Beautifully Broken: If You Leave Part 25

I hit the showers, then pick up the phone and call Jacey.

"Hey, Sis. Want to go shooting?"

"Sure. Meet me there in an hour?"

"Yup."

I taught her to target shoot when we were both still in high school, back when I was still wet behind the ears. I thought that being a Ranger would be the pinnacle of my life. It would make me a man.

I had no idea that it would break me.

I swing by the house and pile a Colt AR-15 and several boxes of ammo into my trunk before I head in the direction of the shooting range.

Over the years Jacey and I have spent hundreds of hours blowing holes in targets, just clearing our thoughts. The repet.i.tion of shooting is comforting and familiar. It's one thing that we can do together, one thing that we both enjoy.

When I arrive at the range, Jacey is already there and unloading her s.h.i.t, including her pink f.u.c.king nine-millimeter that I always tease her about. She turns to me as I approach, her blonde hair pulled out of her face so she can see.

"So, what's wrong?"

I glance at her as I set my bag down.

"What the f.u.c.k? Do you think I have ovaries now? That I'm going to talk about my feelings and s.h.i.t?"

Jacey grins. "Nope. We're going to blow some s.h.i.t to pieces. And then we can talk about your feelings and s.h.i.t."

I shake my head and put my orange foam earplugs in.

For the next two hours we blow the paper targets to smithereens. It's amazingly satisfying to blow holes through the center of the target, time after time. When Jacey is finally out of ammo and I'm d.a.m.n close, she turns to me, pulling one of her earplugs out.

"You want some dinner?"

I nod. "Yup."

We head to the little burger place down the road, where Jace practically orders a side of beef along with a margarita. I stare at her incredulously as I place what seems like a small order now: a double quarter pounder, onion rings and a beer.

"Have you not eaten in a month?" I ask her as we slide into a cracked vinyl booth.

"It's 'that' time of the month, Gabe," she tells me with a grin. "I could eat two cows and a calf too."

Ugh. "TMI, Jace. Seriously."

She just laughs.

"Why are we here, Gabe? Seriously. I know something's wrong. You might as well just tell me, or you can let me badger it out of you. Either way is fine with me."

I roll my eyes. She'd actually enjoy the badgering part.

"I f.u.c.ked up, Jace," I finally admit. "Big time."

She raises a blonde eyebrow. "What happened?"

I sigh and swig my beer, enjoying the cold bite of it as it slides down my throat.

"Madison."

Jacey instantly narrows her eyes. "What did you do? I swear I'll castrate you if you hurt her. I mean it. I don't want to see your junk, but I'll do it."

I shake my head, staring at the table, swirling my beer in the gla.s.s.

"I haven't yet. But I'm going to."

Jacey's puzzled now. It's apparent as she looks at me in confusion. "I'm not following you. If you haven't hurt her yet, then you don't have to do it."

Our food arrives and Jacey dives into hers, eating with more gusto than I've ever seen a chick eat with.

"You don't understand," I finally tell her with a sigh. "I'm f.u.c.ked up. When you look at me, you see your big brother, same ol' Gabe. But I'm not that guy anymore. That thing that happened to Brand and me... it seriously f.u.c.ked me up. Maddy doesn't deserve someone like me."

Jacey stops chewing and looks at me. "Why don't you let Maddy decide that?" she suggests. "Have you told her what happened to you?"

I shake my head. "No."

Jacey tilts her head, examining me. "How bad is it? Seriously, how bad can it be? I know you, Gabe. You're a good person, through and through. I would never have wanted to set you up with Maddy if you weren't."

"But that's what you don't get, Jacey," I answer. "I'm not good through and through anymore. I'm just not."

"Did you kill someone while you were in the Rangers?" she asks curiously. "Is that it? Because that's dumba.s.s, Gabe. Obviously you had to know that you would kill someone if you joined the Army and went to Afghanistan."

I shake my head. "That's not it. And yes, I've killed people."

"It's worse than that?" Jacey is incredulous. "Then maybe I don't want to know."

I level a gaze at her. "Trust me, you don't. But I have a problem now and I don't know what to do. I didn't mean to get so close to Madison. I really didn't. I thought we'd hook up a few times and then I'd go back home. But..."

"But you really like her, don't you?" Jacey asks knowingly. "I told you a long time ago that you were perfect for each other."

I sigh. "I do like her. And she's been through a lot already. She doesn't deserve my s.h.i.t. But I'm selfish enough to not want to leave just yet either."

Jacey pushes her plate away and stares at me over it, her arms crossed and a serious expression pasted on her face.

"Gabriel Joseph Vincent. Do you think you don't deserve something good in your life? Do you think that whatever happened overseas is so bad that you shouldn't ever be happy again? Because again, that's dumba.s.s. You deserve happiness more than anyone I know. In fact, you deserve it more. Listen to me. You need to tell Maddy the truth. Just lay it out there. Let her decide for herself if you're worth it. You owe it to yourself and to her."

I nod, wiping my mouth and tossing the napkin in the plate.

"OK," I exhale. "Maybe you're right."

"I'm definitely right," she answers. "And for once it feels good to lecture you, instead of you lecturing me."

I roll my eyes, we pay the check and then walk out to our cars.

"Seriously, bro. She's worth it. She really is. She's tough and p.r.i.c.kly on the outside, but she's got a heart of freaking gold."

I think back to yesterday, to standing in front of that bonfire watching her bad memories burn, and the vulnerable look on her face.

She's tough and p.r.i.c.kly on the outside but she's fragile as h.e.l.l on the inside.

And that's the part of her that I'm afraid of.

