Chapter 1
Alex
Four days later, the evening sun dipped below the horizon. It cast a warm, golden glow over Aunt Lynn’s cozy backyard. The aroma of grilled ribeye steaks filled the air. Alex and Aunt Lynn sat at the patio table, savoring each tender, mouthwatering bite.
“Aunt Lynn, you are the grill master, this steak is perfect.”
“Thanks honey, you know I enjoy grilling when you come over. Do you want some more spinach dip? I know it is your favorite.” Reaching over, she moved the tray closer for him to reach.
“Don’t mind if I do.” Alex grabbed a crispy cracker and overloaded the spinach dip onto it using a spoon.
“Thanks for recommending Dr. Martin,” Alex began, his voice steady but soft. “I wasn’t sure what to expect, given my experiences with other therapists. But this visit was different. I actually felt… lighter after talking to him.”
Aunt Lynn looked up, her eyes were warm with encouragement but she remained silent, letting him continue.
Alex took a sip of peach tea, his gaze drifting to the trees swaying gently in the evening breeze. "I’ve been to three different therapists, and none of them really worked out," he continued, his voice tinged with frustration. "It always felt like they were just ticking boxes, going through the motions. I’d leave their offices feeling more frustrated and misunderstood, like they just didn’t get it."
Aunt Lynn nodded, her expression one of empathetic understanding. She reached over, giving my hand a gentle squeeze before returning to her meal.
"With Dr. Martin," Alex continued, "he actually got me to open up. He didn't rush me or try to push his own agenda. He just... listened. He made me realize that I need to stop trying to white-knuckle everything on my own."
Aunt Lynn’s eyes sparkled with pride, but she still didn’t interrupt, knowing I needed this moment to express myself.
"I’ve been so wary of therapy," Alex admitted, his voice vulnerable. "After three failures, it’s hard to trust. But something about Dr. Martin felt different. He didn’t just see my trauma, and didn’t automatically go to his prescription pad. He saw me, and that makes a difference."
Aunt Lynn finally spoke, her tone gentle. "I’m glad to hear that, Alex. Sometimes it just takes finding the right person who understands you. I'm proud of you for not giving up on yourself."
Alex smiled, feeling a sense of relief and gratitude. "I love you, Aunt Lynn. Thanks for not giving up on me. Your support means everything. I don’t think I would have gone if it weren’t for you pushing me."
She smiled back, her eyes misty with emotion. "I’ll always be here for you, Alex. No matter what, and I don’t push. I suggest with a lot of enthusiasm."
“You’ve always been there for me. All through my childhood, when I came out, even when I joined the military. Do you remember that meeting when you and Mom met my recruiter when I was seventeen? You made a soldier cry.” Alex laughed.
“I did not!” Aunt Lynn replied.
“You said, and I quote.” Alex holds up his hands and makes air quotes. “You, Sir, are a no-neck Neanderthal who wouldn’t know how to defend his country, let alone meet a monthly quota of harvesting children away from their families.”
“Alexander Michael Bennett, you know I hate it when you misquote me, I said no-neck dumbass neanderthal.” Aunt Lynn replied with a smile.
Laughter filled the backyard. They enjoyed the last bites and cleared their plates. Then, they lingered over their glasses of peach tea, engaging in a lively exchange of witty banter.
After their meal, they walked to the front of the house and stood in the driveway.
“Goodnight, Alex. Promise me you will call me when you get home.” She stood on her tiptoes to give him a hug .
Alex chuckled, shaking his head. “You know, I’m 32 years old. I’ve been to a war zone and can bench press your Mazda. I can find my way home safe, Aunt Lynn.”
Aunt Lynn tightened her hold on his massive shoulders. She laughed.“I know you can, honey,” she whispered, her words filled with love. “But humor me so I’m not up all night worrying about whether you’re okay, won’t you?”
Alex groaned like a teenager asked to take out the trash during a Halo match. “You win. I’ll call you when I get home.Thanks for dinner, it was amazing.” He kissed her on the cheek and hugged her back before heading to his truck.
Alex climbed into his truck, the familiar rumble of the engine a slight comfort against the weight pressing down on his chest. He glanced back at Aunt Lynn’s house, its warm lights glowing in the distance, before pulling away from the curb. The effort of maintaining a cheerful facade during dinner had drained him, leaving him feeling hollow and exhausted. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying to shake off the lingering weariness.
The drive home was a solitary journey through the quiet, winding roads of Brookings. The streetlights cast long, flickering shadows across the pavement, and the hum of the tires on the asphalt provided a monotonous background noise. Alex’s mind replayed the evening’s events, analyzing every forced smile and rehearsed laugh. He had tried so hard to keep Aunt Lynn from worrying, crafting a performance of normalcy that left him feeling even more isolated.
