I take it with a smile; I like my cousin. “Ask them to come next time, please.”
“I can do that.” Boone waves at the rest and continues out of the room.
“I’m going to run down and check on a friend.” Mark slaps the back of my hand after we shake.
“See ya.”
Jackson stands, lingering with the good doctor. “I’ll be flying back to California tomorrow, but I want you to know, I’m leaving my number, and you can call any time.”
“Thank you.” After taking his hand, Doctor Burgess follows him out, leaving me alone with my thoughts or lack thereof.
Obliviously, there are so many things I’m not being told. I’m not sure if they’ve been told not to talk about it or if someone has decided I don’t need to know. Then again, I’m as indecisive as they appear to be on the topic of what exactly happened on the mission.
“Well, this fucking sucks.” I grab the remote from the nightstand and hurl it across the room. “Please, God, either let me forget forever or give me the details I need to account for my brothers and their lives. If not, then tell me why I’m still here, and they’re not!”
A tap on the door startles me, and I quickly wipe my face just as Jackson saunters back in. “Hey, Hatch.”
“Yeah, what’s up?” I turn my face, drying it on my shoulder.
“I couldn’t leave until I mentioned one more thing to you.” It distorts his face. Maybe this is what I’ve been hoping for.
“Sure thing.” My stomach twists, tying itself in knots.
He shoves his hands in his pockets, his brows pulled low. “Many service men and women come home with some type of trauma. Whether it’s TBI, PTSD, or guilt, we all come back different from who we were when we left. Life for us and our loved ones isn’t easy. The baggage is heavy, and the road is long when it comes to recovery and settling in once again.”
“Yeah, several of the doctors have mentioned it. Right now, I’m good.”
“But there may come a time you’re not, and I want you to know that I’m here. I’ve sat on that side of this monster, and it’s not easy. I didn’t want to admit it, but I struggled hard and for a long time. You don’t have to do this alone.” He stares at me, catching sight of my soul, and it bares itself to him. He speaks to mine as we sit silently because some things in life can’t be explained with mere words.
Spots flash in my vision, small bits of memory dance in front of me. I shake it off, at least until he leaves. He knows as well as I do, the things we face are best left unspoken. One day, it’ll come full circle. I only pray I can withstand the invasion and make it out the other side of the torrential storm.
“Each day gives me a better insight into this, I hear you.” He leans in, taking my hand and thumping my back in a brotherly hug. “Later.”
“We’ll be around.” He tosses his hand in the air and marches out the way he came.
I know he will, too. Because we’re family, now more than ever.
~three weeks later~
"Hatch! Hatch! This way! Roll out! Roll out now!" The darkness is like walls as each word bounces off them, echoing around me and leaving me disoriented. I can feel the anguish infused with them; I'm gutted.
I force myself awake with a jolt. I'm not sure what's worse, the stabbing pain in my temple or the one in her voice when she says my name. The same dream, over and over, is messing with me. I sit up, rubbing my eyes with the palms of my hand. A chill creeps up my back, running over my shoulders.
"Damn it!" I stagger from the bed, my head pounding, walking to the bathroom. The room's bright, I keep trying to block out the sun by making sure everything is closed as much as possible, but somehow, they're always open.
These early mornings are messing with me, I can't seem to shake this thing, and I'm beginning to wonder if they're nightmares. I turn the faucet on, waiting for the water to warm.
"C'mon, just wake up." I splash my face several times, rubbing the back of my neck as I do. My muscles are still tight, although I've been here for six weeks now.
A sudden loud knock from outside, helping me to pull myself together. "Good morning, Mister Hatcher."
"Mornin,' ma'am." I amble from the doorway as she enters the room.
Her eyes widen when she realizes I'm coming from the restroom with only my sleep pants on. "Oh, my. I... I need to get your vitals."
"Sure enough." I nod toward the bed, slowly walking over to sit down. "I'm still a little slower than normal."
"Don't be so hard on yourself, I happen to believe you're doing better than they expected." She smiles, setting her things down beside me before taking my arm. "Let's check your temp and BP."
"Like I have a choice," I grunt. I have no idea why she irritates me, but she does.
She cuts her eyes at me, quirking her lip. "I can understand why you hate this, but being a grumpy old man doesn't help."
"I'm not grumpy, I like being alone." Which is a lie, but I am not her business. She's such a know-it-all with her pink-rimmed glasses and ginger locks.
She raises her brows. "Because this isn't grumpy?"
"No, this is me tired of being poked and prodded."
"Like I said... grumpy." Her mouth flattens into a thin line. Okay, so she's pretty, but I'm far from interested. For whatever reason, something internal stirs my soul and annoys me when she's around.
"For the record, there are other nurses who can do this if I'm not the kind of company you want to keep." I snap with a grin when her head spins like the exorcists.
Her cheeks glow with anger from biting her lip, putting a smile on my face. "I think I have everything I need. Have a great day, Mister Hatcher."
My thoughts swim as words as I wallow them around, wanting to answer her, but before I can, the door swings open, and my doctor joins us. The nurse jerks her things up, whipping around, and strides out the same way she came in.
Doctor Burgess smirks, opening my records at the end of my bed. "Apparently, you're having a great day."
"I'm ready to get the hell outta here if that's what you mean." I sit back on the bed, a little winded, disgusted by my current state.
"You're healed nicely, and physical therapy is working well. I don't see why we can't release you to rehab by the end of the week." He glances at me while scribbling in my chart.
I sit up, happy for the news. "Sounds damn good to me."
"Hold on, we have one more thing, Creed." He rounds the end of the bed, coming closer to me. My gut knots, alerting me I'm not going to be happy for much longer. "I think you need to consider visiting a therapist of a different kind."
"Don't patronize me, I might have a trauma injury, but I understand you're talking about a head doctor." I glare at him. The pounding in my temples ramps up, sending shooting pain through my head.
"Answer me this, Creed." His hand slides around his neck. "Can you tell me what high school you attended?"
I stare at him, my mind closing in and roaring down rails similar to a tunnel. So dark, I can't see through the black veil or around the sides. There's nothing but a vast hole in front of me, and I tremble, knowing in my gut if I go in, I’ll be lost forever.