Chapter 16Stiles
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
STILES
The heat of the blast singes my eyebrows and eyelashes. It burns the skin from my face in spots and whites out my vision. The force of it knocks me on my ass, and I hit the dirt hard. The sound of the boom renders me temporarily deaf.
It’s lights out.
When I open my eyes again, I expect to see the dusty landscape, the lifeless bodies scattered and obliterated by the land mine. When I touch my face, it’s going to burn in the spots where my skin is raw.
But my eyes open and everything is dark. My skin doesn’t burn, my head doesn’t throb, and there’s no ringing in my ears. I touch my face, but I can still feel my course bushy brows beneath my calloused fingertips.
This isn’t that day. This isn’t the day my ass got blasted into oblivion and I lost my short-term memories along with part of my unit.
It’s just a dream. Another night spent reliving the hell of my past. The only memory I can’t forget, but I would give anything not to remember.
It takes a moment for me to reorient myself. I’m in McCormick’s bed. No, our bed. I reach out for him, but all I feel are cold, empty sheets in the space where his body should be.
A loud clash in the kitchen makes me jump, and I cover my head. My mind is still in fight or flight mode from the dream. But I shake it off because it’s just me and Mac here, and if he’s not beside me, it’s him in the kitchen making all that noise.
Something’s not right. Now that my head is clear, I can feel it in my gut.
Another loud clash, followed by the bang of what I assume are cabinet doors. Fuck. Mac’s in trouble. It seems I’m not the only one stuck in the past tonight.
Throwing on a pair of sweats, I rush out to the kitchen but stop short when I see him. The place is fucking wrecked. Pots and pans litter the floor. Forks and knives are scattered like land mines, waiting to be stepped on. Dozens of brightly colored sticky notes that were stuck to the fridge to remind me of my life are now sprinkled like confetti over the scuffed linoleum floor.
Mac is on a bender, rooting through cabinets and slamming doors, tearing open drawers and making the biggest mess. He’s dressed in nothing but his underwear, and his arms are covered in angry red scratches and cuts.
He turns to me, but he doesn’t see me. Mac looks right through me, which feels eerie as fuck. The hair on the back of my neck stands at attention. His bright blue eyes look wild and unfocused and his breath is ragged, like he was running on the treadmill.
McCormick looks feral.
“Mac, wake up.” I wave my arms in front of his face, approaching slowly, cautiously, but he doesn’t see me. Or he thinks I’m someone else. “Mac, it’s me, Stiles. Wake up.”
We’ve danced to this tune many nights, but usually, I’m not here when he goes full tilt. I’m at home in my own bed, and he doesn’t call me until afterward when he’s lucid enough to realize he took a trip back to the past and needs help staying grounded in the present.
He looks haunted, and it’s terrifying and heartbreaking to see someone I love so lost, to feel like they’re so far away that I can’t reach them.
“Danny,” he screams, lunging for me. “Don’t do it!” McCormick wraps his thick arms around my neck, like a vice, choking the air from my lungs. Pressure and heat suffuse my face and my head aches as I fight for breath. “Don’t leave me,” Mac wails. “Give me the gun.” He’s scratching at me, trying to frisk me for a weapon I don’t have, but at least he lets up off my neck so I can breathe. “Give me the gun,” he cries brokenly, and the sound breaks my heart.
I can’t reach him, but he knows what’s coming. Any second, he’s going to relive his buddy’s death, and I’m powerless to stop it.
If I say, or do the wrong thing, it could trigger him negatively and make everything worse. I wish I were Brewer. I wish I knew what to do in this scenario to help him.
“No,” he screams and drops my body, crawling across the hazardous floor, blind to the pain of the forks and knives digging into his knee. He tries to fit himself into the cabinet under the sink, but his body is just too big, his shoulders too wide. My ass collapses to the floor, my back against the fridge, and I watch helplessly as he cuts his shoulders to shit trying to wedge himself into the damn cabinet.
My phone! I rush to the bedroom and grab it from my nightstand, pulling up the group thread.
Code Black. 911.
