearing out his right hand in bed these last few nights, reliving it.

He was pretty pleased with himself.He knew he’d given her a first time to remember.

The only problem was, it had been equally memorable for him.Hence his wrist fatigue.

“—next thing I knew I woke up and they were telling me they’d had to take the limb.”

Jake was telling the story of what he’d lost to that IED that day—his buddy, his leg.He’d told the story tens of times, but everyone listened like it was new.Maybe because of the way Jake told it, like he was still looking for meaning in it himself.

They went around the circle.Everyone talked, at least a little.When it was CJ’s turn, he haltingly told a story Griff could tell he hadn’t revealed to many people.He’d been trapped three hours in a wrecked armored carrier.The two other men with him had been killed.He’d been badly injured, hallucinating that the dead men were trying to kill him.

CJ closed his mouth then, and then his eyes, tight.

No wonder the kid was a little jumpy.

“You did good,” Griff said, without thinking.“You did good, telling us.”

That was Jake’s job, usually, but Griff jumped in from time to time.He knew Jake’s lines as well as Jake did, and Jake was glad to share the mentorship role with anyone who felt compelled to step up to the plate.It was a brotherhood, after all.

Now Griff looked across the circle to Jake, who nodded.Go for it.Griff nodded back.“You have nightmares?”he asked CJ.

CJ’s eyes found Griff’s.“Yeah.”

Griff nodded.“Anyone else here have nightmares?”

Hands shot up around the circle.

They talked about how it felt to wake gasping for air, your lungs flattened by an explosion that was years or decades old.How it felt to realize you’d struck at or throttled the person in the bed next to you, or even just flailed badly enough to hurt them.How dark it was in the middle of the night, and how long the hours were between one a.m.and sunrise, even on the shortest nights of the year.

Well, the others talked.Griff just listened.

Griff had each of them say one thing that helped him get through the dark hours.Deep breathing.Meditation.Food.Texting a friend.Counting down from a thousand.Jerking off.

“Whiskey,” someone said, and Griff let it go, because, truth.

“Nothing,” a guy named Reggie said, and they all laughed and then sighed.

If anyone noticed that Griff asked the questions but didn’t give answers, no one said anything.

As the other guys were filing out, CJ stopped.“Thanks,” he said to Griff.

“You’re welcome, dude.”

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