Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
ECHO
H e’s injured. That’s all I know. The severity is unknown. I pace back and forth, waiting for the plane to arrive. I need to see him, touch him…know he’s okay. The uncertainty of it all holds my heart and mind in a vice grip. People start filing out through the secured exit. It has an automatic command that says, ‘Don’t Stop’ to keep people from pausing or turning around mid-exit, and I fight the urge to belt out ‘Get it, get it’ every time someone walks through.
Fewer and fewer people funnel through and worry seeps in that I had the arrival information incorrect. I take a few steps closer to the glass wall that separates us from the rest of the airport, wanting to see farther down the gate area. A man in camouflage walking with a cane and a slight limp and his left arm in a sling slowly fills my vision. My heart races, leaping for joy as I see Brian in the flesh. A singe of pain squeezes it at seeing him injured. I want to run through the exit and help him as he struggles to keep his bag tossed over his shoulder and slightly trips in the process.
Why isn’t anyone helping him?
Now I see why he’s the last to make his way out. He doesn’t want anyone to see him struggle. He walks through the exit with his head hanging low, and my heart hurts at the idea of him not even wanting me to see him in this condition. I run the few steps and cautiously throw my arms around his neck. He winces, but I don’t retreat. Instead, I hold a bit tighter until I feel his body relax and his head falls into the crook of my neck.
“I’m so glad you’re home,” I whisper.
“Yeah, me too.” He lets out a shaky breath against my skin, causing a ripple of goose bumps to form. Keeping one arm around his neck, I use the other to gently rub along his back. His body lightly trembles and I’m unsure if it’s from the weight he’s having to bear on his cane, or the weight of what he’s been through causing it.
I pull back and cup his face in my hands, lifting it from its downcast retreat. “Hey,” I lightly say, getting him to make eye contact with me. “Let’s get you home.”
He nods, mouthing ‘home’ like he never expected to see it again. That realization slams into my chest so hard my knees almost buckle. But I manage to keep my wits intact for the sake of this man standing in front of me. This once strong, no fear man of mine who seems like a frail shell of who he once was. I might have been unsure of what direction my life should go a few months ago, but here in this moment, I know I’m right where I need to be; taking care of the man who made it his mission to take care of me thirteen years ago—what seems like a lifetime ago. Perhaps this is my sign to leave that life where I left it.
“Do you want me to carry that for you?” I touch the strap that’s over his shoulder.
“I got it.” He grips the strap tighter as if it’s going to keep it in place. I want to take his cane and have him use me as his crutch instead, but I have a feeling he won’t accept the offer.
“Okay. Is this it or do you have more?”
“Of course I have more,” he bites out. “You packed it or have you forgotten?” His eyes are narrow slits as he waits for my response.
I slightly jump away from him, my eyes big as saucers with shock. His demeanor seems cold, and I gulp back the urge to cry at his sharp tone. What in the actual hell?
I shake my head and place my hand on his that’s holding the cane. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” I apologize, attempting to sympathize with his current situation.
His face softens and the boy I’ve known my entire life returns. “I’m sorry,” he quietly says. Turmoil swirls in his eyes, and I wish I could isolate all the different emotions. Not that it’d help him deal with them, but it’d help me decipher how to handle him.
I lean in and push my lips to his, saying what I’ve wanted to say since I first ran up to him. “I love you, Brian.”
His shoulders sag like those words gave him permission to drop the weight of the world he’s been carrying. Then his bag falls down his arm, stopping where his hand meets his cane and causing him to stumble forward. Instinctively, I place my arms out, grabbing the sides of his arms to steady him.
“Dammit, Echo,” he bellows, and I release my grip, realizing my mistake. “My arm is in a sling for a reason.” He grunts, steadying himself as he adjusts the bag back into place. His stubborn ass is going to be the death of me, but this new attitude he seems to have might be its competition as I’ve never been known for holding my tongue.
“I didn’t want you to fall. It was instinct.” I shrug. I don’t apologize this time, but I also don’t say what I really want to. “Next time I’ll just let you fall on your face.” Because I’m sure that would go over really well.
He starts walking toward the direction of the baggage claim, and I fall to his side, in silence. This isn’t the coming home I envisioned, but I’m just so grateful he didn’t come home in a casket. So many soldiers and their families pay the ultimate sacrifice, and I just can’t even imagine being in that situation.
