88. Jackson
Jackson
The deadline was hours past, and the only sound in the house was the relentless drumming of rain against the windows.
I hadn’t moved from the couch in the living room, staring out at the blurred street lights through the heavy Seattle fog.
Every minute that ticked by was a second of Ryan’s life being reclaimed by the military, by the dust, and by the ghost of vengeance he was chasing for Brody.
The official separation papers lay on the kitchen counter, unsigned.
He had left with the intention of making his final choice, of signing one of the forms, re-enlistment or discharge, at the base before the midnight deadline.
The air in the house was thick with my own silent terror.
I was afraid of losing the man I loved, not to distance, but to a fundamental shift in his soul.
If he went back, he would completely lose the gentle, quiet man who drew ducks on every letter, the one who found peace by the ocean.
He would become the Special Forces soldier who battles alone, encased in an armor too heavy to ever take off again. He would become the noise.
I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to silence the frantic fear in my head.
The tears came with vengeance since Ryan walked out the door; it felt like he had taken my heart with him.
I pictured him walking back into the barracks, putting the heavy gear back on, the man I loved disappearing forever behind the call sign ‘Splash’.
The suspense was unbearable. I jumped at the sudden snap of a tree branch outside, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm in my chest, every nerve straining for the sound of an engine, a footstep, anything that would tell me my life hadn’t just ended.
Then, there it was. The faint, unmistakable sound of a key turning in the front door lock.
The metallic click was deafening in the silence.
I froze, every muscle tight, not daring to breathe, waiting for the final verdict.
The door eased open, letting in a draft of cold, wet air and the dark silhouette of the man I had been waiting for.