Page 121 of Point of Contact

“Jesse Aaron Byrne,” he hissed, and Jesse laughed, a deep, rich sound that never failed to curl Trevor’s toes, no matter how many years they’d spent together.

“You loved it,” he teased before strolling off, Trevor admiring his long legs and tight round buttocks encased in soft, worn jeans.

“I sure did,” he said under his breath, shifting in his chair. “Most definitely.”

A few rows away, Jesse crouched in front of another white stone and placed his hand on top of it as he bowed his head. Patterson. Trevor sighed, thinking how hard it’d been on Jesse when the news first broke that the US was pulling out of the Korengal Valley only two years after Riley was killed.

Jesse’d raged as he watched YouTube videos of smug Taliban fighters walking unmolested through the abandoned American outpost or strolling nonchalantly in and out of the buildings the departing troops left intact.

“They could have at least bombed the fuckin’ things before they left,” he’d hissed, his eyes full of angry tears. “All the blood we shed over that place, and now those fuckin’ assholes get to enjoy a warm place to sleep? Fuck them!”

Trevor hadn’t been able to comfort him, and Jesse’d grabbed his Army buddies and disappeared with them for days, eventually returning home hollow-eyed and stubbly, his body obviously worn out from punishing physical exertion and very little food.

“Forty-two lives lost,” he’d said hoarsely, lying in Trevor’s arms that night. “And they just pull out and leave it all behind like none of them mattered. Such a goddamned waste.”

Over the course of time they’d learned that the Taliban had let the Americans manning the outpost evacuate safely in exchange for leaving the buildings, and Jesse made his peace with that part of it, saying, “At least nobody else had to die there.”

Over at Patterson’s grave, Jesse had finished his conversation with him and was moving on to Miller, so Trevor stood up and carried the chair back to Linda.

“Thanks as always,” he said, bending to pick up Riley’s wreath. She tried for a smile but her eyes were rimmed with red, and she blew her nose into a tissue before patting her son Timothy’s stone.

“Having a hard day today for some reason,” she rasped, and Trevor put the wreath back down and slid his arm around her shoulders, not saying anything, just letting her feel the warmth and contact. At last she pulled away. “Your handsome boyfriend is heading back over,” she said, wiping her eyes.

“My handsome husband now. Married in July.” He waggled his ring finger at her, gratified to see her expression lighten a little.

“Well, now, congratulations, Trevor.” Linda gave him a quick hug. “Best wishes to you both.”

He and Jesse lay the wreath together against Riley’s stone, and they stood there arm in arm until Jesse kissed him on the temple, whispering, “Let’s go home.”

December 2017—Nine years after

“Go on ahead and I’ll join you in a minute.”

Trevor nodded at Jesse and climbed out of the rental car, casting a quick glance into the back seat before shutting the door as quietly as he could.

He trudged through the snowy grass toward Riley’s grave, noticing as he got closer there were a couple of pennies arrayed on top of the white stone—tributes left by those who’d gone to boot camp with him. Every other year or so there’d be a quarter, indicating he’d been visited by someone present when he died. Trevor always wondered who it was, and what that unknown person had talked with him about.

“Hey, Riles. Happy thirtieth birthday, son.” Trevor crouched down in front of the stone to do his ritual tracing of Riley’s name. “It’s been a—let’s just say it’s been quite a year.”

Last visit he and Jesse had been bursting with news, news they’d wanted Riley to hear first, and Trevor smiled, remembering how they’d laughed and cried together here, knowing the next time they came back, their daughter would be born.

Jesse’s feet crunched through the snow as he walked up and knelt next to Trevor, a small bundle nestled close to his chest. Trevor eased the baby from Jesse’s arms.

“Meet your little sister, bud,” he said softly. “This is Serena.”

Serena made some snuffling sounds, and she blinked sleepily up at Trevor, a few bubbles on her rosebud lips. He leaned down to kiss her downy cheek.

“And this is your big brother, sweetheart. Riley.”

Trevor blinked back sudden tears, thinking of his son alive at thirty years old and almost certainly with a family of his own. He pinched the bridge of his nose as all those old might-have-beens slammed into him again, ones that rarely made an appearance anymore but when they did, left Trevor gasping for air.

“Here, babe, let me have her,” Jesse murmured, leaning in to take Serena from him. He moved a little ways off, giving Trevor some privacy, and once again, love for his perceptive husband swelled Trevor’s heart to almost bursting.

Trevor wanted to talk to Riley, but he couldn’t, afraid he’d start sobbing and not be able to stop. He put his hand on top of the stone, almost petting it, thinking of Serena’s birth, so different from Riley’s. Laura had been quite a trooper, and Trevor had stood next to her head, gripping one of her hands in his, her husband, Mark, gripping the other, as with one last giant push she delivered into Jesse’s waiting arms the most precious gift they would ever receive.

Laura had done so much more than carry their baby, she and her family had become dear friends, too.

“I have so many blessings, Riles,” Trevor croaked at last, running his fingertips up and down the side of the cold marble. “My husband, our daughter. I just—oh God, sometimes I just miss you so much.”