Chapter 2
AIDEN
The scent of BBQ ribs and slow-smoked pork hangs in the air and mingles with the smoke from the bonfire. Beer bottles clink together, the fire crackles, and male voices rise and fall, sometimes breaking into laughter.
These are the sights and sounds of Thursday nights in the back paddock of Jake’s Retreat.
A dozen guys stand or sit in plastic chairs around the fire pit, drinking beer or soda for those off the booze for reasons I don’t ask.
Dean mans the barbecue tonight. He holds a beer in one hand and metal tongs in the other. As I approach, he turns a stack of ribs, causing the juices to drip onto the grill and sizzle, making my mouth water.
“Damn, they smell good.”
Dean glances up and nods at me. “Hey, Aiden. Grab us a plate for these.”
I grab an aluminum tray from the trestle table, and Dean transfers the rack of ribs onto it. Before I set the tray onto the table, I snag one, enjoying the tender meat as juice trickles down my chin and into my stubble.
“These are good,” I tell him.
“There’s plenty more.” Dean reaches into the cooler behind him and grabs a package of hot dogs, and tears open the packet. The table already holds plenty of pulled pork from the smoker, ribs, and burgers. Not a salad in sight, which is what happens when men organize a barbecue.
There’s always plenty of food on bonfire night. Every Thursday, veterans from around Hope gather here. Some are staying at the retreat, and others come in from down the mountain for good food and company.
Dean slides the hot dogs onto the grill and tosses the empty packet into the garbage bag tied to the end of the barbecue. He rolls his shoulder twice and winces.
“You get injured in training?”
Dean smirks. “I’m always injured. Comes with the job.”
Which is what happens when you’re an ex-military close-quarters combat trainer and in charge of the training gym at Jake’s Retreat.
Joel strides over with Brooke, his new woman, by his side. She slides a bowl onto the table and takes the lid off to reveal a green salad, a splash of color among the plates of meat.
“I knew you boys would forget the salad.” She’s smiling as she shakes her head.
Joel grins at her and snags her hand. “Made from our own garden,” he says. “Eat your greens, boys.”
His face turns serious, and I’m not sure if it’s an order from the ex-Navy SEAL commander, but Joel is also my boss and the man who set up Jake’s Retreat to help veterans in any way they need it.
I’ve got massive respect for the man, and if he wants me to eat his wife’s salad, I’ll take a double helping.
I pile a heap of Brooke’s salad onto my plate alongside a helping of pulled pork and a couple more ribs.
With a full plate, I snag some bamboo cutlery and take a seat by the bonfire.
A dozen guys mill about, most of whom I recognize. I spent three weeks here last fall and never left. Joel offered me a job in security, and I rented a small cabin in the mountains.
I’m still figuring out what I want to do with my life now that my military career is over, and while I figure it out, this is a good place to be. The ribs are juicy, the fire is warm, and the company is decent.
“You want a whiskey?” On my right, Axel nods toward the bottle down by his camping chair. He’s not waving the bottle around because heavy liquor isn’t great for some of the veterans here, but we’ve gotten to know each other well enough over the past few months that he knows I can handle it.
The bottle has a black label on it with fancy writing. I don’t know much about Scottish whiskey, but it looks expensive.
“I’ll stick to beer.”
“Probably wise.”
Axel pours a finger into a glass and holds it up, and I tap my beer to it. The firelight catches the amber liquid as he touches it to his lips.
Axel owns the holiday resort up in the mountains. I don’t see him around the center much, but he never misses bonfire night. You wouldn’t know he was a veteran; he’s been out for more years than the rest of us, but his sponsorship helped build the place.
He brings his own luxury camping chair to bonfire night. Dean sat in it once, and all it took was Axel standing silently and staring at him for Dean to get the message and get out of the chair.
No one has sat in it since.
The squeal of a child has me looking up as Ryan rolls in on his wheelchair, his wife Paige by his side and their boy Noah riding on his lap, facing forward with his hands in the air as if he’s riding in on a Roman chariot. The boy giggles as Ryan spins around on his wheels.
Something I can’t describe tugs at my heart. But before I can examine it too closely, Sam plonks into the chair next to mine.
“How’s civvy life treating you?”
He’s got a beer in one hand and a hot dog covered in ketchup and mustard sticking out of a cheap white bun in the other.
He takes a big bite, and his face turns up in an expression of delight. “Mmm, these are delicious.”
He’s genuine, too. I’ve never met a man who’s so damn positive about everything. He gets pleasure out of the small things in life, like a cheap, home-cooked hot dog.
“Civvy life is good.”
Which is the truth. I have a job and a roof over my head, which is more than I had this time last year.
After I left the military, I drifted, unsure of what to do with myself, taking contract work and moving from town to town.
Until I heard about Jake’s Retreat. I’m more settled here than I’ve been since my honorable discharge, yet something feels like it’s missing.
“You ever feel like you’re suspended in time?” I ask Sam. “Like you’re waiting for something to start, but you don’t know what it is?”
He finishes his mouthful and grins. “Sure. I still feel like I’m waiting for the next mission. Killing time and waiting for the next orders to drop. I’m not sure I’ll ever stop waiting for that.”
“Yeah, maybe that’s it.”
My gaze strays to Ryan and his family. He’s out of his chair and over at the barbecue. He passes a plate of ribs to his wife and hands a hot dog to his son.
The dude moves well on his prosthetic, but he’s got the right idea, bringing his own chair to bonfire night.
Sam’s gaze follows mine, and he grins. “That boy’s cute for a rugrat.”
The little guy opens his mouth extra wide and shoves half the hot dog in. His little face lights up as he chews.
But it’s not the kid that makes my heart pang. Ryan slides an arm around his wife, and she leans into him. He says something to her that makes her throw her head back and laugh.
It must be nice to have someone to share with like that. These guys are great and all, but to have a woman who laughs at your jokes and keeps you warm at night … that would be heaven.
“I need another beer.” I stand up and head over to the barbecue table.
As I move through the guys, I see Roman. He’s outside the circle of light thrown by the barbecue, standing in the shadows, nursing a mug. I’ve never seen the man drink, and I hope it’s not whiskey he’s got in there. From what I hear, he’s on a ton of meds just to keep his mind straight.
Roman must sense my eyes on him because his gaze jerks to mine, his eyes eerily intense with the reflection of the bonfire burning in them.
I give him a friendly nod, but he just stares at me. Finally, he gives a slight nod of the head before sinking deeper into the shadows.
At least he’s here, where people understand, and he can lurk and keep to himself, and no one will pressure him to talk if he doesn’t want to. Every veteran I’ve ever met carries scars; some wear them openly, and others hide them inside.
I’m lucky I got out with my sanity and my body mostly intact.
I grab a low-alcohol beer from the cooler, and when I stand up, I notice an orange glow from across the field.
Jake’s Retreat borders the Reilly property. There’s an old homestead there that’s been vacant since before I arrived in Hope. The property is overgrown and, as far as I know, abandoned.
I leave my beer and jog to the fence line to take a closer look. Smoke rises from a part of the yard above what must be a fire, and there’s the dark shadow of a car parked in the driveway.
Joel comes up beside me. “What do you think?”
Someone’s having their own bonfire. Probably local kids.
“I’ll go check it out.”