Chapter 8McCormick
CHAPTER
EIGHT
MCCORMICK
“Listen up all you beautiful people and badass sons of bitches!” Craig, a rep for the ALR, yells into his mic. “On behalf of the American Legion of Riders, thank you for your service and your sacrifice, and for your continued support of veterans everywhere. Happy fucking Veteran’s Day!”
His short speech is followed by a loud rally cry from the assembled bikers.
Holding a full plate, I lift my prosthetic leg carefully over the wooden bench and sit my ass down across from Stiles at an empty picnic table. The yard outside of the ALR headquarters is packed with families. Bikes and vehicles fill the lot. Stiles’s plate is piled higher than mine, with baked beans, potato salad, chunks of watermelon, and a burger.
“Do not eat that!” he warns, pegging me with a hard glare.
“What? Why?” From the look on his face, I get the feeling the hot dog hovering near my lips is turning him on. It’s an entirely new and novel feeling and I don’t know whether I’m turned on or amused.
“You put that hotdog in your mouth and everybody here will know what’s up.”
“Shit,” I scoff. “If I don’t eat the hotdog, everybody’s gonna wonder what’s up.”
“Eat the burger instead.”
Arching my brow, I challenge him. “You don’t think I could make the burger look sexy?”
Stiles tries to glare, but his face crumples in laughter.
I reach for the burger. “Are you gonna tell me when I can play with your dick again?”
He chokes on the bite in his mouth, and a coughing fit ensues. His immediate reaction is to look around to see who overheard, but then he checks himself. “Are you gonna tell me how long you’ve been wanting to?”
Nice try. “You first.”
Stiles sets his burger down on his plate and sucks his fingers clean. “I keep trying to figure out why I’m not freaking out.”
“Have you never thought of me like that? Ever?”
“I mean, I thought damn, he looks good tonight when you’re dressed up for a date. Or, Christ he has a fat cock when I see you wear tight boxers, but that’s not the same thing as I want to suck his cock. You know? But then you kissed me and it felt like the easiest thing in the world. Also, the hottest. It just clicked and I think…” Again, he glances around “… I think I was just bullshitting myself all these years. It was easier to follow the status quo than to shake things up. I was in denial.”
I wipe my mouth on a napkin and smirk. “It’s not just a river in Egypt.”
“Glad to know you were paying attention in third grade Geography. Your turn. How long, Mac?”
“It all started when…”
“Gentleman,” Craig interrupts. And I’m cracking up because now I don’t have to answer him.
“I’m not through with you,” he threatens.
“I hope not.” I shoot him a playful wink and he kicks my leg under the table. The prosthetic one. I hope he hurt his toes against all that carbon fiber.
Craig bends down, bracing one hand on the table and the other on my back. “We’re honored you chose to ride with us today. I know how much loyalty you have for BALLS.”
I could make a joke here, but I won’t. Of course, Stiles can read me like a book. He sends me a warning glare. “It's alright. They have plenty of people to march with them in the parade. And the parade route ends in their parking lot, so we’ll be there to help out with the festivities afterward. They’re planning a family day.”
“It's a great organization,” he says. “A few of our brothers chose to march with them today instead of riding with us, but it’s all good. In the end, representing vets is all that matters.”
“One hundred percent.” I fist bump his knuckles.
Craig walks away, and no one usurps his spot. We’re a tight group, but Stiles and I usually keep to ourselves. I keep an eye out for Barbie, but thankfully she’s absent today. About forty-five minutes later, we climb on our bikes and pull out of the lot in a double file line, keeping formation as we merge onto the parade route behind the Boy Scouts. They pass out candy to kids lined up along the sidewalks, but they drop a shit ton of lollipops and candy along the street that ends up getting crunched beneath my front tire.
Stiles laughs at me, knowing how it fucks with my OCD. My apartment can look as if a hurricane got hold of it, but my truck and my bike are spotless. Always.
I’ll have to scrub her down later.
Black Mountain turned out in style, dressed in red, white, and blue, waving American flags and banners that depict branches of the military.
A tightness squeezes my chest. It’s pride. Respect. Honor. I’m part of this community of vets who served. I lost my leg. It changed my entire life. This day is a celebration of my sacrifice. It’s a celebration of my buddy’s lost life. It’s a celebration of the life I still have after nearly losing it.
I glance at Stiles, and he shoots me a wink. How does he do that?! I swear he’s clairvoyant. What did he call it? Empathetic? Whatever. I’m convinced he can read minds.
