Page 32 of The Long Way Found

And then he was out.

Driving through the dark alone, the roads swept clean, and snow piled high on either side, he felt the old guilt tug at him.

This is different. I’m going home to sleep, not blowing him off again.

He told himself he wasn’t running from anything. He was taking things slowly for his own good. And for Luke’s, too, right?

The justification still tasted familiar and cutting.

CHAPTER 10

LUKE

It was hard to believe, but Luke hadn’t set foot on the Calder Ridge University campus in years, since before he left for L.A. The place had changed, needless to say. New, generic buildings mixed with old stone ones. Students were everywhere, with backpacks and coffee cups and the easy confidence of the young.

Jack had texted Luke to say he was free for lunch, and Luke offered to drive to campus. It was a nice day and a good chance to get out of the gym for a few minutes. He’d also been curious about Jack’s work setup.

In the Veterans Center, in a newer wing of the main admin building, Luke met a bearded young man stapling flyers to a bulletin board.

“Second door on the left," he said, directing Luke down the hall toward Jack's office. "He has a student with him, but he should be done soon.”

Luke nodded and walked down the hall when he heard someone’s voice from an open door.

“I can’t do it, Sir,” a man said. “I look at the assignment, and my mind goes blank. It’s like I’m back there, you know?”

Luke heard Jack’s voice, calm and steady. “I do know," Jack said. "It helped me break it all down. I didn't think about the whole paper. Try writing one paragraph about what happened on that day only."

"I can’t," the other person began.

"You told me the story last week. You can tell it again on paper,” Jack said. “You survived a tour in Afghanistan, Martinez. You can survive writing an essay about it."

Martinez let out a shaky laugh. “When you put it like that.”

“One paragraph,” Jack repeated. “That’s all. Bring it to me on Thursday, and we’ll build from there. Imagine you’re talking to me, then write what you say. Hell, you can even speak into your phone and type what you record.”

Martinez stood and asked, “That’s not cheating?”

“That’s not cheating,” Jack said.

Luke felt like he was intruding on a sacred moment between teacher and student. But he also felt blessed to see this side of Jack in action. Here, he was helping a vulnerable person in need, drawing on his own difficult experiences, sharing them openly, and offering tactics for achieving the goal of expressing himself in his essay.

He wondered, What else about this man haven’t I seen yet?

Martinez nodded, stood, and walked toward Luke. He was compact and wiry, with the watchful posture of someone trained to notice everything. Luke thought he looked tired yet on high alert. Martinez walked past Luke and mumbled, “Sir.”

Jack looked up and saw Luke in the doorway. His expression softened.

Luke stepped into the office and looked around. Small but neat. A desk, two chairs, and bookshelves lined with history texts and a few worn paperbacks. A single photo on the shelf: Jack in uniform, younger, somewhere hot and dry. No personal touches beyond that, yet. No plants, no clutter.

This was a traveling man’s current workspace, not a man’s life.

“Hey,” Jack said. “Ready for lunch?”

“Yeah.” Luke leaned against the doorframe. “How’s that kid doing?”

“Panic attacks,” Jack said, shutting down his computer. “It’s more common than you’d think. Many of them came back with PTSD and can’t focus, can’t write. Most of the time, they just need someone to walk them through it.”

“You’re good at it.”