DeShawn sang a melancholy song from a few decades ago, “Goodnight Saigon” by Billy Joel, and the silence that followed held for several heartbeats. The song dealt with what so many of the veterans here carried in their hearts—the weight of coming home to a world that would never fully understand.
Cal cleared his throat. “That one always cuts deep.”
“Yeah,” DeShawn whispered. “Yeah, it does.”
I let the quiet sit, honoring the space, and then, we played some more, and Cal and DeShawn were both smiling.
As they packed up, Cal gave Tyler a brief nod on his way out. DeShawn lingered a second longer, offering a warm smile. “You should join in next time, dude.”
Tyler only gave a small tilt of his head, but I saw the conflict ripple across his face.
When the others were gone, I approached him, lowering my voice. “You okay?”
He blew out a breath. “Yeah.” His eyes stayed fixed on the empty stools. “Just… watching.”
“You could run things like this with your eyes shut,” I reassured.
He glanced at me then, something unspoken in the flicker of his gaze. “Maybe.”
I offered him a hand to help him up and stole a quick kiss. “I have a meeting tonight.”
He didn’t question it, never pried or asked if I really needed to go. He nodded, offering silent understanding. He knew what those meetings meant, and I loved him all the more for that.
When the AAmeeting was over, the room was emptying out, the scrape of chairs and low hum of quiet conversations filling the space. Alex was chatting with one of the newer guys, so I stepped outside for some air, pulling my jacket tighter against the early evening chill.
I always left these meetings feeling two things at once—grateful and exposed. Grateful that I was still here, still sober, still fighting. Exposed because no matter how far I’d come, those stories always brought back echoes of my own. The nights I almost didn’t make it. The weight of guilt I carried for too long.
And now Tyler.
I leaned back on the wall, tipping my head to stare at the sky. I thought about him all the time—sometimes the emotions were so fierce they startled me. Watching him rebuild his life had been one of the most terrifying and beautiful things I’d ever witnessed. And these past few days with his family—God, I’d seen something shift inside him. A spark of hope he hadn’t let himself believe he deserved.
I never imagined I’d fall for someone like Tyler. Not because of who he was—but because of whoIhad been. There was a time I swore I wouldn’t letmyself love anyone again. Not this deeply. Not with this much risk. He’d arrived at Guardian Hall so broken, so hollowed out, and every instinct I had screamed to protect him. But love? I hadn’t seen that coming. It had crept in quietly. Patiently. And then, all at once.
The door clicked open behind me, and Alex joined me, hands stuffed in his pockets. “You’re quiet tonight.”
I huffed a small laugh. “A lot on my mind.”
“Tyler?”
I nodded.
“He’s doing good,” Alex said. “You both are.”
“Yeah,” I whispered. “But part of me still… worries, y’know, with all of this.” I waved at the hall.
Alex cut me off, shaking his head. “When was the last time you went out?”
“‘Out’?”
“You know—clubbing, hooking up, chasing any distraction that felt like it could fill that space the drugs used to take up. Running too hard. Just… numbing the edges.”
I blinked at my best friend, surprised by how easy the answer came to me. “Not since the roof,” I murmured. That night had shifted somethingdeep inside me—when Tyler reached for my hand, when he’d chosen to trust me. Since then, I hadn’t wanted the noise, the distractions, the empty ways I used to fill my time. All I wanted was to be near him, to stand beside him as he rebuilt his life—and somewhere along the way, rebuild mine too.
“Exactly,” Alex said.
I let out a shaky breath. “I love him, Alex. More than I thought I could love anyone again. And that terrifies me sometimes.”
“Yeah,” Alex said quietly. “That’s what love does.”
