Chapter 1 #2
Together, the six of us lifted the sleigh out of the truck bed and onto the flat, wheeled dollies one of the helpers had brought.
After that, with Morgan directing, it was easy to roll the sleigh across the smooth concrete and into place.
It took a little more heavy lifting to get it settled.
Another few minutes of adjusting the position to Morgan’s liking, and then the others disappeared just as fast as they’d showed up.
Morgan extended the gate and had to fight with it a little to get it across the whole space and to the other side. When Gunny moved to help, Morgan shot him a look and Barrett held up his hands.
“He’s used to doing everything himself, still. I gotta pick my battles,” he confided as we watched Morgan struggle for another few seconds. The gate finally clicked into the other side and Morgan locked it up with a heavy-duty padlock.
“There. All safe and sound until we’re ready for it next week.” Morgan dusted off his hands. “Tyler, you’re going to follow us back to our place, right? I’m cooking.”
“I’d love to join you. Thanks.”
Gunny clapped a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll ride with Ty.”
Morgan laughed and waved him off, already heading toward his little sedan. “You just don’t want to fold yourself into my car. I get it. See you in a few.”
“I gotta ask,” I said as I pulled the fob out of my pocket and unlocked the truck. “Why don’t you have a bigger vehicle, sir?”
Gunny pulled himself into the passenger seat and waited until I started the engine before he answered.
“I do. And most of the time we drive my SUV if we’re riding together.
But he was parked behind me because he got home after me last night so it was just prudent to take his. I fit. It’s just tight.”
“That’s what he said,” I responded without thinking. Then grimaced. “Sorry, sir.”
Gunny was laughing though, too used to Marine humor even though he’d been out for more than a year. He could barely get the words out as he directed me to head north on the main road.
“He does say that.” Gunny was still laughing but had himself better under control. “Slow down. Right turn is coming up, just past this maple. You could miss it if you don’t know it’s there.”
He was right. Creek Rd, according to the sign, was narrow and almost hidden. I made the turn smoothly and Gunny pointed to the dead end. A second later, I saw Morgan hopping out of his car.
There wasn’t room to park in the driveway, but I wasn’t worried about taking up space on the road since there wasn’t anyone directly across the street from their house and nothing but a sluggish creek past a patch of grass and weeds.
The house was cute, a little cottage already decorated with lights that were on despite the sun just starting to set.
It looked warm and cozy, and the instant I followed Gunny inside, I was assailed with the scent of pine and apple.
An eight-foot Christmas tree already took up pride of place in the corner, though it was bare, and it only took me a second to realize it was fake. Which explained why it looked so good.
I glanced around as I kicked off my boots and shrugged out of my coat, spotting Gunny’s sword and medals in a shadow box on the wall.
There were a few decorations, like they’d just started getting festive, but my attention was captured by a piece of glass artwork on an end table.
Of their own volition, my socked feet took me over there so I could inspect it.
It was gorgeous and intricate, each quarter holding a tree that seemed to be going through the seasons.
As the colors changed, the tree remained the same.
“Barrett got me that last Christmas. We’ll have to take you by Holloway Glassworks before you leave. It’s amazing, and Ridge is a true artist.” Morgan gave me a smile. “Is there anything I need to know before I start dinner?”
I cocked my head. “I don’t like okra, eggplant, or mushrooms. But other than that, I’m a Marine. I’ll eat anything.”
Morgan, thankfully, played along. He laughed, nodding. But then gave me a pointed look. “Anything else?”
I knew what he was getting at and held in a sigh. It still rankled that I had to think about it. “No. Just let me know what we’re having so I can do the math.”
“Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and honey-glazed carrots,” he answered promptly. A second later, his eyes went wide. “Unless I should skip the ho—”
“Sounds delicious,” I said, cutting him off.
Morgan blinked and then smiled, and I felt like an ass for interrupting him.
Because he was such a sweetheart, I explained.
“It’s all carbs, not just sugar. Which, did you know, most people don’t realize sugar is a carb?
Anyway, I can eat whatever as long as I dose appropriately. Do you need any help?”
Morgan’s whole face brightened, but he shook his head. “No, thanks. I’ve got this.”
“We can catch up,” Gunny interjected, giving me a pointed look. “Have a seat, Ty.”