The text goes out to all the Bitches. Anyone who hears it will respond immediately.
Seconds later, West replies.
We’re on our way.
Followed by Riggs.
We’re ten minutes out.
Nash responds with,
Incoming ASAP.
One by one, they all check in. Jax, Mandy, even Pharo.
Tears burn my eyes as I return to the kitchen. What would I do without my brothers? There’s no greater feeling of relief and comfort than knowing they're just a phone call away and there’s always someone listening on the other end of the line. That on your worst day, you’re never alone. That's what it means to be a Bitch.
McCormick has given up on trying to fit inside of the cabinet. He’s hunkered down in front of it, with his knees drawn to his chest, his arms wrapped around them, and he’s rocking himself back-and-forth. I can’t make out the words he’s muttering. Probably talking to his buddy Danny.
I wish I could save him from himself. Save him from his memories and his trauma. He thinks we live a charmed life because our injuries aren’t life-threatening and afford us an easier life. He’s said so many times, but there’s nothing charmed about watching your best friend suffer. His pain is tearing me apart.
All I can do is wait and watch until the cavalry arrives.
He whips his bald head in my direction. His eyes are no longer vacant, just sad. Sad and tired.
“Stiles? That you?”
“Yeah, Mac, it’s me. You okay?”
“I will be.”
Quickly, I unlock the door and leave it open a crack before rushing back to his side. I slide down the fridge again. “Come here, babe. Come sit with me.”
He scoots toward me and I pull him between my legs, with his back against my chest. He loves when I drag my fingers through his hair, but now that it’s gone, I rub his prickly scalp lightly with my fingertips.
“I’m glad you’re here.” His gruff voice sounds broken, like he swallowed glass, and he clears his throat.
“Me too. You thought I was Danny.” I’m not gonna tell him he had his arms around my neck, choking me out. He would never forgive himself for trying to hurt me. I don’t even think he was trying to, I think he was trying to prevent Danny from hurting himself. The last thing I’m going to do is put that on his conscience.
“You know, thinking back to that day, I heard him do it. I wasn’t with him when it happened, but I heard it. I was in my hospital bed and he was down the hall in the bathroom. When my sergeant came in and told me what happened, I was shocked and devastated, but when I thought back on it, I remember hearing the echo of the gunshot. I assumed somebody had dropped something in the hallway, but it was him. I heard the bullet.”
My tears fall harder and my stomach churns sickeningly. That kind of pain can never be healed. You can’t ever forget the sound of the bullet, taking your best friend’s life, just steps away from your room. But you can’t reach him. You can’t save him. You can’t turn back time and erase the consequences of his actions.
“I keep seeing his bloody face in my mind, even though I never actually saw it. And I keep seeing that little boy’s head roll at my feet. His bright, white teeth and dark eyes staring up at me. Staring right through me. Judging me because I didn’t save him.”
“He’s not,” I insist, but the words come out unintelligible. I clear my throat and try again. “He’s not judging you.”
“Begging me, then.”
“Mac, you can’t change his fate. He was destined to live a short life. Don’t even ask me to get into the why’s, because if there are any, I don’t fucking know what they are. That’s not my job. That belongs to God. All I know is that it changed you and made you into the man you were meant to be. That trauma brought you to BALLS. That's where we met and my life is better for knowing you. You’ve touched so many lives and changed them for the better. That day set you on the path to the rest of your life. It’s not an easy path, but no one ever promised you it would be.”
“You’re right. You’re always right.” He breathes out a deep sigh and his body relaxes into mine. His familiar scent tickles my nose. I don’t have all the answers. I don’t have any fucking answers. But with him in my arms—his scent, his warmth, his solid weight—everything just makes sense.
All of a sudden, we’re not alone, and the mask of serenity is cracked with the arrival of West and Brandt, Brewer and Nash, quickly followed by Mandy, Rhett, and Riggs. I know Jax and Pharo are out in the hall because I can hear them arguing.
They slip through the door quietly, taking in the war zone that is our kitchen. I give a thumbs up that Mac doesn’t see to let them know he’s back with us in the present, and that he’s alright.
