87. Ryan
Ryan
The two worlds were tearing me in half. The soldier in me screamed for the fight, for the closure I could only get by returning to the desert where I lost my best friend.
But the man Jackson loves, the one who drew ducks, just wanted to stay curled in the curve of his body, listening to the slow, steady beat of his heart.
I didn’t know if I was strong enough to choose life, or if I was too much of a coward to abandon the only family I had left.
Leaving Jackson felt like the ultimate act of self-destruction, but staying felt like a betrayal of Brody’s memory.
I was completely confused. Did I go back and finish the fight that got Brody killed, or did I stay in the safety of Jackson?
The official separation papers lay on the counter between us.
They weren’t just bureaucracy; they were two distinct futures, both demanding I sign on the line.
One signature meant reenlistment, the return to the life that killed Brody, and the pursuit of vengeance.
The other meant discharge, a final, irreversible choice to walk away and embrace the quiet pond.
The deadline was so close. What the fuck am I going to do?
“I have to go back to base,” I said, the words hanging heavy in the small, quiet kitchen.
“Tonight. I need to sign the paperwork.” The decision tore at me.
The quiet, gentle life with Jackson was everything I’d ever wanted, the promise Brody had talked about.
But the anger was still there, a hot coal in my gut demanding vengeance for my friend.
“I keep thinking about the unit,” I confessed.
“They need me. Brody needs me to finish it.” Jackson tightened his embrace.
“Brody wanted you home, Ry. He wanted you to have the cabin, the quiet, the family. That’s the real mission, not revenge.
” He pulled back, tears rolling down his face, his eyes holding mine.
“I’m not asking you to choose me over your life, but over your pain.
Your life is here now.” He was right. I nodded, feeling the gravity of the choice.
The fight was inside me now, not overseas.
I needed to walk away from his safety for one last, terrifying moment to choose.
I gently pulled away from Jackson’s arms, took one final look at the unsigned re-enlistment papers sitting next to the absurd plush dinosaur on the counter, and walked out the door.
The mission was no longer the desert; the mission was finding the courage to stay.