Here With Me (The Archer Brothers 1)

She clears her throat, bringing my attention back to her. “I can sense the wheels turning in your head, Evan. You have a lot of unanswered questions that only your commander can answer for you.” The doctor slides a folder over to me, and I watch as it balances on the edge of her desk. I’m almost afraid to pick it up, afraid of the contents inside. Reaching out, I grab the manila folder and open the jacket. Inside is my obituary, along those for my unit members, and other newspaper articles detailing our mission.

“I don’t understand.”

She sighs, and I can see her moving around through my peripheral vision, but I’m focused on the pages in front of me.

“Here,” she says, handing me a cup of water. It’s not in one of her mugs and for that I’m thankful. I gulp it down in one swig and wish that it were something stronger to numb away my thoughts. She pulls the folder from my free hand and walks back to her chair. I want to reach over and snatch it back from her. I wasn’t done looking at the pieces of newspaper that detail my life’s destruction.

“As I said, Evan, not everything is as cut and dry as they’ve made it out to be. You and your unit were hailed local heroes. You were celebrated and honored. Th

e only thing I can make of it is that someone wanted your unit to disappear. I’m not on the inside, Evan, so I don’t know. I can’t even assure you that it wasn’t your brother, but it wasn’t Ryley. It wasn’t her or the community that turned their backs on you and your unit.”

I have to let her words run their course through my mind and eventually into my heart. What if she’s telling the truth? What if this was an inside job that was meant to eliminate our unit? I know I’m not the only one suffering. McCoy came home to find his wife and child gone and hasn’t been able to locate them. I suppose I’m the lucky one. My girl was coming home with a bag of groceries when I surprised her. At least she never left our house.

“Do you know anyone in the military?”

Doc shakes her head slowly.

“Everything I say here stays here, right? You’re not going to report my session to my CO?”

She leans forward, again piercing me with her eyes. “Evan, everything you say here, in this room or outside with me is protected by doctor-patient confidentiality. Even if I’m subpoenaed, I don’t have to answer their questions. We’re protected in here.”

I nod, fully understanding what she’s saying, but I’m not sure if I can bring myself to tell her what happened or how I don’t know how everything went so wrong. The mission was an easy one. In and out. A piece of cake. We called it a snatch and grab and figured we’d be home by dinner, relatively speaking.

“Evan, do you want to tell me what kept you away from home for so long?”

“YOU’D START BY TELLING Evan what, Ryley?”

A lone tear finds its way down my cheek. I swipe at it, afraid that more will follow in its wake. There are so many thoughts filtering through my mind that my words are often spoken before I even realize what I’m saying. This would be one of those instances. I spoke too soon. I allowed my words to trail off and she caught meaning behind them.

“Ryley?” she prods in a sweet voice that does nothing to calm me.

“What?” I bite back angrily. She doesn’t know what it’s like to be me. I had to look Evan in the eye and tell him he’s dead to me, to all of us. The words were no sooner out of my mouth before the anger in his eyes flooded me. He didn’t understand. Telling that to the man that I loved… a man that I still love even though we buried him years ago. In hindsight, I should’ve dropped my bags and run into his arms. I should’ve trailed my fingers over his defined jaw and across his eyelids, confirming what my heart was already telling me. That the love of my life was standing in front of me. That he hadn’t died, that we could be whole again. But life had to rear its ugly head and shatter my world even deeper than it had before.

I was cold and standoffish, rude and dismissive. I was everything I shouldn’t have been to him because I was scared, shocked and couldn’t believe that after so many years he was standing in front of me in flesh and blood, a real-life breathing man who I missed dearly, but I reacted so poorly and all he was expecting was a homecoming, but instead his welcoming party was too confused by his presence.

“Do you need another break?”

I shake my head wildly. It’s better that I start talking about Evan more so that when I leave only to come after his session, she can give us some guidance.

“There are a few days that I’d like a re-do on where Evan is concerned. Well probably more than a few, but I’m trying not to be greedy. The day he left, when we were on the tarmac and I held his face in my hands, I told him that I loved him. But what I should’ve told him is that my love for him runs so deeply that it can never be taken away, that he’s who I see when I grow old, sitting by me in a rocking chair and watching the waves crash into the shore. Instead, I kissed him and told him that I loved him because I knew he was coming back.

“When he was there on my front porch, my bags should’ve dropped. My eggs should’ve splattered all over my driveway and my gallon of milk should’ve exploded. Instead, I stood there staring at the ghost who had taken the form of my former fiancé as he descended the stairs of our front porch. His smile was bright, until he saw my face, and then it died.

“I replay that day over and over in my mind. Each scene is the same as I find myself dropping everything and running into his arms. My lips pepper every bit of exposed skin as I tell him over and over again that this can’t be real. That he’s not real. That every prayer I’ve uttered for the past six years has come true. I tell him that I love him, and that EJ has missed him so much. In my head, I take his hand in mind, forgetting the groceries scattered all over my driveway, and take him in the house to introduce him to his son. His namesake.” I cover my face as tears stream down it. A sob rolls through my body, causing me to choke and gasp for air. I feel her hands on my shoulder, her fingers kneading into my skin trying to comfort me. I’m a despicable human.

“Instead, I told him that I’m engaged to another man. The look…” I cough to clear my throat, in a lame attempt to breathe easier. “The look on his face is something I’ll never forget. If he wasn’t dead before, I killed him in that moment, shot him down with his own gun.”

“Let’s take another break, Ryley.” Her words are meant to be calming, but they’re not. I stand on shaky legs and head to the bathroom. My last few steps are in a sprint as I feel my stomach start to roll. I barely make it before I’m down on my knees and clutching the cold white porcelain for leverage. I dry heave, unable to expel the contents of my stomach. I can’t even puke properly right now, that’s how messed up I am. Sitting back against the wall and pulling my knees to my chest, I cry into my dress. I’ve never been more confused than I am now. This session isn’t helping, but only showing me how much of a failure I am, and how I did everything wrong.

I should’ve known better than to let Nate in, but he was there and offered the comfort I so badly needed. He felt the same pain I did. He was going through the same thing I was. He was there when I needed someone to cry to, and it was easy because he understood. He doesn’t even know his brother is alive, or he does and has hid it from me. That thought triggers an onslaught of emotions and this time I empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet. With my eyes closed I rest my head on my forearm. My chest is heaving. I need to calm down before I hyperventilate. There’s no way that Nate knew about Evan. He wouldn’t do that to me or his mom and sister.

A soft knock brings me back from my thoughts. “I’ll be out in a moment,” I say, standing up and righting my dress. I hit the lever and move away. The mirror I stood in front of earlier offers me another glimpse of how bad I look, even more so now. My eyes are bloodshot and puffy. Turning the water on, I open the medicine cabinet to see if by chance she has toothpaste. I imagine she works long hours and maybe even spends the night on her couch. Not to mention she drinks coffee and doesn’t want coffee-breath. Much to my relief, there’s a tube. I quickly pull it out and squirt some onto my finger, brushing quickly and rinsing. With one last look in the mirror, I mutter to myself “this is as good as it’s gonna get,” before exiting.

The therapist is writing furiously across her pad of paper. The pad looks new and now I’m curious as to how many she’s gone through today. I’m also wondering whether Evan and I are her most messed up case. Can’t say anything I know about compares to what we’re going through. I take the assumed position in the chair and wait for the next onslaught of questions.

“Feeling better?”

“Slightly,” I say, nodding my assent. I’m not sure I’ll ever feel one hundred percent, but I get up every day and put my pants on like any other normal person.