“I love what you’ve done with the place,” West teases, taking a seat beside me on the floor.
Riggs crouches down in front of Mac. “Hey buddy, I just wanna check you out. I’m glad you’re okay.” Mac nods before Riggs shines a pen light in his eyes. “Looks good,” he confirms after finishing his assessment.
Rhett snorts. “Bet no one’s told you that in a long time.”
McCormick actually chuckles at that. Which lightens the tension and everyone has a good laugh.
Nash sits to my right and reaches out for Mac’s hand. If anyone knows what he’s feeling, it’s Nash. He suffers horribly from nightmares and flashbacks. So does West, who rubs Mac’s shoulder soothingly. One by one, the rest of the guys complete the circle around us, enclosing Mac in love, friendship, safety, and acceptance. His tears start slowly, silently, but I feel the tremors throughout his body as he shakes against my chest. I think he’s feeling relieved, and letting go of the fear and adrenaline he was holding onto. Cathartic tears.
I’ve said it before… This circle, these men, are healers. They may not look like it, but they can reach inside of you, and find the very thing that hurts the most, and beat it into submission. They can hold your hand while you cry about it. And they can help you dry your tears and remind you that you’re loved.
Nobody asks Mac what happened. They already know.
No one asks him to talk about it. It’s irrelevant.
Not one person tries to placate him with sympathy and empty words.
Instead, they give him what he actually needs. Validation.
West clears his throat. “Two days ago, I couldn’t get out of bed. I woke up sometime in the early morning from a nightmare. It was the day of the bomb, and I was reliving every horrifying moment, but it was different. It was like I was the one who died. Like my body was hovering above them, and I was watching the entire scene, knowing what was about to happen, but helpless to stop it. I couldn’t save them. I never can. No matter how many times I dream it, not in any scenario, do I ever get to save them. I pulled the covers over my head and stayed like that all day. Brandt actually fed me under the covers. I didn’t even care that I was lying in grilled cheese sandwich crumbs for hours. Finally, he put that stupid fucking movie on in the living room at max volume, Top Gun , which he knew would get me out of bed just so I could find the remote and shut it off.”
“Worked like a charm,” Brandt laughs.
McCormick chuffs and I can’t see his face, but I know he’s smiling.
“Last week, I dreamt of the blast,” Mandy murmurs, his voice almost a whisper.
He’s never told his story to us, and everyone is listening as hard as I am, hoping to uncover bits and pieces of his past, so that it begins to make sense.
“In my dreams, it always pauses right before the moment of explosion, and I play it all back again and again, on a loop that never ends. I wake up with that same tension from that moment coiled in my belly, and it never fails to make me sick. I ran to the bathroom to throw up. Then I went to the gym and burned it off and hit the group but I didn’t share about it. I never do. I guess I just want to focus on the good stuff, the healing stuff that comes afterward. Not the stuff that I can’t change.”
Nash nods and reaches for Mandy’s hand. “That’s the same reason I don’t go to Brewer’s addiction recovery group. Rather than dwelling on past mistakes, I prefer to concentrate on improving my future. To tell you the truth, I was in the middle of a bad nightmare when Brewer woke me up after he got your text. I was down in the tunnels with G, and all I could hear were those fucking rats and those fucking dogs.”
Cold fear snakes up my spine just hearing him relive pieces of his captivity. He’s never told us the entire story, and I’m not sure that I even want to hear it. That’s the kind of story you can’t ever forget once you learn it, and I know for a fact I don’t want that tainting my head. I have enough ugliness in there already.
“The therapy I did with Brewer to overcome my flashbacks helps, makes them less frequent, but the nightmares… They’re always there, always waiting for me to close my eyes. It helps, knowing I’m not alone, and that my closest friends have lived through some terrible shit, and that I’m not the only one with nightmares. I only hope that my terrible shit can help you with yours in the same way.”
“It does,” Rhett murmurs.
Jax and Pharo keep silent, on opposite sides of the kitchen. Neither shares, they never do. Someday, those motherfuckers are going to crack wide open and sing like canaries.
