I nodded. “Fine, sir.”
“Sleeping?”
“Yes, sir,” I lied.
“Well?” he asked, calling me out. I held his stare for a moment, and he took my silence for the truth it was. He simply nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Have you taken the medication that was prescribed to you?”
My jaw ticked. Normally, he wouldn’t know if anyone in his unit was given prescription drugs because of HIPAA. But since he ordered my evaluation—and thanks to the Military Command Exception—he’d been made aware.
“No, sir,” I answered truthfully.
“Why not?”
Because I didn’t want to have to rely on medication to help me sleep. But more than that, I was too goddamn proud to admit how bad it was. “I haven’t felt the need to, sir.”
There was no judgment in his expression when he nodded. “Listen, Pierson…normally your PEBLO”—he gestured to Jason—“would be the one to inform you of the decision that’s been made, but I’m breaking protocol a little because we’ve been through some shit together.”
I held his stare, my jaw imperceptibly clenching. I knew what he was going to say before he said it.
“They’ve decided to give you a medical discharge.”
I closed my eyes, irritation and disappointment surging together as I shook my head. “That’s not nec–”
“It’s an honorable discharge, so you’ll be eligible for your fullbenefits,” Jason interjected. “It’snotbecause you’ve done anything wrong.”
My jaw clenched harder. “I haven’t done anything wrong, yet they’reforcingme out?”
“Pierson, you only have three months left in your service contract,” Lawson added. “And you said you had no plans to reenlist.”
“No plans to reenlist doesn’t mean I can’t finish what I started. I’mfine. It’s not a matter of doing my job. Respectfully, sir, I can do my damn job.”
Colonel Lawson let out a breath, understanding shining in his eyes. “The decision has been made and it’s final.” I rubbed my eyes, feeling even more irritated. “Listen, no one is saying you can’t do your job. You’re a damn good doctor, Pierson. We all know that. You’re not the first to struggle after combat exposure, and you won’t be the last. Trust me when I tell you that focusing on yourself right now is the best thing you can do.” He paused. “Jason has paperwork for you. He’ll help with your outprocessing and give you resources for when you leave. I highly suggest you use them.”
Despite his obvious understanding, his voice held finality. “Yes, sir,” I reluctantly complied.
After spending the next couple of hours with Jason going over paperwork and what the coming days would look like with my outprocessing, I headed back to my duplex off base.
I was pissed, but at myself.
I felt like a failure. Lawson was right—I only had three months left and no plans to reenlist. Still, I should have stuck it out. I should’ve gotten my shit together instead of letting things get so bad that people questioned if I could do my damn job.
I pulled up along the curb, parking in front of my duplex. Igot out, walked around the front of my car, and up the pathway leading to the front porch…and I stopped on the stairs, staring at the door to the left.
The Aldens’ door.
Noah and Melanie found the duplex one weekend when they were scoping out some places ahead of the end of residency. Knowing it more than likely wouldn’t be permanent, and he’d eventually PCS, they opted to rent instead of buy. They came across the two-bedroom duplex, nestled in a nice neighborhood not too far from base, and by chance, both units happened to be available. Noah called me that night, sent me the address and some photos, and I drove down the next day from Duke, met the landlord—a local real estate agent in the area—and signed the lease alongside them.
We’d lived and worked side-by-side for nearly three years. Now, everything was…empty. Literally and figuratively. Melanie moved back to Charleston with the twins to be closer to her family after Noah’s funeral, and I stayed there.
My boots clunked on the wooden steps as I walked onto the porch and stopped again, my gaze still lingering on the door to unit B. I could almost see Noah opening the door with his signature shit-eating grin, throwing me some finger guns and a “Gotcha.” Or coming out onto the porch with a “Talk to me, Goose”. I don’t think a day went by that he didn’t quoteTop Gunany chance he could. He was obsessed with that fucking movie and had dubbed me the Goose to his Maverick. I used to think it was ridiculous, and would always shake my head or roll my eyes…but I’d give anything to hear him say it now.
I found that it was the little things I never thought much of that I missed the most.
Suddenly, it felt like I was straddling a timeline where the past was pulling me in one direction and the present another.
There was a glitch in my head, and the sounds from the surrounding streets faded to white noise. The image I’d conjured of him leaning against the door frame shifted to the memory of him lying on the ground. I could hear the way he gasped for breath, feel the way his trembling hand fisted the front of my uniform with desperation, with his horror-struck eyes staring up at me, pleading for me to do something.
To save him.
