Page 37 of Trussed In Hope
Emberlynn was asleep in the next room, curled up soft and peaceful in a way that should’ve eased me. But the silence pressed in heavy, louder than any battlefield, and my chest wouldn’t settle. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Barrett. Heard him. Felt the ground shake under my boots again.
I stared at my phone for a long time before I finally made the call.
“Hardison?” Andy’s voice came rough with sleep, but steady. “You alright, son?”
My throat tightened. “Yeah… no. Not really. I just—needed to hear your voice.”
I could hear him shifting, probably sitting up on the edge of his bed. “Talk to me.”
“I had one of those nights again,” I said, dragging a hand down my face like I could scrape the images away. “Dreams. About the field. About Barrett. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been, I can’t stop seeing it. Hearing it.”
“You were close to him,” Andy said quietly.
“Yeah. He was my brother out there.” My voice cracked, gravel rough. “I keep thinking I should’ve done more. Should’ve gone back for him. He didn’t make it out because I?—”
“Stop.” Andy’s tone cut through me like a whip. Not unkind, but sharp enough to hold me in place. “Don’t you do that to yourself. You hear me? You did everything a man could do. War isn’t clean. It sure as hell isn’t fair. You carried out your duty. You brought people home. That counts. That matters.”
I leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. “Doesn’t feel like it matters when his face is the last thing I see before I wake up.”
“I know,” Andy said, his voice softer now, low and solid. “And I wish I could tell you it goes away. Truth is—it doesn’t. But it changes. What you’re feeling now? That’s grief still chewing on your bones. But you can’t carry guilt for things that weren’t yours to carry. Barrett made his choices. You made yours. Sometimes survival feels like punishment when you’re the one left breathing.”
I swallowed hard, fighting the sting in my eyes. “How’d you learn to live with it? You lost brothers too.”
“By remembering them in the light, not the dark,” Andy said simply. “By talking to them when I’m out working the fields, by raising a glass when I know they’d laugh, by telling their storiesso they’re never gone. And by leaning on people when I can’t hold it in anymore. Like you’re doing right now.”
My chest tightened. “Feels weak.”
“Hell no.” Andy’s voice was firm, steel-edged. “Takes more strength to admit you’re hurting than to bottle it up until it eats you alive. Weakness is silence, son. What you just did—calling me? That’s strength.”
I pressed the heel of my hand to my eyes. The words hit deeper than I wanted to admit. “I don’t know why you do this for me. You don’t have to.”
“You’re family,” Andy said without hesitation. “It doesn’t take blood to make that true. You’ve been like a son to me. And I’ll keep reminding you until you believe it.”
I couldn’t find the words. Just sat there with the phone pressed to my ear, listening to his steady breathing.
“You’re not alone, Hardison,” Andy said finally. “Not in this life. Not in your grief. Don’t forget that.”
I let out a shaky breath. “Thanks, Andy.”
“Always, son. Now get some rest. And when you wake up, don’t think about what you lost. Think about what you’re building now. That woman asleep in the other room that you told me about? That’s your reason to keep walking forward.”
He was right, and something in my chest loosened. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“Damn straight.” He softened. “Goodnight, Hardison.”
“Goodnight.”
I ended the call and sat in the dark for a while, his words still ringing in my ears. Emberlynn’s too. When I finally went back to bed, I pulled Emberlynn close, her warmth grounding me.
The ghosts felt quieter. Almost silent. That’s when I rested.
HARDISON
Iwas sated with good lovemaking, breakfast, and Emberlynn had given me her gift. A bunch of healing stones to help with my anxiety, tea, and a real fine bracelet and cuff links to match. I was going to place them around my room later to hone positive energy into my space.
Now, though, it was time for me to give her what I’d purchased for her. I handed her the small box, and she seemed hesitant to take it.
“Don’t worry. It’s not a ring. You’ll know when it’s time for that. It’ll come. But for now, I think this is more fitting.”