We ride through the center of town, past coffee shops and boutiques, past the Black Mountain Tavern and the post office. All the businesses have decorated their storefronts for Veteran’s Day. I love living here. The small-town feel, fresh mountain air, and unrivaled views make it the best little city anywhere. I stumbled upon Black Mountain accidentally after my service, when I came here to rehab at BALLS, and I’m never leaving. This is home to me now. It’s a far cry from Flagstaff, Arizona, where I grew up. But with both my parents gone, I have no reason to return there.
The blistering sun burns the back of my neck and cheeks, and I wipe the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. Stiles reaches behind him and pulls a tube of sunblock from his saddle bag, tossing it to me. He always carries it with him because he knows I forget. My pale skin burns just thinking about the sun.
When we pull into the BALLS parking lot, the place is already crowded with parade-goers and vets. I park my bike beside Stiles’s and search out the Bitches. Jax is in step right behind us. He rode a ways back in the parade, but that’s Jax. He likes to keep to himself.
Brandt flags us. We approach the blue canopy and when I get a look at what they’ve got going on, at the shit spread across the table, I slow my steps. A line of kids block the front of the table.
“Grab a glue gun and jump in,” he urges, looking harassed. West’s hands are covered in glitter and bits of brightly colored tissue paper.
“Whatever that is,” I point to the project in his hands, “I don’t want none of it.”
Brandt laughs, more of a scoff, really, and shoves a bunch of pipe cleaners at me. “Shut up and make this into an American flag.”
Turning over the red and blue fuzzy stems in my hands, I shake my head. Not even God is that talented, and certainly not me. “Who’s bright idea was it to have us man the arts and crafts table?”
Brandt smirks. “Riggs.”
“Fucking figures. Where is he, anyway?”
“Manning the grill,” Jax says, pointing down the sidewalk.
“Fucker,” Stiles mumbles. We've been here less than thirty seconds, and his fingers are already covered in glitter. “We should glitter bomb his ass.”
“I second that emotion,” West snipes. “Nash, where you headed to, man?”
He’s cleaning his hands off with a baby wipe. “I promised Violet I would take her by the cemetery to visit G.”
He’s taking his buddy's mother to the cemetery to visit her son. Guilt sets in hard. “I need to stop by there on my way home.” My best buddy, Danny, is also buried at the same cemetery. It wouldn’t kill me to stop by and visit him today. To pay my respects. Except, it just might.
“I’ll ride with you,” Stiles offers.
I’m so fucking grateful for him. My ride or die.
“Where’s Pharo? How come he gets to miss all of this?”
Nobody says a word, and I stare at Jax.
“What are you looking at me for? I’m not his fucking keeper.”
“Is he deployed again?”
Jax rolls his eyes. “He’s out of town. I won’t swear that he’s deployed, though.”
“Then where the fuck would he be?”
He wipes his gluey fingers off on his jeans. “That’s a great question.”
“Cut your bullshit, Jax,” Rhett snaps. “Pharo’s deployed with the Reserves.”
“Is he? Riggs is a reservist. How many times a year does he get called up to deploy?”
He has a point. I look at Stiles. He stares back. “Yeah, but they have a different MOS.”
“And what is Pharo’s MOS?” Jax asks.
Why have I never asked that before? “I don’t know.” I look around, but all I see are blank faces. “Anybody?” They shake their heads.
“Exactly,” Jax spits. “If he’s a reservist, I’m fucking Santa Claus.”
“You’re fucking Santa Claus?” West asks, gluing a pom-pom onto a popsicle stick. “I’ve always wondered if Santa’s candy cane tasted like peppermint.”
Brandt snorts, smacking West in the arm. “Ohh, you know those little peppermint balls you love?”
Jax aims his glue gun at West, like he’s going to squirt him. “That’s not what I said, jackass!”
“Could you watch your mouths? We’ve got a line of kids here,” Stiles points out.
“So where is Pharo?” I ask, not letting them distract me.
Jax chuckles sarcastically. “When you see him, ask him.”
“Where’s Mandy?” Stiles asks.
The guys quiet down. “Under the weather,” Brandt supplies when no one speaks up.
“Is he sick?”
“Code Black,” West adds.
Code black means a Bitch is struggling. “Well, why the fuck are we standing around here scratching our balls and making them shine with glitter when we’ve got a man down?”
“Because he’s not alone,” Brandt snickers.
Not alone? “What’s that supposed to mean? If we’re all here, who’s there?”
West starts to hum, grinning hugely, and then he sings the words, “All my exes live in Texas.”
