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When I had enlisted in the Army, I had done so with the knowledge that at some point, someday, I might be sent to fight for my country. Ultimately, it was my duty as a soldier, and I held no denial over that truth.

In a way, I always hoped that would be the case. I could serve a purpose, and as my father had put it, I’d be given the opportunity—the privilege —to die a hero and finally be rid of his vile blood flowing through my veins. A win-win, as some might say.

And that wasn’t to imply necessarily that I had ever wanted to die, especially on that beautiful, terrible day in September.

I was as happy as I’d ever been, despite the anger I had felt toward Ricky and Lucy.

I had Laura, and I was ready to make things official with her.

I had a few great friends, a job I was good at, and a girl who, for whatever reason, actually wanted to sleep beside me.

Things were about as good as they could be, and I didn’t want to die, but I was ready to, if the time ever came. I felt prepared, and that little voice, telling me that Dad would finally be proud of me, didn’t do much to put out the fire.

Yet it still somehow came as a shock when my country declared war on terror—even when it shouldn’t have come as a surprise at all, I guessed.

All things considered. Sid had known all along, and in a way, so had I.

But maybe I allowed nonacceptance to take control those few weeks at home.

I had let myself live in a Laura-shaped bubble for too long while all those poor people killed that day, along with the men and women and children they had left behind, were denied the chance to feel that type of ignorant bliss again.

But regardless of the things that had floated through my head before the attack on September 11, I never did make things official with Laura.

Even as I stayed at her apartment for weeks, eating dinner, watching movies, and making love all night long until we both finally passed out, only to begin all over again the next day.

Because despite that little glimmer of purposeful obliviousness, I did know that what Sid had said was true.

We were going to war, and oddly enough, the first person I told was my father.

I wasn’t sure why or what exactly I expected from making the announcement during an awkward scenario on my parents’ front porch.

He couldn’t even invite me inside, which came as less of a surprise than maybe it should’ve.

I knew he wouldn’t cry or apologize for making my life a living hell for as far back as I could remember, but maybe, deep down, I at least hoped he’d open his eyes to the reality that I—his only son—was going to war, where it was a very real possibility that I could die.

But he only looked at me, slowly blinking his eyes in that nonchalant way he was so good at, and said, “Well, that’s your job, isn’t it?”

No shake of the hand. No wishes of good luck. No prayers. Nothing. He turned around, walked inside, and closed the door in my face.

I guessed I couldn’t expect much more from him. But I had hoped, and that, I found, was the scariest thing of all.

My sisters cried though. Of course they did. Laura did too.

I made them all promise to write to me, and I promised that, whenever I was able, I’d take the time to write back or even call.

Ricky tried to reach out, but I didn’t answer. Because despite the reality that I was being shipped off to meet my possible death, I wasn’t ready to talk to him, even weeks after I caught him and my sister making out.

My father’s blood was still in my veins after all, and us Tailor men knew how to hold a grudge like no other.

***

So, in October 2001, just a little over a month after the attacks on September 11, the American military was sent to invade Afghanistan.

That first tour of duty lasted fifteen months.

Fifteen months of walking the sandy streets, crawling through caves, and lying on desolate rooftops as I waited for Sid to give me the word .

Together, we saw things, did things, that people back home couldn’t imagine.

We killed people.

We watched people be killed.

The guilty … and the innocent too.

We never killed a civilian, but we had seen it happen, and those were the deaths that kept me up at night.

It didn’t matter how unintentional it was.

The unfairness of it all. The injustices that fell upon the innocents and the evil that hid behind them, lurked among them—wolves in sheep’s clothing.

Those blameless souls invaded my nightmares, begged me with their bleeding, pleading eyes.

They had changed me, shifted the foundation of my core, and by the time I was scheduled to go home again—fifteen months after I’d stepped foot on Afghanistan soil—I felt so far removed from the person I had been before that I feared the people who mattered to me wouldn’t recognize who I was.

Fuck, how could they when I hardly recognize myself? I wondered now, glancing at my reflection in my spoon before digging into a slice of chocolate cake that was a little too dry but decent if only for being chocolate cake.

“What’s the first thing you’re gonna do when you get home?” Sid asked before taking a bite of his brownie.

