Chapter 1
Four Months Later
My leg jittered anxiously as 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?”
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 full benefits,” Jason interjected. “It’s not because you’ve done anything wrong.”
My jaw clenched harder. “I haven’t done anything wrong, yet they’re forcing me 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’m fine. 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. I got 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 quote Top Gun any 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.
And I was frozen, unable to do a goddamn thing.
The blare of a horn from a passing car snapped me back to the present, and a ragged breath whooshed from my lungs.
I turned to the right, unlocked my door, and walked inside.
The door echoed as I slammed it shut behind me and leaned back against it.
I closed my eyes, trying to breathe through the sudden tightness in my chest, balling my hands into fists to stop them from shaking too badly.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
After several moments, I managed to push it down, and I moved away from the door.
I took a few steps, lacing my fingers behind my head as I glanced around the living area.
Everything I would need to do for outprocessing took over my thoughts.
Phone calls. Returning equipment. Packing. Moving back home.
It felt like my life was suddenly in shambles.
I hated feeling like I didn’t have control over what came next because I didn’t know what was coming.
A headache started to creep in as I slumped onto the sofa with a sigh.
I tried to let the quiet settle me. Instead, the silence only made the jumble of thoughts louder. It always did, lately.
Leaning back against the cushions, I pulled my phone from my pocket and brought up my contact list. I scrolled through to find who I was looking for before hitting their name and putting the call on speaker.
“Hey, big guy,” Gabe answered.
“Hey,” I said, my voice more gruff than I intended.
“How are ya?”
“I’m alright,” I lied. “How’s things there?”
“Good. Same old, same old with me. Mom and Dad are good. Morgan is still in Miami. Luke and Callie are in the thick of wedding planning and house building. Wes is…well, Wes.”
“Good. That’s good…”
There was a pause on his end. “You sound tired. Everything okay?”
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, everything is fine,” I lied again. “I, um…I actually have some news.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I, uh…” It was harder to say than I thought it would be. It felt like admitting defeat, admitting that there was something wrong, that I wasn’t okay. I closed my eyes and let out a breath, forcing myself to say it out loud. “They’re discharging me. So, I’m coming home…for good.”