Page 79 of Proof Of Life
I grab a paper towel and wipe his ass clean. “That felt–”
“Fucking incredible,” he finishes for me. “We’re leaving in less than twenty minutes.”
My shoulders shake with silent laughter. His enthusiasm for my dick makes me feel like the luckiest SOB in the world.
When we rejoin the guys, they’re knee deep in a heated discussion about recruitment.
“Well, I don’t give a fuck how you feel about it,” Stiles snaps. “My nephew asked me to come talk to his ROTC unit for Career Day and I’d rather deploy again than disappoint him.”
Dark clouds cross West’s face, and his brows tighten. “I get that. If I had any family left, they’d be my first priority. Especially kids. I bet you’re his hero. It just never feels finished. Like I haven’t given enough. They always ask for more. Fucking Colonel Baskin, ROTC, it’s always gonna be something. I’ve given too damn much,” he growls, slamming his hand down on the table with a thud.
“I’ve bled for this country, for their wars and their causes.” He sticks his arm in our faces. “I refuse to walk into a school full of kids and convince them to bleed and die for somebody else’s war in the name of patriotism. It’s fucking bullshit and you know it!”
Stiles slaps his arm away. “I’m glad for you. I’ve bled for the guys that died for me too! But those kids, for some of them, a battlefield in a dessert is better than what they have now. The Army is their escape. It’s a ticket to freedom and a better life.”
McCormick motions to his prosthetic leg. “How is this a better life? Tell me how this is better.”
It’s not just his missing limb, it’s the myriad of other injuries and scars we all bear and suffer from daily that compromise our quality of life. I get his point crystal clear.
“When is it enough?” West asks.
Guilt and sadness cloud Stiles’s eyes, but he stands by his point. “Someone is always going to have to bleed in order to keep the stripes red on the flag. It’s the price of freedom. That’s just the way it is.”
They’re both fucking right. Like me, Mandy remains quiet. I can only guess what’s going through his head.
“There used to be a time when you didn’t mind bleeding for your country,” Stiles reminds him.
“You’re right, there was a time, years ago, when I was young and naïve and I wanted to make a difference. My body was still whole. Cuts healed quickly. Bullets were exciting. But then it became personal. I lost my fucking team! The whole fucking team. I’ve lost friends to suicide and depression. I’ve seen friends’ careers end because of injuries.” My gut tightens when I see a telltale sheen fill West’s eyes. “You’re right about another thing. I would bleed again, for you, for him,” he says, pointing at McCormick, “and him,” West points to Mandy. “And especially for him,” he says, sliding his arm around my shoulder. “I’d bleed and die for my team, for my brothers, but war? I’m fucking done with that shit.”
“Amen,” McCormick seconds.
Stiles chugs the last of his beer and slams the empty mug down before coming to his feet. He offers West his hand. “You’re abso-fucking-lutely correct, Wardell, one-hundred percent, but I can’t bail on my family. They’re my team too. And you’re right, I’m his fucking hero, as messed up as that is.”
After he leaves, the group remains silent until the waitress drops off our bill.
“Did I push too far?” West asks.
“No,” I reassure him, patting his back. “You spoke your truth, and you were right. Just try to see where he’s coming from, too.”
“I do. If I had a nephew–” He takes a deep breath and I can see him struggling to rein his emotions in. “Their needs would come before my personal beliefs.”
I wish so hard he had a family. That his grandma still lived. Or that my own family were better, more loving people who claimed him as their own. It wasn’t something I ever missed deeply, but West is the kind of guy who needs that kind of acceptance and love. All I can do is be that family for him, always.
“You have me, Professor.”
West lays his head on my shoulder. “I know. I’ll never doubt that. Just don’t ever ask me to play hero.”
I swallow down my laugh, because it’s so ironic. I’ll never ask him to play the hero, not for me or anyone else, but there’s one truth I’ll die by.
Weston Wardell is a fucking hero. He’s my hero.
There’s no one stronger, more driven, more loyal, more loving, or braver. He’s my Team Leader. He’s my best friend, my brother to the soul.
He’s the love of my miserable fucking life.
“Christ! Would you sit the fuck down? You’re driving me crazy.”
“Sorry,” I huff, plopping down on the couch beside him.