I paused my chewing, pursing my lips. “Probably gonna see Laura.”

He nodded knowingly. “So, you’re gonna fuck Laura—got it. Good answer. I’d fuck someone, too, if I had someone to fuck. ”

I snorted a quiet laugh. “Nah, I was thinking maybe I’d take her out or something.”

His eyes rounded with surprise as he turned to me slowly, one side of his mouth quirking into a little smile. “Wait, are you talking about, like … a date ?”

I scrunched my nose, already embarrassed for saying anything. “I don’t recall saying anything about a date.”

At that moment, Private Lizzie Copeland—a twenty-six-year-old wife and mother of two from Wisconsin—took a seat across from us with a tray containing a hamburger and a slice of the same dry cake I was losing interest in by the second.

“Who’s going on a date?” she asked, her eyes volleying between Sid and me.

“Serg is gonna ask Laura on a date,” Sid filled her in, and she turned to me, wide-eyed and excited.

“Well, will you look at ol’ Sergeant Tin Man?” she gushed, laying a hand over her chest.

I rolled my eyes at the nickname. It was dumb and unfounded and had only come about after my squad learned I had been casually seeing the same woman since I was eighteen without any clear desire for commitment—thanks to Sid and his big, dumb, unfiltered mouth.

“I never said date ,” I clarified once again, growing more irritated by the second. “I said maybe I’d take her out somewhere.”

“Well, are we talking dinner or, like, the supermarket?” Lizzie asked, lifting her burger in both hands and bringing it to her mouth.

I shrugged. “I dunno. I haven’t thought about it. ”

Lizzie looked at Sid, and both of them burst into snorts of laughter, their mouths full of food.

“Oh, wow,” Lizzie said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her eyes danced with mischief. “How romantic. She’s gonna love that.”

“Nothin’ says love like the dairy aisle,” Sid agreed sardonically. “Milk and butter with a side of hot, sweet love .”

“You’re both assholes,” I muttered. “I’m gonna make both of your lives hell later.”

“What, you gonna make me drop and give you twenty?” Sid asked, slinging his arm around my shoulders and giving me a little shake. “Baby, I’ll give you fifty if you tell me you’re gonna take that little lady on an actual, honest-to-God date.”

I looked around at the other areas of the mess hall.

The different tables, separated mostly by platoons.

Higher ranks didn’t typically fraternize with the lower ranks, and the lowers were usually unlikely to fuck around with the highers, the way Lizzie and Sid were fucking around with me right now.

But I didn’t like that—not that I cared to be fucked around with in this way, especially when it came to personal matters.

But I didn’t want to act like I was better than anyone—even if I was.

We were a team, a squad, a platoon. And I didn’t want my title to give me a reason to sit atop some sort of pedestal and look down on those I worked with, the people I relied on to function as smoothly as a well-oiled machine.

Mostly, I didn’t want to be my father.

A groan tore through my throat as my lips tipped in a reluctant smile. “I’m not— "

“Sergeant Tailor.”

I turned to see an older, uniformed man I barely recognized. Judging from the insignia on his shoulder, he was a sergeant major, making him my superior.

Immediately, I stood and saluted with my right hand. “Sir.”

He nodded his acceptance of the gesture, and I lowered my arm.

“I’m Sergeant Major Lang. I come as a courtesy to inform you that Corporal Dumass was mortally wounded in the battlefield this morning and has since succumbed to his injuries.”

A heavy, sinking weight settled in the pit of my chest and dropped to my stomach. I heard Sid deflate with a forlorn sigh and, from the corner of my eye, watched as he hung his head.

I did the same.

Greg and I had been like ships in the night since those days in basic training.

We’d spent years stationed at different bases around the country, until, finally, our paths crossed again when we were both brought to the same base in Afghanistan.

He was assigned to another platoon, one I had few dealings with, but we passed each other occasionally, exchanging a few words in the mess hall or on the field.

We were never again as close as we had been back in the beginning, but I had always considered him a friend.

I would miss him, but not nearly as much as his wife, Christy.

God, I couldn’t imagine …

“The end of his tour of duty was scheduled for next week,” Sergeant Major Lang went on.

I nodded, training my face to remain as still as stone despite the sorrow clinging to my heart. “He told me.”