Page 85 of Proof Of Life
Annie? Who the fuck is– “You’re the guy Rosie was dating!”
Recognition dawns on Brandt’s face, and he smiles before reaching in to hug Jonathan.
“She told us a little about you.”
“Very little,” I add with a grin.
“We were keeping things under wraps until she got back home. I’ve actually known her for years. We went to high school together, and then community college. That’s when she decided to major in communications and linguistics, and she joined the Army.”
I'm at a loss as to what to say to him. I feel Rosie’s death as completely as I do the rest of my team, and despite the fact that she had no children, she had a family and people who love her. She had a life that was interrupted and unfinished. Ever the ambassador, Brandt mumbles something to smooth things over while I’m just standing here, completely disassociating and on the verge of falling apart. The constant ringing in my ears is louder than ever, and there's an uncomfortable pressure crushing my heart, followed by a wave of nausea that makes me feel sick.
I think I’m having a panic attack. The second one today.
He hustles me into the Jeep, but doesn’t say a word until we’re halfway home. “I need proof of life. I haven’t asked you in a while, but I need to hear it today.”
“I hated every second of that, but I’m okay. At least I will be.” Swallowing, I touch the gold-and-purple heart decorating my chest. “I’m proud of you. Proud of both of us. I feel like I’ve waited my whole life to get this, because it says that I’m a hero. But the truth of it is, we’re not heroes because we got injured. We are heroes because we served. We volunteered to serve and protect Americans. We volunteered to risk our lives, and we did, every day. Every single soldier in the armed forces risks their lives every day to keep others safe, and for that, we’re all heroes, and we all deserve this.”
“So you’re good?” he asks, raising his brows. “I mean, yeah, you’re right, we’re all heroes who deserve a medal, but this isn’t elementary school and we don’t get participation awards. Unfortunately, only the ones who are injured or dead get recognized, and I need to know you’re good.”
“I promised you my life just hours ago. I promised it to you forever, and forever isn’t going to end today. I’m good, Reaper. I don’t hate myself anymore. I don’t like feeling like I’ve stolen valor by accepting a bronze star, but I accept that I deserve to be recognized for my service.”
“Fuck, I owe Brewer Marx more than I can ever repay him. We should send him on a cruise,” he jokes, referring to the progress I’ve made because of him.
Brewer definitely has saved my ass, and a cruise isn’t enough to thank him for all he’s done for me. All that I can do is keep showing up, continue to commit to working on myself and improving, and to continue volunteering to help others. It’s the only thing I have to give back and the only way I can say thank you.
“Ican’t believe this shit. I’ve come full circle. I’m right back in my worst nightmare, fucking high school,” Jax bitches.
“It wasn’t so bad,” McCormick insists. “ROTC was my favorite subject.”
“That’s because you’re a kiss ass. You were then, and you still are now.”
“You’re just grumpy because nobody’s kissing your ass,” McCormick snaps.
Jax snorts. “You go on one date, and suddenly you're a love guru.”
I follow the guys down the hall to the classroom on the left and peek through the little window in the door. Sure enough, Stiles is standing at the front of the class, dressed in a worn gray Army t-shirt and camouflage cargo pants. We file in and he does a double take before cursing.
“Oh fuck. What are you doing here?”
“We came to support you,” McCormick says, slapping his back. “Which one is your nephew?”
Stiles stumbles, swallowing before pointing to a kid in the back of the classroom. “That’s Andrew or Drew, my sister’s boy.” He recovers and clears his throat. “These are my brothers, my team. Or I guess you would say squad.”
“What happened to your leg?” one kid shouts. He’s asking McCormick, but then he looks at West and realizes they’re in the same boat.
“Well, shit, now they’re never gonna enlist,” Stiles grumbles.
“I lost it in the war. Got myself blowed up,” McCormick explains.
“What about you?” the kid asks West.
“Same story. Got myself blowed up.”
Nobody asks Mandy what happened to his face, because it’s pretty self-explanatory. He got himself blowed up, too.
“Look, I’ve talked to you about unity and brotherhood and honor and bravery. I’ve told you about the grueling schedule and the hell of basic training. But what I didn’t tell you was that when all that is behind you, and you’re staring down four years of enlistment on your contract, shit starts to get real pretty quick. I’ve seen guys deployed with less than a year of experience and training. It may sound exciting to you now, but I promise you, there’s nothing exciting about living in the desert. There’s nothing exciting about coming home broken with your body in pieces. And even the ones that come home with all of their limbs intact are still broken, up here,” he explains, tapping his head. “And in here,” he says, rubbing a hand over his heart. “Nobody goes over there and comes home without scars, even if you can’t see them. I’m not saying don’t enlist because some of you would make great soldiers. But if you have another option, take it. War isn’t for everyone.”
There are no questions, just silence as the weight of his words settles over the class. Then, Drew, Stiles's nephew asks, “Can you tell us what it’s like over there? What it’s really like?”