Page 44 of Proof Of Life
“Talk about trauma and PTSD. They have the highest suicide rate of any job.”
“Figures. They have to deal with people's mothers all day, complaining about the inflation of stamps and lost packages.” I turn on my side to mirror his pose. “My mother once mailed me a box of cookies in a care package. I never got it. A friend of mine I grew up with emailed me and told me that my mother caused a huge scene at the post office.”
West's shoulders shake with silent laughter. “I've met your mother. It doesn’t surprise me at all.” I had wandered outside without a shirt in my rush to find him, and now the early morning chill raises goosebumps on my skin. West traces a tat on my biceps, and between his touch and the chilly air, I shiver.
“I used to believe in something. Something greater than me.”
Didn’t we all? “What’s that old saying? If you don’t stand for something you’ll fall for anything.”
“Yeah, well, that’s just it. The same things I used to stand for are the things I fell for. Honor, God, country—I’ve seen evidence there is no God. The only thing I believe in is us. You and me. Things I can touch, see, and feel.”
It feels good hearing I made his shortlist, but I’m concerned he’s headed for a dark place. “So you're saying you regret it? You regret your years of service?”
West blows out a frustrated sigh. “I’m not saying I regret it. The villages we saved, the people we freed. I’ll never regret saving a life, no matter what country they’re citizens of. What I regret is losing our team. I’m not saying the lives we saved are more important than the lives we lost. What I’m saying is, they matter more to me.”
He scoots closer and lays his head on my chest, and my fingers automatically bury in his hair. “We’re all just faceless, nameless, disposable, and replaceable casualties to the higher-ups who plan these missions. It isn’t until we die that they learn our name and our rank, and see a picture of our faces for the first time. Maybe they experience a twinge of regret for their actions and their choices; maybe they don’t. I’ll bet anything they would do it all over again if they had to choose, as long as the mission was classified as a success. They wouldn’t change a goddamn thing.”
I press a kiss to his head. “But we knew that going into it, when we enlisted.”
“I know, but sometimes it hits home a little harder.” He turns his head to stare up at me, and a small, sad smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Feel better now? Now that I’ve proven that I still have a conscience and a shred of patriotism?”
A snort chuffs from my nose. “I don’t give a fuck about your patriotism or your conscience. I just needed to know you were still in there somewhere. My West.”
“Yours, huh?” But he’s smiling wider now when he says it, and I know he loves the way it sounds.
“You were always mine. My best friend, my wingman, my partner in everything. Now you’re just more mine.” He lays his head back down, and an easy laugh falls from his lips. “What?”
“Nothing, I just think it’s funny. I signed up for the Army before I even graduated high school. I was eighteen—so cocky and full of confidence. I thought I could take on the world. I couldn’t wait to get started with the rest of my life, to go out there and blow shit up and get the bad guys. I trained hard, decided I was going to avoid the marriage trap like other soldiers I saw in the barracks, and I had my sights set on becoming a Ranger. Remember when we got called up for our first tour? Man, I was so excited. It was all I could talk about for weeks. We got over to the sandbox, and I thought, this isn’t so bad, and after a year they sent us home. I hit the bar on the weekends, never took the same girl home twice, and I had a rule about not sleeping over.”
I remember his list of rules for remaining a bachelor, a top-tier soldier on the fast track to promotion. He was adamant I follow the same rules.
“Then we got called up for our second tour, and I was so gung ho. I finally got promoted to team leader, and damn, we had the best fucking team out there. And then this shit happens. Now, here I am, my leg is gone, my career is over, and I couldn’t pay a girl to sleep with a one-legged soldier. The funniest part is, I’m contemplating having a sexual relationship with my best friend.” He shakes his head and laughs. “I just didn’t see myself here.”
Well, now I feel like a sack of fucking pity. Does he regret what we did? Am I his consolation prize because he thinks no one else will have him? “Is that so bad?”
He traces my nipple and then rolls it between his fingers. “Not the part about sleeping with my best friend, no. The rest of it, yeah, it sucks. It sucks hard.”
“You’re a real glass half-empty kind of guy, aren’t you? You know what’s around the corner? Any fucking thing you want. You want to join the police force and become a detective and work the narcotics squad? Do it. You want to apply to the FBI or customs? Do it. Maybe you want to go into private security. Hell, I don’t know, why don’t you go be a greeter at Walmart? They’re always hiring.”
“And I can do all of that with one leg, huh?”
“I don’t see why not. Stop your bitching and start thinking about your future. Why do I gotta do all the thinking for you?”
“I don’t need you to do a fucking thing for me,” he laughs and flicks my nipple.
It stings from the cold and I flinch and rub my chest. “Sure you do. You need me to wipe your ass for you, too.”
He’s laughing now, so hard he can barely spit the words out. “Stay away from my ass. It’s not up for grabs.”
“Oh, so you’re telling me you’re a top then?”
“I don’t know what the fuck I am. I’m just horny. I have no idea how it all works.”
Despite his thin T-shirt, he shivers, and I wrap my arms around him and rub up and down his back, hoping to warm him up. “I realize neither of us knows much about gay sex, but how hard can it be? It’s pretty much the same thing, right?” This conversation is almost surreal, and just as absurd as most of our conversations.
“I mean, yeah, except for the fact that we both have a dick. So who takes it first?”
I can’t tell if he’s fucking with me or if he’s serious. “Doesn’t really matter to me. I’m open to try anything with you.”