Page 102 of Hard Corps (Selected Sinners MC 7)

Local Marine, 21, Awarded Second Purple Heart

I stared down at the newspaper and tried to remember when I was 21 years old. As I read the article, the spotter who was shot and killed on the rooftop seemed as if he was with me. I could smell the cordite from the sniper rifle, the coppery stench of the dried blood, and the smell of our sweat.

I wiped my runny nose, brushed the back of my hand against my eyes, and placed the article beside the other.

One by one, I removed the newspapers and placed them on the floor beside each other.

Local Marine Single-Handedly Saves Army Special Forces Platoon in Afghanistan

Local Marine in Military Spotlight

Wichita Marine Awarded Bronze Star

End of the War is Near, Says President

Local Marine, 19, Awarded Purple Heart

Hijacked Airliners Destroy Twin Towers and Hit Pentagon in Day of Terror

I stared down at the articles and swallowed heavily. As difficult as it was to read about my actions in combat for the first time, it was rewarding in many ways. In my father’s eyes, I was the man depicted in the articles. A boy who quickly became a man, did what he had to do at a time of war, and emerged – by the grace of God – as a hero.

In my eyes I was nothing more than my father’s son.

I gathered up the articles and neatly placed them in order. As I began to lower them into the box, I noticed a small box of photographs, something my mother had always truly loved, and my father refused to stop taking.

My father never accepted digital photography, and for as long as I could remember, used a 33mm camera to take his photographs. As stubborn as he was, the majority of them were developed at home, in the basement. I gazed down at the photos, the majority of which were black and white, and stared.

On the top, a picture of Derek I didn’t recognize. I picked up the photo, studied it, and realized it must have been taken on his birthday when I was deployed. I picked up another. And another. And another. All of Derek. Eventually, I got to photos of my sister and me, my mother, and some relatives.

Several of the photos of Derek were with my father, obviously either taken by my sister. I spread the photos on the floor and stared at them, trying my best to etch the memory of my nephew into my mind as indelibly as my memories of the war. As my mind began to drift to memories of his first birthday, I realized that soon it would be Casey’s first birthday.

The sound of Katie’s voice startled me.

“Alec, lunch is ready,” she said.

“Be right there,” I said as I began to pick up the photographs.

One by one, I carefully placed the items back into the box. As I slid the box into its place in the closet, my mouth curled into a smile.

There was no doubt my father loved me.

And it was time for me to love him in return.