We stand and wait behind the other passengers as the conveyer sounds and begins to move with luggage. I watch as a few children peek around their parents’ and eye Brian. I smile as he keeps his eyes trained ahead with a stoic look, not paying any attention to his surroundings. Once the crowd thins out, I break away and move closer to watch for his duffle bag. He belittled me earlier when I asked if he had more. I know he always has a duffle bag because I’m the one who usually packs it for him. I figured they might just ship it back versus him have to tackle one more thing with his injuries. I spot the olive-green bag and pull it off by the hand straps. I turn around to Brian, who’s watching me with furrowed brows like he’s trying to figure out how he can carry this huge bag. Grasping the handles with both hands, I carry the bag in front of me, stopping in front of him.
“It’s okay to have help,” I admit, hoping he realizes it’s an act of reassurance and not belittlement. He nods, and a throat clearing to our side shifts our attention. An older man stands near us, looking at Brian in awe as if he’s reminiscing.
He stands a bit straighter, in an attention stance, before raising his arm to his forehead, saluting Brian. It’s in that moment I take notice of the veteran hat adorning his head.
“Thank you for your service, soldier.” He gleams.
Brian straightens his posture and pushes his shoulders back, hiding the pain I know it’s inflicting. He takes a deep breath and passes his cane to his hand sticking out of the sling. He’s able to hold himself steady for a heartbeat as he lifts his hand in salute, mimicking the man as they face one another. Quickly, he returns his cane and shifts his weight before letting out a huge breath. The adoration and respect these two are showing one another cause tears to well up in the corner of my eyes.
THE CAR RIDE home is rather stagnant with silence. I want to ask what happened over there, but I don’t want to upset him. I seem to be doing a good job of that already. Opening the garage door, I pull in. The one step into the house from here should be much more accommodating than the five leading up our porch. I jump out and open the door leading to the kitchen, flipping the light on. Then make my way back to the car, opening his door.
“You don’t have to baby me,” he grumbles, swinging his legs out as he steadies his cane.
“Trying to help and make things easier for you isn’t babying.” I roll my eyes out of his view.
We make our way in, and he stops at the fridge. Opening the door, he assesses the contents.
“No beer,” he chastises, disappointment evident.
“Umm, sorry, alcohol was the last thing on my mind when I found out you were injured.” I drop his bag on the tan tile and walk off to regain my shit before I lose it.
I hear him mumble at my retreat but don’t bother asking for clarification. I hate that he’s been wounded, but it doesn’t give him the right to treat me like shit. Retreating to the master bedroom, I sit in the rocker near our bed. It offers me the same sense of peace the rocking gave Dylan as a baby. Once perspective returns to me, I sense a tinge of guilt, feeling I should be going above and beyond to cater to Brian. I can’t take his attitude personal. God knows what he saw and endured overseas. Knowing he needs to fully relax after being so cooped up on a plane, I walk to our bathroom and draw up a hot bath. I make my way back to where I left him, hoping my gesture will help.
“Baby,” I holler, heading down the hall. “I drew you a bath.” I round the corner to the open living room to see a fully reclined Brian…asleep.
Looks like I’ll be taking a bath.
I stay in the bath extra-long, making sure my skin is nice and wrinkly. I’m trying to relax and calm my thoughts, but they’re all over the place and all too consuming. I crawl into an empty bed, a tradition I’m all too familiar with, and wonder if I’m abandoning my husband by doing so. That thought pushes me out of bed as I grab the blanket draped at the end and head for the living room. I lay on the couch with my head facing the opposite end so I can keep an eye on Brian throughout the night. He’s still fully dressed in his fatigues, not even bothering to take his boots off. If I could do so without waking him, I would. But the idea of startling him in his sleep is something I take heed of. The last thing I want to do is jolt him awake.
The three pill bottles sitting on the end table next to him grab my attention, and I begin to wonder if the medication has a bearing on his mood, or if there’s something more controlling it.
GROANING, CURSING, AND the shaking of pill bottles awakens me, and I peek my eyes open right as Brian tosses something in his mouth, then chases it with a big gulp of water. It makes me thankful there isn’t any alcohol in the house. I can only imagine how that would worsen an already bleak situation.
“Do you need anything?” I ask, propping myself up, seeming to startle him as I do.
“What are you doing in here?” he questions as if it isn’t obvious.
“I wanted to be nearby in case you needed anything.” I offer with sincerity and a yawn.
“Go to bed, Echo. I’m fine.” He groans, shifting in the recliner. “Or I will be once the pain pill kicks in.”
