Chapter 18

When the Chinese comes, and I'm passing out our containers, it hits me that's the fastest I've gone from admittedly pushing someone's buttons to apologizing.

I never apologize.

Clara ordered kung pao shrimp, and I got cashew chicken. We swap half and half with each other, piling the food onto thick paper plates.

We're actually at my seldom-used dining table this time, and I have to fill the silence as we sit down and start eating.

"So, really, how was work?"

She looks up, the same tired smile creeping over her face that I've noticed the other nights she's come home.

"Oh, fine. Normal. I'm exhausted, though. Two bypass surgeries I assisted with back-to-back, and they're long."

Furrowing my brow at her, I take a sip of the beer I snagged from the fridge before indulging my curiosity.

"Why are they so long?"

Clara finishes chewing her food, washing it down with a bit of water, and then looks up at me, talking with her hands.

"Well, they're complicated procedures. You know what a bypass is, right?"

"I mean, I know the basics. A heart surgery usually for older folks that can be pretty hit or miss."

She laughs a little, and I still like it way too much.

"That's essentially it. So, in a bypass, it's like redirecting traffic. That's why it's called that." She demonstrates with her hands. "You see, there's a traffic jam over here, or in my world, a clogged artery to the heart."

I nod. "Okay."

"It's blocking blood flow and is too jammed up, aka congested with arterial sclerosis. It's not going to work, so we, the surgeons or traffic directors, open up a new land over her so that traffic can flow through that one, restoring blood flow."

As far as metaphors go, it's a damn good one, and I'm picturing tiny surgeons with whistles directing blood cell cars.

"So, it's complicated because opening up that lane doesn't just happen, I assume?"

"Correct. We have to use donor veins and attach them to their new home. We have to make the lane, not just open it. And arteries, veins, the heart itself, they all have a lot of nerves and tissue that need to be accounted for."

I sit back in my chair. It's odd to hear how much work goes into saving a life when it can be extinguished so easily.

At once, my pulse ticks up, and I have to ignore the flashes behind my lids that remind me exactly how easy it is to kill someone.

"Oh, I know it's kind of gross. But come on, you're the big military guy. I'm sure you've dealt with some gross stuff."

I force a half-hearted chuckle, reaching for my beer and down at least half of it. Panic is too close to the surface, and I can't do that in front of Clara.

"Hmm. Gross. Yup, no shortage of that."

Knowing my voice is tight, I try to clear my throat like I just swallowed something wrong.

"You okay? Did I hit a nerve?"

Clara is frowning at me when I look up at her, and right now, I hate that uncanny ability of hers to read people.

"Just not a fun thing to remember all the time."

Wow, I should not have said that.

"Oh." Clara's expression turns somber. "Sure. I can imagine. I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"

And there it is. The big opening I can walk through and "unburden" myself. I'm not going to do it, though.

"Nah, I'm fine. I met some good people there, anyhow. They made the time worth it."

That's enough of a redirection that Clara takes the bait, and she smiles, scooping up a bit more food.

"Like that Cameron guy, right? You said you met him there?"

As she eats, I try to take a few bites of my own, but my appetite is a bit lacking at present.

"Yes. Cameron was there. A few others I don't really talk to anymore. But I also went with my brothers, and that was something, all right. Phew, you think we fought before? Uh-uh, it's nothing on when we were there."

I'm keeping it surface level, and still, even getting remotely close to discussing the Marines is enough to make my skin itch.

I finish my beer, walking to the fridge to snag another before I sit back down at the table.

It's nothing to have two, so I'm not worried about my behavior around Clara.

"Oh man, I can only imagine. I know siblings can fight, but my sister is my entire life. Sure, we butt heads, but I'd?—"

"Do anything for her? Yeah, I know the feeling."

When she looks over, Clara offers a gentle smile, and I can see the memories flowing behind her eyes.

They look nicer than mine for the most part, but I know she said that being raised by her aunt and uncle sucked.

"I'm sure you do." She nods, and silence breaks over the table again.

I want to keep talking, moving the conversation along to anything that isn't related to my life in the military and the horrible guilt that keeps me awake at night.

But I'm already spiraling.

It's taking everything I have to not outright bolt from the table and down the entire bottle of whiskey I have in my nightstand right the fuck now.

The next beer goes down even faster, and at this point, Clara is starting to notice how quickly I'm drinking them.

I'm still not drunk, far from it, but I'm sure Clara thinks I'm barreling toward being wasted.

"Um, this was yummy, thank you. But really, I'm exhausted. I think we both better get some rest."

She's eaten pretty much everything on her plate, and I've barely touched mine.

I nod, though, and when I get up, I take her plate to put everything back in the take-out containers to go in the fridge. Tension builds in my spine, and I can see violence every time I blink.

Clara is suddenly behind me as I pack things up. She rises up on her tiptoes, laying a gentle kiss on my cheek.

I'm rocked to my core, and then Clara goes and makes it worse.

"Get some rest, Luke. You deserve it."

With that, she walks off down the hall, and I'm left standing there at the table, about to have a breakdown.

"She doesn't know, Luke. She can't. Just…just…"

My breath is huffing now, and I walk the containers to the big stainless steel fridge before I wind up chucking them across the room.

When I know things are cleaned up good enough in the kitchen and at the table, I take two more beers to my bedroom and try to cool off with a shower.

The chilly water can pull me out of my head on occasion, but it's not working tonight.

So, I resort to the beers, downing them in a few moments. It doesn't take too long for the buzz to finally pick up, and an ease warms through my shoulders.

"There. Okay. Now, just go to bed."

I'm already naked, my bandages a little damp, so I decide on an air-dry while I'm sleeping in the good old birthday suit.

Mostly, I don't have the energy to find clothes.

The sheets are cool as I slide in, and I use the voice command to shut off the light and start up some background music.

I can't be alone in the quiet. The stillness is too loud, and I've found that fucking "sleep music" is the way to go.

It's working; the swirl of a good buzz and some dulcet tones are lulling me to sleep, and Lord knows I could use an early, restful night.

It's at least three minutes of bliss before my brain slams the image of a shattered skull into the forefront of my retinas.

I fly up to a sitting position, nausea and terror rolling through my guts.

"No, no, no. Come on."

My heart is hammering now, and I can hear the sounds of gunfire and screaming echoing around me.

There's the rubble of broken buildings and dusty air everywhere. Orders are being barked at me as I try to dodge away from rapid assault weapon fire.

My brothers are nowhere in sight. I have to get around to a safe spot. I have to take out all of the enemy to keep my men safe.

No one is safe here.

It's just enemies. That's what the commander says, the drill instructor in basic. They're enemies, not people.

I round a corner, gunfire still singing like a damn metal show. I need to clear it.

Tracking the hallways slowly, my gun up, I walk through the busted-up old apartment.

No one is living here now. They couldn't be.

Terrorist groups use these places as fronts, as hideouts. Need to eradicate the threat.

Left room. Clear. Right hall. Clear. Flank northeast. Check the far room.

I pull around, and a flash of color appears before me; a threat. I fire.

A wet thud slams into the floor. I take a breath. They're down. Threat neutralized.

Taking a step forward, I check the body for movement. Short. The guy's short.

The body…

The body…

My room comes back into focus.

"Fuck. No, no, no."

I run to the toilet, heaving until I'm empty, any trace of a buzz gone and the images still haunting my mind.

Looks like it's going to be another long night.