Page 13 of Pieces Into Place

Just then, a tall figure steps between us, blocking my view. His voice is thick with menace. “Are you fucking staring at my girlfriend?” he spits.

I sigh heavily. I’m not looking for trouble tonight, but after months of feeling numb and empty, it might be just what I need.

“Another,” I say to the bartender after swallowing my last sip of whiskey. With every swallow of the amber liquid, the pain of the past few months becomes more bearable. My therapist and doctor would say drinking alcohol is bad for me, but fuck those guys. They don’t know what I’m going through and haven’t done anything to help me.

I throw back the last of my whiskey and stand to face him. We’re similar in size, but he’s soft in the middle. He looks sloppy, and he’s about to get his ass kicked.

“I don’t know,” I say flatly. “Is your girl the one over there giving me ‘fuck me’ eyes?”

He cocks his arm back but before his punch can land, I connect with his jaw and he stumbles back, dizzy with the contact. I’m vaguely aware of some shouting and screaming circulating around me when I reach for his throat, but before I can land another punch I’m being pulled back by two bouncers. I don’t protest, because even as drunk as I am, I know not to fuck with these dudes. They drag me outside and push me against a parked car.

“You’re done!” one of them shouts, as the other grabs my keys and wallet from my pocket. “You got a ride home?” he asks. “You’re not driving like this.”

Before I can answer, the one looking through my wallet sees my military ID. Without a word, he hands it to the first guy who scans it.

“Look, we’re going to call you a car. You need to sit here and calm down.” He gestures to the other bouncer and says, “Paul is going to get you a glass of water while you wait.” Then he shoves my keys and wallet in my direction and says, “Thank you for your service.”

I was ready to face the physical pain of two behemoths pounding my face, believing it would be better than hearing those five words. I feel the strength I had just moments ago evaporate and I sink to the sidewalk, unable to look up as tears threaten to stream down my face. I take a deep breath and wait for a ride to take me away from this moment of heartache.

Despite knowing how much suffering this cycle will bring, I still find myself falling into the same behavior. Grief comforts me because it is familiar, like an old friend. It slips in quietly and promises immediate relief-a false solution that never really solves anything and only creates deeper layers of depression and anxiety. For twelve years, I dedicated myself to naval service, and when it ended abruptly, all my identity was taken with it.

My mind understands that changes are necessary but my emotions are too weak to confront them. I don’t possess the strength to make hard decisions so instead I choose to stay in my misery, enduring this tumultuous cycle for months.

They say sometimes people have to hit rock bottom before they realize just how dysfunctional they’ve become. I’m wading in the shallow depths of rock bottom, but haven’t crashed yet; although, my days are bringing me closer and closer. I’m beginning to feel the depression swallowing me daily.

My apartment is a disaster zone, clothes strewn everywhere and dishes piled high in the sink. I barely sleep at all, my mind racing with anxious thoughts that drink after drink can’t seem to silence. Occasionally, I’ll go out and try to find someone to take home, but mostly I just stay inside, drowning my sorrows in bottles of booze.

I’m intentionally pushing my parents away, even though they only want to help me. When we do talk, it’s like walking on eggshells-there’s so much left unsaid between us. The only solace I have is Annie. She always makes me happy, no matter how dark things get. Even though I can barely drag myself out of bed these days, I make sure to take her for walks every day because she deserves better than this.

I think it’s Tuesday, but the days all seem to blend together lately. When I finally drag myself out of bed past 3 PM, I can feel a hangover headache starting up. Annie’s ecstatic energy encourages me outside for a walk. The sweat from my brow feels more like whiskey than water, and soon enough, we are headed home.

As I picked up the day’s mail from the mailbox, dread begins to creep in with each letter I toss into the trash pile. Until I see the return address on the last one: Conrad, Montana. Smitty’s mom, Sandy Smith, lives there-and although I haven’t spoken to her since shortly after the accident that claimed her son’s life, I’m terrified this letter can’t be good news. Adrenaline courses through me as I open the envelope with shaking hands.

Chapter six

Kane

On legs that feel like they will collapse at any moment, I open the letter and begin to read. Before I even make it halfway through, the tears cloud my sight, causing me to pause and wipe my eyes with a nearby towel.

Dear Kane,

I hope this letter finds you well. First, I need to tell you that I am so sorry for what happened to you. The things you’ve gone through are things no one should ever have to endure. Hopefully, with each passing day, I hope your heart is finding a way to heal.

As for me, I’m moving forward day by day. After Luke passed away, the grief was suffocating and nothing felt right anymore. My friends kept pushing me to visit a support group for people who had lost a child, and I finally caved in, mostly just to get them to leave me alone.

When I arrived, a wave of sadness engulfed everyone in the room as we gathered around in a circle introducing ourselves. I didn’t think I’d have the strength to stay, but somehow I did.

One by one, painful stories were shared with tears streaming down our cheeks but also with laughter when remembering the good times we spent together as a family.

As difficult as it was to talk about our struggles, it was immensely satisfying to connect with other people who understood what I was going through. It was so hard to listen to everyone’s stories and even more difficult to share my own story, but once I did, I found a community of lovely, supportive people. Together, we could talk about our children with reverence instead of profound sadness.

One of the men who leads the meetings also lost a son about Luke’s age who was a firefighter. We bonded over our similar situations and began to have coffee together quite often. He has become a very unexpected and wonderful surprise. Who would have thought that at my age I’d find a companion? Life sure is strange.

I’m still working the farm and enjoying it. I don’t see myself ever retiring. It gives me a purpose.

I still miss Luke deeply, and now I’m finally coming to terms with the fact that he was doing something he loved. His dream was to serve and being on a team with you was his greatest joy.

I remember how full of life he would be when speaking of you, Kane. He would light up talking about the fun times you two had together; it was like no time or place mattered. He looked forward to bringing you home to Montana to get you on horseback—a sight he thought would be side-splittingly funny.