I glance at my phone, see that it’s already 6:00 a.m., and decide to go ahead and get my day started. I had planned on playing nurse to Brian, but I’m under the impression that me taking care of him in any capacity is the last thing he wants. So I’ll just take care of me and wait for him to ask for help. I grab my blanket and fold it as I make my way back to our room. After sliding my feet into my sneakers, I braid my hair, push my headphones on, and start up my treadmill. No sense in me changing up the routine I’ve grown accustomed to. Thirty minutes into my intense walk, Brian shuffles in, eyeing me with suspicion. He mouths something and I’m unable to catch it before pushing my headphones down.
“Who you gettin’ fit for?” he repeats, causing me to blink at him in disbelief. I study his face for a hint of humor, and it’s void.
“Uh,” I stammer, “myself.”
“Yeah, sure.” He slowly moves toward the closet. “Where’s Dylan?”
I hit stop on the treadmill, letting it slow down beneath me.
“He’s at a friend’s house. I didn’t know how you’d be feeling.” I take my little towel and wipe the sweat off my forehead and the nape of my neck.
“And you didn’t think to consult with me about that.” He’s leaned against the closet door, arms crossed, and it’s as if I’m looking at a stranger. I’m unsure if he’s asking or accusing, and I can’t help but feel he’s trying to push me away.
“Since when have I consulted with you in regard to Dylan?” I huff, a bubble of my own anger appearing. His back is now to me as he shimmies out of his jacket, wincing every so often. I want to help him. I want to walk up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. I want to just touch him and push away whatever has him so angry. But then he speaks again, and it makes me want to throat punch him instead.
“Oh, that’s right. Why would you since he’s not my son.” He all but sneers with a laugh.
“Screw you.” I seethe, grabbing my phone and purse off the bedside table. I stop momentarily to give him the benefit of the doubt. I want to see if he still has a conscience or if that was left back in the war zone. My heart cracks a bit when he doesn’t acknowledge me as he keeps slowly stripping off his uniform. Something within urges me to push my luck. I walk to the entrance of the closet, standing inches away from him, and whisper, “I love you, Brian.” He slightly flinches before his body stiffens. “I don’t know what happened over there.” I let my fingertips trail down the exposed skin of his uninjured arm. His body sags, relaxing into mine, and I let out a breath of relief. “And maybe one day you’ll want to talk about it. But please don’t let whatever happened ruin us,” I plead.
“Okay,” he agrees with a nod, and I slowly wrap my arms around his waist, praying he doesn’t resist. He pulls away, only to turn and face me. His deep brown eyes are rimmed red, with a pain I’ve never seen before. I caress the side of his face, noticing the random scars intricately placed around his cheekbone and down the side of his neck. He closes his eyes, causing the pain to spill down his face. Just because he left the war zone doesn’t mean the war has left him, and I have a feeling the battle he’s now waging is even bigger.
I cup his face in my hands and whisper against his lips, “I’m going to fight this with you.” His body begins to tremble, and I push my lips to his, feeling such sadness and desperation. No way I’m going to let this man who has been there for me my entire life go through this alone. He has to know that. I let my arms fall and wrap them around his hips to keep him steady. I pull back and wait for his eyes to flicker open. The brown depths feel as if he’s staring into my soul as he holds my gaze and it’s the exact intensity I need from him. “It’s my turn to take care of you,” I admit. He attempts to pull away, but I tighten my grip. “You’ve been taking care of me ever since you sent that boy flying with his lunch tray.” I smile, and the memory causes his lip to curl in a similar fashion. Boy, have I missed that boyish grin of his. “Please,” I beg. “Let me take care of you.”
He nods and drops his head in defeat. I wrap my arm around his waist and help him to the bed, thankful he allows me to assist. Brian sits and I stand in front of him. I run my hand across the softness of his fresh buzz cut, and he wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me closer. I yelp at the quickness, and he groans where his head rests against my chest. His hand moves all over my body, finding its way between my thighs as it navigates up. My breath catches at the feeling of his hand moving up my bare leg, caressing the hem of my shorts. This isn’t what I meant by take care of him, but it feels too good to stop. He tilts his head up, and I lean down and kiss him. So much built-up need between us as our mouths open and our tongues intertwine.
I step back and kneel in front of him, watching as he watches me. One by one, I unlace his boots, slowly pulling each off. I stand and tug the bottom of his brown shirt, pulling it off from his uninjured side over his head and then slowly maneuver it around the cast. His breath catches as my fingers fumble to unbutton his pants. I lightly press against his chest, urging him to lie back as I unzip and carefully remove his fatigue bottoms and boxers. His lean, hard body lies before me like it’s mine for the taking. But I don’t want to take. I want to give.