My stomach did a quick swoop like when I’d gotten called into my CO’s office. Even though, logically, I knew Gunny just wanted to check in with me, it didn’t stop the feeling of being in trouble. I tried for a smile as I sat on the couch across from where he’d taken a seat on the recliner.
“What can I do for you, sir?”
Gunny snorted. “First, you can drop the rank and honorifics. We’re both civilians now. There’s no reason to stand on protocol.”
I grimaced. “Not sure that’s going to be easy.”
He barked a laugh. “Practice. You’ll get it.”
I would try. Because he was right. I’d been officially out for four months, but really, it had been longer than that. Ever since the diagnosis, they’d kicked me loose. First to get treatment and education, but then there was no point in going back to base.
You couldn’t serve in the military with insulin dependent diabetes.
“Ty,” Gunny—Barrett’s voice was low, drawing my attention back to him. He smiled softly. “Talk to me, eh? I want to know where your head is at. We’ve haven’t talked much about it since that first call.”
He’d called as soon as he heard, and I’d been grateful to hear his voice.
Always, he’d meant safety and just talking to him had helped get me off a ledge.
Though I still didn’t know how he’d been informed.
I knew he still had contacts in the Corps but hell, it could have been my parents.
They loved him. Especially after they found out that his actions were the reason I, and others, had come home safely from a perilous situation instead of in a pine box.
I was grateful too.
“Therapy has helped,” I said quietly, repeating my statement from earlier.
“My therapist has helped me work through the anger. A fucking virus took me out, and my body decided to kill my pancreas. I’m still pissed about that some days.
Other days, it’s hard as fuck to even want to manage the disease. ”
Barrett nodded and hummed thoughtfully. “I can only imagine.”
“And having to explain, over and over, that no, it’s not Type 2. It’s an autoimmune disorder. No, it doesn’t just happen in children. Yes, I really was diagnosed at thirty-five. Yes, I’m sure.” I growled, partly from remembered frustration.
“It has to be mentally taxing.”
I heard what he didn’t say, wasn’t asking out loud. Because it was Gunny, because it was the man who saved my life and who I could trust in all things, I told him the one thing only my therapist knew.
“There were a few seconds there, and only a few seconds, after the diagnosis and discharge that I thought it would be easier…better…to eat my gun.” I glanced over my shoulder, glad to see Morgan was occupied and not paying us any attention.
I focused back on Barrett, saw the concern in his expression, but the understanding too. “I don’t feel that way anymore.”
Barrett sat back but never took his gaze off me.
After a moment, he spoke. “I was ready to be done. Dropped my packet of my own volition. It was forced upon you and the choice was not in your hands. I always knew you were a lifer, a Marine through and through, and the transition had to be difficult.”
“It has been,” I answered honestly. “But I’m finding my way.
Dealing with the disease. The continuous glucose monitor and pump help, because it takes some of the focus off.
At first I had do finger pricks to test my blood sugar and calculate units and do injections.
Now the CGM checks for me, I only have double check with the glucometer sometimes, and the pump delivers insulin accordingly. This is easier. Sort of.”
“And you’re back home with your parents. Which I’m sure your mom loves.” Barrett’s lips twitched.
“I love my parents. You know I do. But good god! Everything is all about the disease! Any shift in mood, any bite I put in my mouth. It’s always ‘did you bolus for that?’ or ‘is your sugar high?’ or ‘is it low?’” I groaned and flopped back against the couch.
“I know they’re worried, but I’m a grown ass adult. I know what I’m doing.”
Barrett didn’t say anything for a long moment, studying me. After a heavy silence, he nodded once, as though he’d come to a conclusion.
“I know you only planned to visit for a couple of days, but what about staying longer?” He cocked his head and lifted his foot onto the opposite knee. “I promise neither Morgan nor I will get on your case about diabetes, you can have a reprieve and enjoy the festivities.”
At his words, relief washed through me. I didn’t know why I hadn’t considered it before.
It wouldn’t completely stop my parents from badgering me.
Worrying about me. Or wanting to be in my back pocket simply because for the past seventeen years I’d served our country and had been stationed, or deployed, far away from them.
The disease aside, they were happy to have me close by the first time since I shipped off the Basic.
I was sure they would text me all the time.
But still, it would be good to get away.
This cute little town, and the Winter Festival, could be just the distraction I needed.
I grinned. “I will take you up on that.”