Fuckers. I meant that with all the respect and love in the world.
I told them I’d be fine. I told them I didn’t need anyone to be here with me, that I’d see them once I got back into Bayport. But they came anyway. Because they knew better.
Theyalwaysknew.
My brother and I were five years apart, but we were as close as two brothers could be.
I’d been friends with Lucas Carlisle and Wesley Callahan since we were kids, and we may not be blood, but they were my family—my brothers. Noah reminded me a lot of them. I think that played a part in the way we clicked so easily—he had Lucas’s compassion mixed with Wes’s sense of humor.
Based on the black suits the three of them were wearing, I’d venture to guess they’d been here the whole time. They were probably lingering in the background to give me space, but stayed close enough in case I needed them.
I resumed walking, and when I reached the edge of the path and stopped in front of them, they simply looked at me.
They nodded.
I nodded back.
Lucas and Wes held up their fists, and I gently bumped them with mine. Gabe placed a hand on my shoulder…and the four of us silently walked to the parking lot.
At that moment, I wondered if they could see through my facade, through the walls I had up. I wondered what they would think if they knew the truth. Would they placate me and say it wasn’t my fault, even though I knew it was? Would they look at me and see me differently?
I didn’t want their pity or sympathy. I didn’t want anyone’s.
I didn’t deserve it.
I could only hope that dealing with the guilt would get easier over time. Maybe, at least, I could keep it hidden and to myself.
I was broken, but it was no one’s cross to bear but mine.
Chapter 1
Four Months Later
My leg jittered anxiouslyas I sat outside my commanding officer’s office. Jason, my physical evaluation board liaison, was sitting beside me. He’d called yesterday and told me a meeting was set for zero nine hundred. I’d seen this coming, but I didn’t know exactly what the outcome would be.
In the four months since I returned Stateside after deployment…since Noah’s funeral…I’d done my best to adjust to my new normal. First came the sleepless nights, heavy with guilt and grief, then the constant way I regarded my surroundings, unable to let my guard down. I spoke to a counselor here and there, one who specialized in combat exposure. When not alone, I put up as much of a front as I could, trying to hide how much everything had changed.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t always control those moments when the panic and guilt would grip me so tightly that I’d forget where I was and what I was doing.
One moment, I’d be in the middle of a shift in the ER, and the next…I would see flashes of images. Noises would burst through—the buzzing, humming, whistling, blasts—drowning out any sound around me, bringing the fear out of nowhere. And Noah would be there…his fear-filled eyes locked on mine.
As quickly as it came, I’d come to, heart pounding, hands shaking, breath ragged. And others would be looking at me with a mix of confusion and pity, even some with understanding.
It only happened a few times, but it was enough to garner concern. Enough for my commanding officer to be informed and for him to order an evaluation, despite my attempts to downplay it and insist that I was fine, that it was merely stress.
I was diagnosed with PTSD, which, honestly, I’d expected—I could try to minimize it as much as I wanted during the evaluation, but they were pretty good at seeing through facades. After that, Jason showed up as my PEBLO. I knew what that meant before he even said it. They were now evaluating my ability to continue. And I’d been left to wait, to figure out exactly what this meant for me going forward in my position.
“Pierson.”
I stood when I was called and followed the officer into the office with Jason—we stopped in front of the desk of Colonel Lawson, standing at attention and saluting as per protocol and etiquette.
“At ease.” Lawson nodded to the other officer in dismissal, and he turned, walking out of the office and shutting the door behind him. “Have a seat.”
I had a good rapport with Colonel Matthew Lawson. He’d been my CO since I arrived on base nearly three years ago. He was a good guy, one who looked out for every single person in his unit. After everything that happened during our deployment, he’d gone out of his way to check on those of us who returned as much as possible.
I’d managed to stay under his radar…until I didn’t.
“I received the report from your evaluation. How are you feeling?”