Ahh, that explains it. Tex is keeping him company. No wonder he doesn’t want us there. “Fine, but make sure we check in with him before the day is over.”
Brandt nods. “We’ll drive by there after we wrap this up. Bring him takeout.”
Jax holds up an American flag made of popsicle sticks. “Rhett, go hand this to your man.”
“Why?” he asks.
“Because it’s covered in wet glue, but there’s so much glitter over it that you can’t see it. When he grabs it from you, his fingers will look just like ours, sticky and shiny.”
Rhett takes off with the glitter bomb as we crack up. “You know he’s gonna come after us, right?”
“Shit, he’ll have to catch me first,” Jax swears.
We idle our bikes through the gates of the Western Carolina State Veterans Cemetery and park along the side of the road lined with tiny American flags to celebrate Veterans Day. I hop off and make my way down the uniform rows of headstones, looking for my buddy’s name. Stiles stays behind on his bike.
I hate coming here. I hate remembering, not that I can forget when I’m elsewhere, but seeing his name etched in granite brings it all back with a vengeance.
When I find his headstone, I plop down on my ass and stretch my prosthetic out in front of me.
“Long time no see, buddy. Happy Vets Day. Well, not so happy for you, I guess.”
The cemetery is crowded today, which comes as no surprise. It’s distracting, though. I miss the peace I usually find here and the silence. The sound of the wind rustling through the trees. It's cathartic, reverent.
“I was at this barbecue earlier, and someone brought one of those Jell-O cakes. A Jell-O mold? I don’t know. But it reminded me of you. Remember that Vets day we spent in the desert? We had a Jell-O eating contest, and you smoked everybody. You didn’t even get sick! I spent the whole day throwing up red slime.”
My gaze falls on Stiles. He’s leaning against his bike, watching me.
“So, I kissed my best friend. Well, my other best friend. You know what I mean. And guess what? I liked it.” A stupid grin breaks out and I don’t even try to fight it. “I already know what you’re gonna say, and no, I’m not gay. At least I don’t think I am. I don’t think about other dudes like that. And I never thought about you like that! I swear. It’s just… it’s just Stiles. Maybe I’m demi-gay.”
A woman walks by, holding her little girl’s hand. She has a tiny American flag clutched in her fist, and she stares at me, and then at my leg, and then looks back at me with a smile. I return it and wave at her.
“Life is good, man. I miss you, Danny. I miss the fuck out of you.” I suck a deep breath into my lungs and hold it there, waiting for the chokehold of emotion to pass, so I don’t lose it. I wave at Stiles, and he starts to make his way toward me. “Buckle up, you’re about to meet him. And don’t say anything stupid! I can hear your thoughts loud and clear.”
Stiles plops down beside me. He searches my face, probably seeing that my eyes are a little wet.
“Who’s this?” He reads the name carved in stone.
Shit. I’ve never officially introduced him to Danny, but he knows who’s buried here. Or at least, he’s supposed to know. He’s just forgetting again.
“Back when I served, this was my best buddy, Danny Woods.”
Stiles nods. “He died in action?”
Damn. “Kind of. It’s a long story.”
He looks around. There’s still plenty of daylight left, and people are beginning to leave. “We’ve got nothing but time.”
I’ve told him this story countless times. Which sucks because it’s a hard one to tell. What's one more?
“This was back in Iraq, at FOB Al Assad in Baghdad.” Stiles nods, and it looks like he understands. Maybe he remembers something familiar about it that clicks with him.
“My unit had finished kicking down doors, looking for Intel on the location of our informant. He went missing, either dead, or they turned him back and he was feeding them our information. After an unsuccessful round of hide and seek, we were headed back to our ex-fil spot when a bus cut in front of us, splitting our unit in half. They just parked right in the middle of the intersection and stopped.”
The fine hairs on the back of my neck stand up at the memory. “We waited to see what they would do. After all, it didn’t immediately pose a threat. The bus was filled with women and children.”
Stiles's expression changes, hardens. He doesn’t have to remember the story to know what’s coming.
“There was a boy. He had to be younger than ten. He poked his head out the window and waved to me. Not like he was excited to be there, or anything, just a little wave. He smiled. I remember thinking he had such white teeth, which was odd, since he probably had never seen a dentist, maybe even a toothbrush.”
I clear my throat and glance at Danny’s stone, wishing he were here to help me tell the story.
