Page 96 of Point of Contact

“Lucky fuck.”

A memory flashed, of disembarking from the plane at the Air Force base after the long flight from Italy, children detaching themselves from the cheering crowd only to run and fling their arms around their daddies’ legs. Wives and girlfriends, in pretty dresses and with happy tears on their cheeks, followed not far behind. Jesse’d stood there alone, watching the tender reunions, his chest aching as he thought of Riley’s dad, whose only son wouldn’t be coming home...

He cleared his throat, croaking, “You’re the lucky one, Watty.”

“Uh-huh.” Evan stood and leaned against the porch railing, arms crossed over his chest. “That’s what everyone says. ‘You’re lucky to be alive.’ ‘You’re a hero.’” His lips twisted. “‘Thanks. For. Your. Fuckin’. Service.’” He punctuated the last five words with fist taps against the railing.

“I never know what to say to that either.”

Evan was silent for a moment. “Do you feel like a hero, Byrney?”

Jesse paused before standing as well and propping his hip on the railing to face him. “No.”

“I was scared shitless over there at first, remember? Weak, whiny, a total loser.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Jesse said mildly, “but yeah, I remember you struggled a little at first.”

“Fuckin’ hated it. Hated the Army, hated Afghanistan, hated everything.” Evan tilted his head back against the porch support and stared up at the sky. “But then I survived my first firefight—” he ran his finger absently over the tiny scar on his cheek, the result of the ricochet that scratched him and earned the contempt of the outgoing unit “—and it was such a goddamn rush. Never felt anything like that before. The anger, the adrenaline, the power.”

Jesse thought of the intensity of combat—the way time seemed to stand still, everything around him happening with such clarity, such hyperawareness, almost as if he was in a movie or video game. There really was nothing like it. He nodded in agreement.

“Over there I found something I’d never had, Jess. Ever.”

“What?”

Evan looked at him. “Acceptance,” he said simply. “Brotherhood, camaraderie. As much as it sucked ass, it was also like some sort of—some sort of utopia, you know? No one cared what your grades were in school, or if your dad was in jail, or if you had to get married ’cause you knocked up the first and only girl you’d ever slept with. The only thing anyone cared about was if you showed up on time for your turn at watch, or if you dug the hell outta that foxhole, or filled the hell outta those sandbags. Simple.”

Jesse considered that. Over there life was harrowing, and dangerous, and full of uncertainty, but at its heart it was simple. Their world was the platoon and the mission—not God, not country, not what was going on back home. Adrenaline and anger were friends, what kept the fear at bay and heightened all the senses until the blood rushing through their veins felt like white-hot lava.

“Those first few months at home,” Evan went on, “were awesome, weren’t they? Clean clothes, soft bed, loving family. We finally had everything we’d fought so hard to get back to.”

“Right.” Jesse kept his voice quiet.

Evan closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sometimes it feels like my body’s here, but my mind’s still there. When Sami moves my stuff without asking, all I can fuckin’ think about is not having my gear where I need it to be so I can grab it if we get attacked. The other day she moved my cell phone and keys while she was straightening up, and when I couldn’t find them, I went ballistic, yelled at her and got in her face like she was some cherry who fucked up her assignment in Afghanistan and put us all in danger.”

“It’s combat mode, Watty. Survival mode. It takes time to undo those instincts.”

“If there’s ever a loud noise, I’m hittin’ the ground. We had some people over and one of Sami’s friends dropped a pan or something.” Evan flinched at the memory. “I ate dirt in front of everyone, man. You shoulda seen their faces.”

Another memory surfaced—a night in Waikiki walking on the beach with Trevor, one of the nearby hotels setting off some fireworks after a luau. With no warning it was coming, Jesse dropped into a crouch, head swiveling, looking for the source of the gunfire. Trevor had noticed, but turned his back without comment in order to give Jesse some privacy to collect himself.

“Sami wants me to go to the mall with her, but it’s too crowded. I can’t take A.J. to karate because it’s right next to this, I don’t know, Middle Eastern restaurant place or whatever.” Evan shuddered. “The smells, sometimes the people going in there, reminds me of the goddamned villages.”

“Watty, have you tried talking to her?” Jesse asked helplessly. “You can’t expect her to read your mind, dude.”

“I can’t sleep for more’n a few hours at a time, so I drink till I pass out. You think she wants to hear all this shit?”

“I think she wants to understand you, brother. There’s no way you were gonna come back the same person as before you left, and I can’t imagine she expected that. If you don’t talk to her—”

“She calls me distant, unavailable.” Evan stared down at the floor. “Says I don’t care. I do care. It’s just...parts of me are dead, Byrney. I don’t know how to relate to her anymore. I don’t know how to help her relate to me.”

“Estes said that exact same thing to me once.”

Evan froze at the mention of Riley’s name, but Jesse pushed on.

“About his dad. I don’t think there’s a single one of us who hasn’t felt that way, man. You’re not alone.” Jesse crouched in front of him, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Why don’t you talk to someone about it? Holding it in, or taking it out on yourself and your family, is gonna fuck you up even more.”

Shaking his head, Evan growled, “How can I talk to anyone about this shit? What I’ve seen. What I’ve done.” A shudder ran through him.