His thoughts wandered back to his conversation about Dr. Martin. The therapist had been different, somehow—more attuned to the depths of his pain. Yet, the relief he had felt in Dr. Martin’s office was already fading, replaced by the familiar cloak of sadness and anxiety that seemed to suffocate him. Alex’s PTSD was a relentless companion, gnawing at the edges of his mind.
You don’t deserve peace, you don’t deserve to feel whole.
As he drove, the trees lining the road blurred into indistinct shapes. The soothing rhythm of the drive did little to ease the turmoil within him. He had spent the evening putting on a show, pretending to be okay, but now, alone in the truck, the facade crumbled. The act was exhausting, and he longed for the solitude of his new house, where he could strip away the pretense and simply be.
If she knew how fucked up you are, she would never have asked you to move here.
Every interaction with others was a constant effort, a battle to keep his true feelings hidden. He felt like an impostor in his own skin, a stranger to the man he used to be. The burden of his trauma weighed heavily on him, making every moment a struggle. His smile, that practiced, hollow smile, was just another mask he wore to shield those he cared about from his internal torment.
The truck’s headlights pierced through the darkness, illuminating the road ahead. Alex tried to focus on the drive, on the mundane task of getting home, but his mind kept drifting back to the emptiness he felt. Being around people was a constant act, and now, free from the performance, he just wanted to be alone. Alone, he could let his guard down, let the mask fall away. Alone, he could succumb to the quiet despair that had become his unwanted companion.
You should have died that day too.
As he approached his house, Alex felt a sense of relief mingled with a heavy sadness. He pulled into the driveway, turned off the engine, and sat there for a moment, the silence enveloping him. The effort of the evening washed over him like a tidal wave, and he took a deep breath, bracing himself for another lonely night.
You deserve to be alone.
As he made his way inside, the weight of his struggles pressed down on him with each step.
Alex dialed her cell as promised. Hearing her voice on the other end of the line did not bring him any solace as he forced his smile into the conversation. She ended their call the same way she ended every late call with him, “goodnight and sweet dreams.” Alex was grateful for her kindness, but sweet dreams had eluded him for two years.He doubted they would come to him tonight.
Alex stepped out of his truck, his senses immediately tuning in to the cool Oregon night air around him. The ocean tides in the distance served as a soothing yet constant reminder. It reminded him of Brookings’ tranquil beauty, but his soldier instincts were always on high alert. He scanned the environment as he moved.
A flicker of movement to his right caught his eye as he walked toward the house. Instinctively, his body tensed, years of training kicking in. He spun to face whatever it was, only to find... nothing. The shadows were cast by the neighborhood lights. The soldier within—remained alert.
He continued up the path, each step cautious. The comforting glow of the house beckoned him forward. He paused when he reached the front door. He rested his hand on the key as he listened to the gentle stir of the night.
He unlocked the door, stepped inside, and headed straight to the kitchen for water. The kitchen was modern and well-equipped, but he had yet to use it to its full potential. He enjoyed cooking and was good at it, but the effort felt too much these days.
As he sipped his water, he glanced at the small collection of photographs he had taped to the fridge. They were reminders of his life before. He and his military brothers were in one photo. Another photo showed him and his parents at basic training graduation. There was a photo of Aunt Lynn. He posed for the last photo the day he joined the army.
It's your fault they died!
His second therapist told him that by placing pictures of his old life on the refrigerator that each time he looked at them, it would help him to feel more at peace with who he was and who he is now. He did not think it was working.
He moved through the house, turning off lights left on all day by mistake, and made his way to the bedroom.He stopped and paused in front of the mirror atop the dresser, his gaze falling on his reflection. His black hair fell over his forehead, hinting at the need for a trim. Dressed in a crisp white button-down and jeans, his muscular frame dominated the mirror. The shirt strained at the buttons. He took pride in his appearance. He mentally noted to order shirts that fit his growing muscles better. He closed in on the mirror and looked into his eyes. “It’s not your fault.You did the best you could.They know you tried,” he said to his reflection, tears welling up in his eyes.His face appeared more haunting than usual. There were dark circles under his eyes and a sadness that he wished he could hide more.He felt like an impostor posing as the man he once was.
He undressed and looked at himself in the mirror. He worked hard to maintain his muscle. He used to like the attention that it brought him, but now the attention he got for it seemed like a burden.He didn’t want to make small talk with people at the gym about his biceps or his 320-pound bench presses.He wanted to be alone.
He entered the bathroom and completed his nightly hygiene routine. Then he grabbed a soft pair of gray sweats. He walked barefoot to the back deck and listened to the sounds of the waves hitting the beach. The front of the house was well-lit, but the back of the house was quieter and backlit only. It was just accent lights and was peaceful.He had yet to turn on the hot tub on his deck.He couldn’t wait to relieve the soreness in his muscles. Since the move, he had been too occupied with unpacking and settling in to spare any time.
