Page 90 of Salute, To Bravery
As we cross the threshold into the Fisher House, I see the shift immediately. The tension that’s lived in his shoulders for days begins to melt away. His eyes scan the warm, lived-in space—the soft lighting, the sound of distant voices, the faint aroma of something comforting baking in a kitchen nearby.
He lets out a long breath.
“You okay?”
“Yea, this is the first time I have been outside and free.” This place isn’t ours, not really. But it feels closer to home than that sterile, clinical hospital room ever could.
“Let’s get you to our makeshift home, I can introduce you to some of the other housemates.” I guide him toward our room on the first floor. Inside, it’s modest but beautiful. A queen-size bed dressed in crisp white linens, and a deep navy duvet sits to the left. The walls are painted a calming shade of grey, dotted with peaceful landscapes. A desk rests under a window, a computer neatly arranged on its surface. The bathroom is thoughtfully designed, accessible, and unobtrusively so… dignified.
He wheels in slowly, taking it all in. When he reaches for my hand and smiles, it’s like something in me clicks into place. There, in that quiet gesture, is the man I fell in love with—still weathered, still healing, but present.
“Pizza?” he asks, a spark of mischief in his voice. “There’s gotta be good pizza somewhere in D.C. Text Rei—see what she recommends.” He rolls toward the bathroom, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
Smiling, I pull out my phone and shoot off a message to Rei, hoping she’s not slammed at work. Just in case, I start browsing reviews online, scanning local options.
Her reply comes back quickly:
REI:Martha Dear has the best in your area.
I shoot her a quickthank you,then pull up the menu. The shower water starts running in the bathroom. Moving quickly, I place an order for our favorites—a classic cheese pizza and a slice of honey walnut cake. Simple. Familiar. Us.
Quickly changing out of my jeans and t-shirt into a pair of leggings and oversize shirt. When I hear the water shut off and a short time later the bathroom door creaks open, and a momentlater, Craig wheels back into the room, hair damp, wrapped in a towel, his expression softer. His chest is muscular, with soft hair on his chest. I long to run my hands through it again.
“I ordered the pizza,” I say, maybe too eagerly. “Want to relax on the bed and watch a movie?”
He nods, easing himself onto the bed after getting dressed in a pair of boxers I had laid out for him while he showered. “That sounds wonderful.”
I let out a breath and check the pizza status while he scrolls through movie options. Eventually, he settles onThe Mummy, and I don’t protest. I want him to choose tonight. I want him to feel in control again, even in the little things.
By the time the pizza arrives, we’re tucked under the duvet, stretched out, a tray balanced between us like we’ve done countless times before. It feels… normal. Like nothing’s changed, even though so much has.
We eat, we laugh at the movie, we let the world shrink to this small, cozy moment—just the two of us. No hospital walls. No doctors. Just us.
Later, I clean up, labeling the leftovers with our names and sliding the box into the shared kitchen fridge. I run through my nighttime routine on autopilot, brushing my teeth, washing off the day.
When I return to the room, he’s already under the covers. I slide in beside him, our bodies fitting together like they always have.
As we snuggle close, my fingers trace the familiar lines of his chest. The steady rise and fall of his breath anchors me, and I press my body against his, savoring the warmth and comfort of our embrace.
Then, he reaches for my hand.
His fingers wrap around mine—not urgently, not with need, but with purpose. He brings our joined hands to his chest andholds them there. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Just breathes.
“I know I haven’t been easy to be around,” he says quietly, his voice low in the dark. “But right now… I don’t need to be fixed. I don’t need a plan. I just needyou—here. Like this. Just knowing you are here, is everything.”
I shift slightly, eyes stinging, but I don’t let the tears fall.
“It’s all going to be okay,” he continues, squeezing my hand gently. “We’ll figure it out. Just… stay with me. At this moment, you are everything I need, baby, I need you to know that.”
I nod against his shoulder, letting the silence say the rest. No pressure, no performance, no expectations. Just presence. Just love, simple and steady. And for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel him let go—of the weight, the fear, the fight—and simplybewith me. We drift off to sleep, curling my body as closely as I can with him. Needing this as much as he does.
The silence of the night shatters with a piercing scream, followed by the frantic rustling of sheets and the violent shaking of the bed.
My heart slams against my chest as I jolt awake.
“NO! Please, Brandon—please don’t!” Craig cries out, voice thick with terror.
It takes me a moment to understand—he’s dreaming. A nightmare. One ofthosenightmares.