"Thanks for the advice, Sis." I kiss her on the forehead. "I'll be home later."

"And if you're not, don't worry about it," she answers. "We haven't seen Jared in a while. I think he's done messing with me now."

"We can hope," I answer as I climb back into my car. Before I start it up, I send Maddy a text.

Wanna meet me at the pier by your house after you leave work?

It only takes her a few minutes to reply.

Sure. Why?

I answer back, I need to talk.

A split second later she answers. Hmmm. Ok. I'll see you around 9:30.

I head home and shower, messing around the house for a while, until it's time to go. I leave a little early and sit on the end of the pier with my legs hanging off, throwing stones until Maddy shows up.

Even if I hadn't heard her car door slamming in the parking lot, I would feel her presence. She stares a hole between my shoulder blades as she walks down the long pier to meet me. She situates herself next to me, taking a stone from my hand and throwing it. It skips once on the surface of the water, then sinks like the stone that it is.

"So, what's up?" Maddy asks quietly. From the look on her face, I think she probably thinks that I'm going to end things with her.

"Remember when I told you that I had s.h.i.t you don't know?" I ask solemnly, heaving another stone out into the water.

She pretends to think about that. "Yeah, I seem to remember something about that."

"Well, I decided you should know about it."

Maddy inhales deeply and stares at me.

"You sure?"

I shake my head. "No. But you were f.u.c.king brave yesterday. I'm not p.u.s.s.y enough that I can't do it too. But you might think I'm a p.u.s.s.y by the time I'm done talking."

Maddy sticks her chin out and looks me in the eye. "I doubt it, but there's only one way to find out."

I take a deep breath, then another. The night air is chilly and fireflies flit around us. For just a second I contemplate changing my mind. But that's not an option.

Just do it, you f.u.c.king p.u.s.s.y.

"OK," I begin. "You know that I was in Afghanistan with the Rangers. You know that I had to do some s.h.i.tty things. But there was something, one thing that happened that f.u.c.ked Brand and me up. It's why we're here, in the comfort of air-conditioned homes and eating decent food while our guys are still in the hot-as-h.e.l.l desert eating MREs."

Madison stares at me, waiting.

"OK," she says. "I understand that part. And I know that if it wasn't something terrible, you wouldn't be here. I'm ready to hear it. I'm not going to judge you."

I stare at her in the dark. "I need you to know that it was the worst day of my life. I can't tell you all of it, but I want you to know what you're dealing with, OK?"

She stares at me solemnly, nodding.

I inhale, then exhale. My breath sounds ragged in the night but I ignore it. Instead I focus on the words I'm saying, focusing on each one separately so I can get through them all.

"It's hard to know where to start. Afghanistan was f.u.c.king brutal. I guess I can start with that. Hot, sweaty, smelly. Everywhere we went we had to watch over our shoulders. People hated us but pretended they didn't. It got to be a lot to take. But I could've taken it. Forever, if need be, because that was the life I chose. It was what I wanted. But one night something happened that broke me. It completely broke me, Madison."

I pause, gathering my thoughts, gathering myself before I continue. I can't even look at Madison's face. I don't want to see what she's thinking.

"One night it was so f.u.c.king hot and black, and Brand and I were doing patrols outside of Kabul with our friend Mad Dog. We were leading a four-Humvee convoy, headed to a break-apart point where we would separate into four directions. Right after we separated, a bomb went off. Our Humvee exploded into a million pieces-and it blew Mad Dog apart."

Madison sucks in her breath, silently waiting for more. I swallow.

"He was a good guy, Maddy. A real good guy. He had a wife and a little baby back home. He got his name from drinking too much cheap a.s.s Mad Dog and he never lost at poker. Ever. He was a good friend. And I repaid him for that by making a decision that blew him into a million f.u.c.king pieces."

I stare at the water now as I pause to collect myself. Because all I can see in my head is the memory of his intestines piled outside his body in a pool of blood that looked black in the night.

All I can see in my head is everything else, everything I can't tell Madison about. The rest of the story.

Maddy breathes in, then out, and I can see that what I've told her is enough.

"I'm so sorry, Gabriel. Oh my G.o.d. It's just so horrible. I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry. You can't blame yourself, though. There's no way that was your fault."

I look at her and her gorgeous face is drawn, tightened up in horror.

"That's just it. I made a mistake. That's what happened that night. And when I came home, I went to Mad Dog's funeral. When I tried to hand his wife the flag that covered his coffin, she looked me in the eye and said, 'It should've been you.' Because it should've been. She knew the truth."

She knew all the things that I can't tell Maddy.

She knew what really happened. She'd read the army's incident report, the black-and-white words that couldn't possibly explain the incident.

Heat flares up in my throat, threatening to close it. I swallow, then swallow again as I try to relax, to breathe.

Just breathe, motherf.u.c.ker.

Maddy wraps her arms around my shoulders and holds me tight, her breath soft on my neck.

"You can't believe that," she tells me softly, her lips grazing my ear. "You can't believe that. You're strong and good, Gabriel. It was a horrible accident. You didn't cause it."

I look at her again, a lump in my throat.

"I did cause it," I tell her. "You don't need to know how. What you need to know, though, is that I came home f.u.c.ked up. The past doesn't stay in the past, Maddy. I came home with PTSD and I can't fix myself. I'm not normal anymore. And I don't think you should be with someone like me."

Maddy looks at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, filled with sympathy for me. I should hate that, but I'm so f.u.c.king glad not to see judgment in them that I don't. I'm so f.u.c.king glad not to see that she thinks I'm weak. Or pathetic. Or all the other things that go through my own mind.