CHAPTER 16
Dancing around attraction is an art few people have the skills for.
Damaged goods. “Additional drama,” as she saw it. Knowing it and having it confirmed is like running full out and getting clotheslined.
That shit fucking hurt.
Sitting on the window nook on the east side of the studio, I lean towards the open window and exhale. The joint between my fingers burns slowly, the smoke curling up and dancing in front of me as if trying to comfort me in my hour of need.
I’m a few pills away from being just like her brother. Or at least Lily’s reaction said as much. I’m too much for her to take on. I get that. Some days it’s too fucking much for me to take on.
So do I blame her?
No.
Does it suck?
Yep.
Fuck me up a bit?
Hell yeah, there’s that too.
Am I going to hold it against her?
Fuck no.
I get it.
She doesn’t need another addict in her life, another broken man to fix, and I’ve got no right to add to her burdens. I’ve carried my own weight, and it’s what I’ll continue to do.
The joint’s end flares brighter as I take another deep drag, holding the smoke in my lungs until it burns.
Not healthy. Not smart. But better than taking pills, which has been more fucking tempting as the minutes tick by.
I cough as the exhale bursts from me. The high kicks into another gear a few minutes later, and I sit in silence, watching the smoke drift and swirl, taking my deep thoughts and scattering them into meaningless, hazy wisps.
The first few years after Iraq were hell.
I’ve done my best to put my deeds behind me.
But my inability to manage the pain after the incident that ended my career with the Army isn’t pretty.
The initial torture of months in the hospital, followed by months of rehabilitation.
I’m not too proud to admit, I ate up the meds when they were offered.
They were hand-fed to me at first, passed out like treats to a toddler, but then, prescription after prescription, and pill by pill, that shit was on me.
They were the only mercy available to me in a world of agony.
I had trust then. In doctors, in the promise of a fix.
I didn’t know then what I know now—that prescription pain management is best left in check because it’s a slippery slope to addiction. Some medical professionals are all too happy to push as much of that shit into your hands as you ask for, sometimes beyond what you ask for.
That kind of pain… chronic, absolute, debilitating—the endlessness of it calls darkness and death to the mind like nothing else. Any small measure of relief seems so out of reach. There’s no timeline to it, no speck of hope on the horizon, and no way to make it stop.
This is why pain, opioids, and depression go hand and hand. Peace is the goal; death is then dressed up to look like the greatest gift. And sometimes, it still does. Some days, ending it all seems like the only answer. The only measure of relief that is within my control.
Everything in life bows to the pain. Even man.
I close my eyes, the cool night air seeping through the window, grounding me just enough to keep me from spiraling. My mind drifts back to the past and the last time I felt this low.
I’m roused from the couch by a banging on my door. It’s loud enough to shatter my skull. I’m ready to tear someone apart, because noises like this are like fucking bolts of lightning spearing into my brain.
When I rip open the door, I find Larsen and Bodie. Kyle Larsen is the only other surviving member of our team. He’s standing there in a blue T-shirt and black shorts. My gaze immediately drops to his prosthetic leg.
He shrugs. “It may not win me a modeling contest, but it works, and that’s all I need.”
The words burst out of me, because fuck he’s a welcome sight. “Holy shit, man, it’s been a minute. It’s good to see you.”
Before I know it, we’re hugging, slapping each other on the back, like no time has passed.
“Two legs and all,” Larsen laughs.
“Does your dick count as the other half, or are we counting the prosthetic?” Bodie, holding the screen door open, walks in behind Larsen.
He’s attempting to flash that grin of his, but his eyes tell a different story altogether.
They hold a quiet worry beneath the surface, as if he wasn’t sure I’d be open to their visit.
I mean, for a moment there, it crossed my mind, but seeing them together… it takes me back. Makes me see how far we’ve come. Makes me see Bodie as Rivers again, the guy who pulled me through so much shit, who never gave up on me, even when I gave up on myself.
Larsen looks good. Healthy. The last time I saw him, he’d been just as much of a mess as me, fighting through physical therapy and hating life. But now? He’s that same golden, cheerful force that had been the gravity of our team.
We’d spent the entire night drinking beers and telling old stories.
The memories had us either cracking up or choking up.
When they left, I hugged Larsen and promised to call more often.
Then Bodie stepped toward me, and I gave him a man-hug, too.
It lasted longer than it needed to, and in those few seconds, I realized something.
I realized what I’d put him through during those past few months. When we pulled back, I really fucking looked at him, and I knew—if he didn’t have me, who would he have?
No one.
His family life was shit. His wife—fuck, I hate calling women bitches, but she was.
She beat him down with words, twisted his insecurities into chains.
His kids loved him fiercely, and that’s why he stayed.
But being married to Blaire was killing him.
Slowly, piece by piece, it turned the man with the heart of pure gold into something dull, extinguishing the flame that made him shine.
I stub out the joint, watching the last smoke curl and fade into the air.
The ache in my head hasn’t gone, but it’s duller.
Dark thoughts swirl, telling me that no one but him would miss me.
That he’d get over losing me eventually.
That I’m a burden. They also whisper the promise of oblivion if I just let go and give in to temptation.
I pull my phone from the bedside table. My thumb hovers over Bodie’s contact.
The seconds feel like hours as I battle the need riding me.
In the end, I search for Larsen’s number.
I’m not sure why, but maybe because he’s also been through hell and back—lost a leg, finished rehab, downed the pills, and came out the other side still shining.
I press the call button, unsure what to say, but knowing I’m losing the war inside my mind again.
Maybe I won’t say anything. Maybe just hearing his voice will be enough.
The phone rings once, twice, and then his voice comes through, groggy but familiar. “Finn?”
I swallow hard, my throat tight. For a second, I consider hanging up.
I don’t. I can’t.
“Yeah. It’s me.”
There’s a pause on the other end, and I hear him shuffle, probably sitting up in bed. “You good?”
I close my eyes, the weight in my chest easing for a brief moment, only for it to come crashing back down, heavier.
“No, man,” I rasp, my throat tight with the truth I’ve been trying to ignore.
“I’m not good. I’m losing the battle here, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep fighting through this. ”
Silence stretches between us, and for a second, I wonder if he can hear the crack in my voice—the sound of a man standing at the edge, staring into the abyss.
“Every day’s a fucking war,” I say. “The pain, the need for the pills, all of it. I’m fucking losing my mind here.”
I hear Larsen breathe out on the other end, the sound heavy, like he’s been here before and gets it. “You’re the strongest and smartest man I know. Doesn’t mean you need to fight this alone, though. You hear me?”
“Yeah, man. But fuck, it’s hard.”
“I know it is. I know, man.”
I swallow hard, my hand trembling as I rub my face. “Tell me how you made it out. How you kept going and came out the other side.”
The words hang there, raw and jagged, like a confession of how far I’ve fallen from the man he used to know.
“You just… keep waking up, keep getting up, and find the shit that lights you up. Gotta take a step forward and another until it’s not so hard anymore. Let the shadows go. That’s part of it too.”
I’m silent as his words roll around in my head.
Larsen’s voice comes back, low and steady, like he’s holding on for both of us. “I’m coming over. Don’t do anything stupid, Finn. Just hold on a little longer. I’ll be there. I’ll call in Rivers. We’ll both be there for you. It’s why we made it out together.”
“He’s gonna be all butthurt that I rang you instead of him.”
“Nah, man. He’s just gonna want to be there for you. All he wants is to see you through this and make sure you don’t leave him behind. Whatever we need to do to make that happen, that’s all we care about. You’d do the same for him, wouldn’t you?”
“Course.”
“Just hold on, man. We’re on our way.”