A subtle movement to his left caught his attention. It jolted him out of his tranquil reverie.
He moved cautiously toward the deck railing, eyes scanning the dimly lit surroundings. His heart rate ticked up, a familiar response to potential threats. But as he peered into the darkness, he saw nothing but the interplay of shadows cast by the night. He let out a slow, controlled breath, trying to ease the tension in his muscles.
“Probably just a raccoon or a possum,” he murmured to himself, trying to dismiss the unwarranted alarm. The wildlife around Brookings was harmless. But his instincts often interpreted any movement as a potential danger.
Soon, the rhythmic sound of the waves in the distance worked its magic. It lulled him back to a serene state. He leaned against the railing, his eyes still watchful, but his body relaxed. The tranquility of the night seeped back into his senses. He found himself lost in the moment, his worries and vigilance slowly fading.
Time seemed to stand still, the peaceful ambiance of the night enveloping him. But then, another rustle from the side yard snapped him back to alertness. His gaze shifted toward the sound, a faint frown creasing his brow.
I hope whatever’s out there stays away from the trash cans .
Alex stood there for a few more moments, allowing the calming influence of the ocean to wash over him once more. Gradually, the tension eased from his body again. He reminded himself that he was home, safe, away from the threats of his past.
With a last look into the night, he returned inside. He tried to feel grateful for the peace his new life in Brookings brought. He knew the transition would be difficult, and the lingering effects of his years in service added to the challenge.
He walked back through the door and locked it. Turning off the remaining lights, he walked through the hallway to the bedroom. He had furnished it with a queen bed, a dresser with a mirror, and two nightstands with a lamp. He needed little. He took off his sweats and glanced at the bed.These days, he struggled to fall asleep. Despite his tiredness, he hoped that tonight would bring a change.
Before lying down, he walked over to the window and pulled it open halfway, letting the sea breeze fill the room. It was a slight comfort, a connection to something constant and unchanging.
He climbed into bed, then stared at the ceiling. His mind replayed the day’s events. The sound of waves in the distance lulled him as he drifted off to sleep.
Alex’s world plunged into chaos in the restless depths of the night. The haunting specters of his past came alive in his dreams. He was back in Afghanistan. The unforgiving landscape stretched before him under a harsh sun.
The air was thick with dust and the smell of gunpowder. Captain Harwood led their unit through some rugged terrain. The crumbling houses, boulders of varying sizes, and sparse vegetation offered little cover. Every sense heightened, every sound a potential threat. Alex’s heart pounded in his chest, a relentless drum echoing the rhythm of impending danger.
Then it happened. An explosion shattered the oppressive silence. It was a roar that sent a shockwave through the air. The ground beneath his feet erupted. His right side felt like it was on fire. Thrown backward, he felt his ears ringing and his vision momentarily blur. The gunfire started, and he saw a spatter of blood hit the large rock near where Captain Harwood fell.
He scrambled to his feet, momentarily disoriented. Gunfire rained down from above, and his men were finding cover. They were sitting ducks, ambushed and exposed. His men were returning fire, but it was only a desperate attempt to hold the enemy at bay.
Through the haze of the dust and smoke, Alex saw two of his men behind him taking fire. Patterson and Theo dragged his captain to safety. He lunged forward to their side. Blood was everywhere.The injury to the captain was severe, and Patterson, the unit medic, was working on him.
He began barking orders for Theo to cover Decker and Miles in the back.Several bodies of insurgents started falling from the cliff’s edges above them.He yelled for Decker to radio for help.The battle sounds were so loud he was unsure if Decker heard them.
The pain in his side was incredibly intense, but he ignored it. Blood was seeping out through his uniform, and he felt cold. He knew the other half of his detachment was not far away, but would they be able to make it in time to help them?
Through the haze of dust and smoke, Alex saw Decker get hit, falling to the ground and yelling in pain. The sounds of battle masked his screams, but Alex could see his face and feel his pain. Miles pulled Decker close and continued firing at the enemy. Alex fired his gun at the cliff tops, focusing on the back of his unit. The din of battle drowned out all voices.
The nightmare intensified. Fear and confusion filled the air. Alex watched as Patterson stopped working on Captain Harwood. The unspoken silence between them said it all. Patterson picked up his weapon and started firing at the edges of cliffs above them.
He experienced a sense of helplessness and overwhelming suffocation. Someone hit Miles. His lifeless body now lay beside the rock. Decker was hanging onto him, wounded and still firing back. He was failing them, one by one. He was helpless to watch them. Pain and fear etched their faces. They haunted him. Their eyes asked the unanswerable question: why?
The dream shifted. The scenery became a grotesque montage of blood, dirt, and despair. Faces of his fallen comrades haunted him.
