A dozen guys mill about, most of whom I recognize. I spent three weeks here last fall and never left. Joel offered me a job in security, and I rented a small cabin in the mountains.
I’m still figuring out what I want to do with my life now that my military career is over, and while I figure it out, this is a good place to be. The ribs are juicy, the fire is warm, and the company is decent.
“You want a whiskey?” On my right, Axel nods toward the bottle down by his camping chair. He’s not waving the bottle around because heavy liquor isn’t great for some of the veterans here, but we’ve gotten to know each other well enough over the past few months that he knows I can handle it.
The bottle has a black label on it with fancy writing. I don’t know much about Scottish whiskey, but it looks expensive.
“I’ll stick to beer.”
“Probably wise.”
Axel pours a finger into a glass and holds it up, and I tap my beer to it. The firelight catches the amber liquid as he touches it to his lips.
Axel owns the holiday resort up in the mountains. I don’t see him around the center much, but he never misses bonfire night. You wouldn’t know he was a veteran; he’s been out for more years than the rest of us, but his sponsorship helped build the place.
He brings his own luxury camping chair to bonfire night. Dean sat in it once, and all it took was Axel standing silently and staring at him for Dean to get the message and get out of the chair.
No one has sat in it since.
The squeal of a child has me looking up as Ryan rolls in on his wheelchair, his wife Paige by his side and their boy Noah riding on his lap, facing forward with his hands in the air as ifhe’s riding in on a Roman chariot. The boy giggles as Ryan spins around on his wheels.
Something I can’t describe tugs at my heart. But before I can examine it too closely, Sam plonks into the chair next to mine.
“How’s civvy life treating you?”
He’s got a beer in one hand and a hot dog covered in ketchup and mustard sticking out of a cheap white bun in the other.
He takes a big bite, and his face turns up in an expression of delight. “Mmm, these are delicious.”
He’s genuine, too. I’ve never met a man who’s so damn positive about everything. He gets pleasure out of the small things in life, like a cheap, home-cooked hot dog.
“Civvy life is good.”
Which is the truth. I have a job and a roof over my head, which is more than I had this time last year. After I left the military, I drifted, unsure of what to do with myself, taking contract work and moving from town to town. Until I heard about Jake’s Retreat. I’m more settled here than I’ve been since my honorable discharge, yet something feels like it’s missing.
“You ever feel like you’re suspended in time?” I ask Sam. “Like you’re waiting for something to start, but you don’t know what it is?”
He finishes his mouthful and grins. “Sure. I still feel like I’m waiting for the next mission. Killing time and waiting for the next orders to drop. I’m not sure I’ll ever stop waiting for that.”
“Yeah, maybe that’s it.”
My gaze strays to Ryan and his family. He’s out of his chair and over at the barbecue. He passes a plate of ribs to his wife and hands a hot dog to his son.
The dude moves well on his prosthetic, but he’s got the right idea, bringing his own chair to bonfire night.
Sam’s gaze follows mine, and he grins. “That boy’s cute for a rugrat.”
The little guy opens his mouth extra wide and shoves half the hot dog in. His little face lights up as he chews.
But it’s not the kid that makes my heart pang. Ryan slides an arm around his wife, and she leans into him. He says something to her that makes her throw her head back and laugh.
It must be nice to have someone to share with like that. These guys are great and all, but to have a woman who laughs at your jokes and keeps you warm at night … that would be heaven.
“I need another beer.” I stand up and head over to the barbecue table.
As I move through the guys, I see Roman. He’s outside the circle of light thrown by the barbecue, standing in the shadows, nursing a mug. I’ve never seen the man drink, and I hope it’s not whiskey he’s got in there. From what I hear, he’s on a ton of meds just to keep his mind straight.
Roman must sense my eyes on him because his gaze jerks to mine, his eyes eerily intense with the reflection of the bonfire burning in them.