“Everything seemed fine. Maybe they had just broken down or something? I mean, nobody was shouting at us, or sticking guns out the windows. So I made the call to proceed and go around the bus. I was the first one to move forward, with Danny not far behind me. Next thing I know, I’m off my feet and flying through the air, landing on my ass some twenty feet away. I still remember the heat of the blast. Singed my fucking eyebrows and eyelashes off.”
“I was knocked stupid. Got my bell rung good. Couldn’t hear, couldn’t see, nothing but the tornado inside my head that wiped out everything around me. When the fog cleared, that boy's head was lying at my feet. His eyes were open, and he was staring up at me.”
Stiles clears his throat and rubs his face. I’m sure he’s sorry he asked.
“My body absorbed shrapnel from the bus.” I touch the scar on my cheek. “My leg was cut to shit, bloody ribbons of flesh. One piece sliced nearly clean through my shin. We lost two guys that day on the other side of the bus.”
“Is that how you lost Danny?”
“Nah. He came to see me the next day in the hospital, after I woke up from surgery. I guess he came to say goodbye. At least that’s what it felt like. I remember thinking at the time, it felt a lot like goodbye. Like, is this what it feels like when you know it’s the last time you’re gonna see someone? But then I thought, no, he’s just shaken up. He’ll be okay. They found—” My voice cracks, and I have to clear my throat before I can continue.
My gaze falls heavily on Danny’s headstone. A trace of the pain I felt that day washes over me like a tidal wave, drowning me in sorrow. “They found him down the hall in the bathroom with a gunshot wound to the head. I guess… He couldn’t deal with what he saw. Maybe me losing my leg pushed him over the edge. I don’t know. He was close with one of the guys who we lost. I was so devastated over losing him that I didn’t even worry about my leg until I got back stateside. Maybe that’s why I didn’t spiral like West did. Losing my leg was a drop in the bucket compared to losing Danny.”
Stiles reaches for my hand and squeezes. “How did he end up here?”
“He didn’t have any family. A cousin or something, but they weren’t close. The guy said I could do whatever I wanted with him. I was still bedridden in Germany, and I just couldn’t make decisions like that at the time. So I had him cremated. When I got back to Fort Bragg, I collected his ashes, and when I moved out here and realized I was finally home, I bought this plot and buried him.”
His throat works as he struggles to swallow and find his voice, which comes out all beat to hell. “How come you didn’t just keep his ashes with you?”
That was a question he never asked before. “I just couldn’t stare at it day after day, thinking of him, remembering what happened and how I lost him. That’s too fucking much. Plus, I refuse to put him on my mantle so he can sit and watch me jack off at my computer. Fucking creepy, man. So, I stuck him out here, where he can rest peacefully, and I try to make it out here when I feel strong enough to deal with it.”
He’s quiet for a while, looking around in the distance at the other graves being visited. Finally, he turns to me, and he looks a little sad. “You’ve told me all this before, haven’t you.”
It’s more of a statement than a question. “A time or two,” I tease with a smile.
Stiles shakes its head. “You’d think I wouldn’t forget something that important.”
I flip our hands, so that mine is covering his, and squeeze. “Honestly, I think you block it out because of the trauma. Your brain has had enough and doesn’t wanna remember that shit.”
He looks down at our joined hands. “Thanks for telling me again. I know it’s not easy.”
A rush of emotion hits me hard, and I have to swallow past the lump forming in the back of my throat. “I’ll tell you a thousand times if you ask. I'll never get tired of helping you remember.”
“I wish I could’ve met him.”
“I told him I kissed you. I bet now he wishes he would have stuck around so he could meet you too.”
His dark brows draw together tightly. “Sometimes at night when I find you in the kitchen on the floor, is this what you’re remembering?”
“Yeah,” I choke. “I can’t stand the quiet at night. I can hear them screaming, I can hear the scraping of metal and the blast. The ringing in my ears that lasted for weeks. I can smell it and feel the heat on my face again. It blocks out all of my senses and I get lost inside myself. Something about that cold, hard kitchen floor, so opposite from the hot desert sand, grounds me, brings me back to the present.”
His gaze drops to our joined hands, and he laces our fingers together. “Next time, I won’t pull you up off the floor so fast. I’ll just sit down there with you and hold your hand until it passes, until you can find your way back to me again.”
I lose the battle with my tears, and they fall hot down my cheeks. His promise—I hope that’s something he doesn’t forget. I need him to remember for next time.
He rolls and pushes to his feet. “Come on, it’s been a long day. Let’s go home.”
Home . Our home. Together. It’s the only place I want to be right now.