Alex was yelling now, his voice raw with grief and guilt. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” But in this nightmarish world, there was no forgiveness. Only condemnation of his perceived failures.
He continued shouting. He then heard combined sounds of gunfire, scratching wood, barking, and broken glass. His blood-curdling scream startled him back to reality. As suddenly as it began, the nightmare fractured. It disintegrated into a thousand shards of pain and regret .
Alex’s eyes snapped open, his chest heaving, his body drenched in sweat. A scene of terror unfolded before him. A piercing yelp filled the air, echoing with the agony of a large German Shepherd. The dog had shattered through the glass window.
It had black and brown fur covered with blood, and it was sprawled on the floor. Pain wracked its body, and it emitted feeble whimpers. Alex sat up, struggling to orient himself, to separate the nightmare from reality. His heart was racing.His training kicked in. Alex rushed to the injured dog’s side. He grabbed his sweats off the floor. Using the sweats, he pushed away the shards of glass covering the floor leading up to the dog.
There was a large piece of glass protruding from the dog’s side. Another was on his shoulder. His front left paw was bleeding from the cuts.The dog looked dirty and half-starved. The cries of the dog broke Alex’s heart as it lay there and looked up at him with painful eyes, pleading for help.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Alex said as he looked over the injured dog. The dog began wailing in pain, and as Alex touched his muzzle and head, the dog steadied into a whimper. Alex could feel his heart racing as he evaluated the dogs’ injuries. There was a lot of blood on the dog, on the floor, and Alex’s naked body.Tears welled in his eyes as he used the grey sweats he had worn earlier. He wrapped the dog’s paw with them and placed part of it over the gash on its shoulder.
He reached for his phone on the nightstand, and dialed the first person who came to mind. “Hello?” Aunt Lynn answered groggily, “Alex, is everything all right?”
There was a slight pause on the call, and in a panicked voice, Alex said, “Aunt Lynn, there’s a dog. It jumped through the glass into my bedroom; it’s cut up and hurt badly, so much blood. Is there an Emergency Pet Clinic here in Brookings?”
“There is a clinic, but it isn’t twenty-four hours. But I have my vet’s number. Let me call him and see what he can do. Hang tight, honey; I’ll call you right back.” The haunting sounds and feelings of the dream continued to distract Alex. The blood—why was there so much blood?
Alex was still caressing the dog’s head when he stood and walked over to the dresser. He threw on a pair of black running shorts and looked in the open drawer, hesitating momentarily. Then, he grabbed all his t-shirts out of the drawer. He walked over to the dog lying on the floor and sat beside him. “It’s okay, big fella—I won’t let anything happen to you,” Alex remarked, more to himself than to the dog. He began using the shirts as bandages.He placed two shirts around the glass protruding from the dog.The dog winced and whined in pain, but he seemed to trust Alex, sensing his urgency and care.
As Alex continued to wrap the dogs in t-shirts, he couldn’t help but think back to his dream. He could still see Patterson trying to do the same thing to Captain Harwood’s neck with bandages. He knew he had to clear his mind; now was not the time. Alex had always been quick-thinking and laser-focused in emergencies. Since the ambush, he couldn’t focus when needed. This was different, though; this was a helpless creature needing his assistance, and he would not fail this time.
The dog was about a hundred pounds. He was dirty and smelly and looked like he had not eaten. Black and brown fur was covered in blood all over his body. His tail was long and still. His eyes never seemed to leave Alex, no matter where he was in the room. The t-shirts covered the animal. He tied them to apply pressure without causing further injury. He learned this method from watching medics on the battlefield.He knelt down by the dog’s face, and the whimpering continued.
The phone rang in his pocket. Blood-covered hands reached into his shorts, pulled out the phone, and answered it. Aunt Lynn’s concern filled her voice. “Alex, I spoke with my vet, Dr. Williams.The clinic is closed, but I gave him your address, and he is heading over to you.I told him what happened, and he said not to move the dog if you can help it.”
Relieved by the news, Alex responded, “I’m with him on the bedroom floor right now. I have him bandaged and stopped a lot of the bleeding. How long will it take for the vet to get here?”
“Hopefully only ten minutes. Do you want me to come over as well?” Aunt Lynn offered.
“No, I don’t want you out driving this time of night.I’ll be all right until he arrives.Once I know more, I’ll let you know.Thank you for calling him. I’ll wait next to the pup and try to keep him comfortable,” he said as he stroked the dog’s forehead .
“Okay, Alex, I’m wide awake now, so I’ll wait to hear from you.Let me know when Dr. Williams arrives and what he does for the dog. I love you, honey.”
“I love you, Aunt Lynn. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.” He hung up the phone and stuck it back in his shorts pocket.
Alex looked down at the injured dog as he hung up the phone. He felt a deep sense of empathy and connection. This creature was in pain, much like himself, seeking solace and healing. And in that moment, their fates had collided.