Page 22 of Bad For Me (Rock Canyon, Idaho 5)

“And if you hadn’t been injured, would you have remained a marine? It seems like a lot of unnecessary risk to reenlist after you’ve already served your minimum enlistment.”

Everett felt a pinch of irritation at her casual tone, like he’d just torn a ligament or something. As if serving his country was just an obligation he’d been trying to fulfill and not something he’d planned to make a career doing.

“You mean if my Humvee hadn’t been hit by a roadside bomb and if I hadn’t received second-degree burns over thirty-nine percent of my body, would I have reenlisted? Then, yes. It was an honor to serve my country. As it was, I did four tours, and although I wasn’t able to retire from the military like I’d planned, we have a saying in the Corps: ‘Once a marine, always a marine.’ ”

Callie’s face paled, and Everett cursed himself, realizing how much he’d revealed about his pain and bitterness over his scars—and his life. He’d planned for it to be a career, to retire at forty and come home to live out the rest of his life in peace, to be with his family and grow old with his wife. Instead, that plan had been cut short, and now he had nothing except for Stateside. He’d poured everything into it, and although he believed in the organization, it hadn’t been his plan.

Surprisingly, her hand came across the table and covered his. “I am so sorry.”

The moment was charged between them, and he was loath to break the connection, but he didn’t want her pity. That was the last thing he wanted from her.

He pulled his hand away gently. “It’s all right. My experience and the experiences of my friends gave me the idea for Stateside. When we came home, we all suffered, both physically and mentally, but it was hard to admit that we needed help.”

Callie pulled her hand back, and he noticed the burning red of her cheeks. She probably thought he was rebuffing her, but he wasn’t. He wanted to tell her, but the show was live and she was already moving on with the interview.

“There are other organizations out there similar to yours, aren’t there? What makes Stateside different?”

The moment was over, and although it was a fair question, her condescending tone made it seem like a dig.

“Yes, there are a lot of very good organizations out there, and like them, we’re here to talk, to listen, and to help, but mostly Stateside is for the people on the fence about needing assistance. Military personnel are proud and have been taking care of others for so long that it’s often hard for them to admit they need help.”

“How do you convince them if they’re on the fence?”

And she comes out swinging.

“Wow, you’re really going for the deep stuff, huh?”

She raised her eyebrows. “I am just curious about what sets you apart, Mr. Silverton.”

“To answer your question, we’re different because even though we’re based in Idaho, we have resources nationwide. We have open dialogue with our vets, and we stay with them from the moment they call our hotline to the moment they get back on their feet. Our counselors are available twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. But more than anything, it’s because most of us have been there. Because we are staffed by veterans, our counselors and job advocates can better understand the struggles our military men and women face coming home. That’s what sets us apart.”

Callie had recovered, but her expression was so mixed up, he wasn’t sure what she was thinking. But apparently, it wasn’t “I need to get the hell out of here,” because she continued the interview.

“It sounds like you provide amazing services and dedication. What about military personnel with serious mental health issues, like PTSD?”

“Grief counseling is a major part of our organization. We are taught to tamp down our emotions so we can stay levelheaded in a hot zone, but many of us lose friends and even family during our service, yet we never really process the loss. We try to help people with this and especially with the guilt associated with making it home when others didn’t.”

“You sound like you’ve experienced this.” Her voice was soft.

“Yeah, I came home in pain and with severe PTSD. I’d lost my best friend and more. I know what these guys are going through, and it’s hard, but we’re still here, and we have got to respect that.”

Everett hadn’t meant to choke on the last sentence, but talking about counseling reminded him of the years he’d sat in his therapist’s office trying to open up about Robbie’s death and how it felt to be a survivor. It had been a long and painful struggle.

Callie muted her mic, her expression blank, but he saw something lurking in her eyes. Something warm and caring, and he felt a flash of hope that he hadn’t ruined everything. That they could talk after the interview, and everything would be back on track. “Do you want me to wrap it up?”

Running a hand over his face, he shook his head. Despite the ugly images and memories haunting him, being near Callie made him content—and excited for the first time in years. He had something to look forward to, something to chase the pain away. “I’m fine. Sorry.”

She nodded and flipped her mic back on, all business now, but he knew better. She could be angry with him if she wanted, but she couldn’t deny the connection between them.

“What about support for their families?”

Everett cleared his throat. “We offer marriage counseling, but there are other organizations that focus on the particular stresses military fami

lies endure.”

“But don’t you think you need to explain to the families the signs they need to look for, in case their loved ones’ mental states take a dangerous turn?”

Everett paused, studying her face and the hollow look in her eyes. Had someone in her family experienced PTSD?

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