“I have the same nightmares as West,” Brandt admits, “but I shake it off and keep it to myself because I don’t want to trigger him.”
“You motherfucker,” West spits. “I figured that was the case. You and I are gonna talk when we get home.”
“I don’t keep it to myself completely. I talk to Brewer about it, and it helps.”
Brewer nods, confirming Brandt’s story.
Rhett shakes his head and closes his eyes. “I relive that shit all the time. Sometimes in my sleep, sometimes while I’m awake. The moment my body hit the ground and I heard my bones break before I felt the pain of it.” He does a full-body shiver, like he’s remembering again. “When I’m asleep…” He swallows hard and opens his eyes. “That’s when I remember Brian‘s bloody body free falling to the ground on top of mine.”
Riggs pulls him into his side. “I think about that day all the time. Your bloody, broken body, all of the bones in your leg poking through your torn skin, the pain you were feeling. You were so brave, hurting so badly, yelling at me to save Brian instead of you, and I couldn’t. I wanted to, for you, but I couldn’t.” His head hits the cabinet behind him, and he stares up at the ceiling, seeing the present while stuck in the past as tears roll down his cheeks. “Sometimes when I watch you sleep, I can’t help but see the blood on you. I know it’s just in my head, but I feel like I’m jinxing you, like bad shit is gonna happen if I don’t stop thinking it. I know that’s ridiculous. It doesn’t work that way, but tell that to my head.”
Rhett presses a kiss to Rigg’s throat. “I’m alive because of you. You’re the one that keeps me safe, that fights for me. No bad can ever come to me because of something you did or thought. I love you.”
“I love you too, soldier.”
Fucking tears. I swipe them away and reach around to swipe Mac’s away because I know they’re falling just like mine. He laughs and tries to bite my thumb playfully. I want to kiss him so badly, to press my lips against his warm skin, and reassure him that I’m here. Ride or die. But I’ll wait until we’re alone. When it’s safe.
It’s like he knows what I’m feeling because he grabs my hands and wraps them around his chest, making me hug him.
“Come on,” Brandt says, pushing to his feet. “Let’s get this place cleaned up. Then we’ll head over to Denny’s. I’m starving and if I’m awake this early, I want pancakes.”
“I want crêpes,” Rhett seconds.
“Waffles,” Nash adds.
“Fuck this mess. Let’s just move back to my place,” I tell McCormick.
He laughs, and I know he agrees. He’s as lazy as I am.
By the time we clean up, finish breakfast, and are back home in our bed together, the sun is bright outside of our window. Mac draped a quilt over it to hide the light. He’s curled up in my arms, my lips pressed against his warm skin, peppering kisses over his shoulders. “I wanted to do this in the kitchen.”
“We need to tell them, eventually. We can’t hide forever.”
That thought makes my balls kind of shrivel up. “You ready for that?”
“I don’t know if I’m ever gonna be ready for that. We just need to rip the bandage off and do it.”
“You’re right. Let’s do it. Next month.” Predictably, he laughs. McCormick turns in my arms so that he’s facing me. And what he says next shocks the shit out of me.
“We should look for a bigger place. If we pool our money, we could get a nice place with some land, like Rhett and Riggs have or like West and Brandt’s place.”
The urge to grin like a fool is strong. He’s not asking me to move back to my own apartment. He's proposing we buy a place together . Not someplace that’s his or mine, but ours . “What am I gonna do with land?”
“I don’t know, look at it?”
“That’s it? Look at it?”
McCormick shrugs. “Impress people when they come over?”
“Who the fuck comes over besides you?”
He grins, and I’m dying to kiss it right off his lips.
“Then, you can impress me. I want land.”
“Fine, we’ll start looking today. You can have all the land my broke ass can afford so you can impress the people that don’t come over.”
“Maybe they would, if we have land. A nice deck with a barbecue grill and one of those sexy hot tubs.”
“They’re sexy?”
“They can be,” he laughs, arching his brows.
“In that case, I hope nobody comes over.”
“One hundred percent.”