We stood there in silence for a moment. Then, he clapped a hand on my shoulder, steady and grounding. “You’ve both survived your own hells. Now you’re building something together. Don’t second-guess it.”
I nodded, the weight in my chest easing just a little. “Thanks.”
“Always.”
As we walked back to the truck, I couldn’t help but smile, thinking of Tyler on the carpet with Eli, laughing, alive. Healing. And I promised myself that whatever came next, I would be there. Every single step.
Unfortunately, what came next was the specialist appointment for Tyler’s next graft.
He was quiet the entire drive to the hospital, his hands clenched in his lap, eyes fixed out the window. The closer we got, the more rigid he became, as if every mile stripped another layer of his defenses away. When we pulled into the parking lot, it took me nearly an hour to coax him out of the truck. I waited, standing by his door, offering small reassurances, but never rushing him. Eventually, with a heavy breath, he nodded and joined me.
Luckily, Doctor Ethan Ramirez, former army medic and the burns specialist, was the one seeing him today. Ramirez worked with veterans all the time—he understood the particular kind of ghosts Tyler carried with him into every exam room.
The waiting room was quiet; the stale hospital air was tinged with the scent of disinfectant and the distant beeping of monitors. Tyler sat stiffly beside me, his shoulders hunched forward, eyes down. I wanted to reach for his hand, to offer him some anchor, but when I tried earlier, he’d pulled away, with a shrug that was enough to tell me he needed space. So, I sat in silence, my hands resting uselessly on my thighs, close but not touching,giving him whatever distance he needed to breathe.
Every so often, I’d glance at him—his jaw clenched, his breathing slow but shallow. This wasn’t just about skin grafts. It was the memories wrapped around every visit, every procedure, every reminder of what he’d lost and survived. And all I could do was sit beside him and be there when he needed me.
Eventually, the nurse called his name, and we both stood. Tyler hesitated for a second, then squared his shoulders and walked toward the exam room. He stopped and turned.
“Will you come in with me?”
I followed a few steps behind, close enough to offer quiet support.
Inside, Doctor Ramirez greeted him with a calm, reassuring smile. “Good to see you again, Tyler. Marcus.” His tone was warm but professional. “Let’s take a look and see where we’re at.”
Tyler sat on the exam table, his eyes flicking to me before landing on the floor. Ramirez moved with care, explaining each step as he examined the healing graft sites, his voice steady and patient.
“The healing’s coming along well,” Ramirezsaid after a few minutes. “But we’ve got some areas that still need additional coverage, especially along the upper chest and shoulder. Skin integrity is thin there, and we risk contracture without another graft.”
Tyler’s jaw flexed, his throat working as he swallowed hard. “Another operation?”
“I know it’s not what you want to hear,” Ramirez said with obvious regret. “But this will help with long-term mobility and comfort. We’ll schedule it at your pace. You tell me when you’re ready.”
I could see the war playing out behind Tyler’s eyes—the fear, the exhaustion, the helpless frustration. I wanted to take it from him, to carry even a piece of it, but all I could do was stand there and wait.
“Can we talk about it later?” Tyler whispered after the longest time.
“Of course.” Ramirez was kind, resting a hand on Tyler’s good shoulder. “There’s no rush. You’re in control of this.”
Tyler nodded, his breath shaky. “Thanks.”
The appointment wrapped up soon after, and as we stepped out into the hallway, Tyler exhaled as though he’d been holding his breath the wholetime.
I fell into step beside him, keeping my distance but staying close. “Whenever you’re ready,” I said.
“What if I’mneverready?” His fingers grazed mine for the briefest second—a silent plea wrapped in fear. “I’m a fucking coward.”
As the elevator doors slid closed, sealing us inside, I stepped in closer, pressing him to the wall, and I kissed him deeply, pouring every ounce of reassurance I had into that moment. When I pulled back at last, I whispered to his lips, “That is the last thing you are, Tyler.”
A nightmare hithim hard that night.
I woke to the sharp, panicked gasps beside me, his body thrashing under the sheets, tangled and drenched in sweat. His breath came in fast, shallow bursts, chest heaving as he fought some invisible threat. I reached for him, murmuring his name. “Tyler… Ty, it’s okay. You’re safe. You’re home.”
His eyes snapped open, wild and unfocused, as though he wasn’t quite here yet. His entire body was rigid under my hands, caught somewhere between panic and terror. I kept my voice low and steady, grounding him the way I’d done before. “Look at me, love. You’re with me. Just breathe. In and out. I’ve got you. Jess sent me a photo from Eli’s last visit. You remember that? Eli is your nephew. You’re safe. I’ve got you, sweetheart. “
His eyes locked onto mine, and finally the tension in his body began to ease, his shoulders dropping as I pulled him to my chest.
“I’m here,” I whispered into his hair, pressing a kiss to the damp strands. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
