Page 38 of Salvation (Rising From the Ashes #3)

Campbell

I t’s been four weeks since I’ve stepped into the station, but it’s time for me to return.

My leave is ending. I thought I would dread it because I was not in a good place when I left, but things have changed.

I have changed. So, as I walk through the door, a spring that wasn’t there before lightens my step.

It lasts until I reach my desk, where Cap is waiting for me, his arms crossed over his chest and his lips pressed together in a tight line.

“Sir,” I say, dipping my head.

He’s leaned against my desk, taking up the whole space, and I stop short. A wad of tobacco is tucked into his bottom lip, and he uses his tongue to move it from one side to the other while he studies me. Other than that, the hard lines of his face don’t move.

“If you’re comfortable, I can take the office over there,” I say, hitching my thumb to the door with his name on it.

His eyes narrow, and for a second, I worry that he will tell me that I’m fired, despite what he said before my leave, but when the corner of his mouth starts to twitch, finally breaking out into a full grin, my shoulders sag.

“It’s good to have you back, Richards.”

I smile, and it’s different than before, too. It no longer feels as forced. “It’s good to be back.” I expect him to shove off my desk and get to work, but he lingers. After an awkward pause in which I wait for him to move and he settles in further on my desk, I ask, “Is there something else, Cap?”

“Yeah,” he says, scratching at his jaw. “Yeah, there is. Look, I’m not asking you to tell me what happened before you left. A man is entitled to his private life—even if the citizens of this town sometimes think they aren’t—but I do need to make sure you’re good. That you have your head on.”

The back of my neck itches with embarrassment, but I meet his gaze, giving him the respect he deserves. “Yeah, Cap. I’m good.”

He stands to his full height and claps me on the shoulder.

“I’m glad to hear it, but if that ever changes—” His voice trails off, but I know what he’s asking.

“Thank you. It means a lot.” Sometimes, when you’re in the depths of depression, it’s easy to think you’re alone, but I have people. I just have to remember that.

“Anytime, kid. Anytime.” Slapping my shoulder one more time for good measure, he walks away, leaving me standing alone.

I step forward, unbuckling my sidearm and laying it on my desk as I sit down.

Steepling my fingers beneath my chin, I stare at it, thinking about the darkness I sat in two months ago.

It would have been so easy to pull the gun out and end it all—and there were several times I was close to it—but I’m glad I didn’t because the darkness is more gray than black now.

It’s not gone completely, but it is much better than it was.

It’s easier to recognize that I would have just been transferring the pain had I gone through with it.

A throat clears beside me, startling me from my thoughts, and I look up to find Hayes hovering over where I sit..

“If you didn’t bring food, then I’m busy,” I joke, but Hayes doesn’t smile. He’s staring at my gun with a look of concern creasing his brows. “Is something wrong?”

His eyes flick to mine, and his frown grows deeper. “Are you sure you’re ready to come back?”

I don’t blame him for asking the question. The last couple of times he’s seen me, I haven’t been in a good place, but it still stings. Looking around, I check to ensure we’re alone before facing him head-on again.

“I’m ready, Hayes. I promise. I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t. I—uh—I went to the doctor.”

Hayes’s eyes widen in surprise. “You did? Did you go alone? I would’ve gone with you.”

I shake my head, cutting him off. “Ivy went with me.”

“Oh.” I can tell he’s trying not to ask, but he’s been hanging around Silas too much because not knowing is killing him.

I smile, reveling in how much he’s changed in the last year.

MJ coming back was the best thing that could have ever happened to him.

There was always a piece of him missing without her.

“Go ahead and ask, Hayes,” I say, taunting him. “You know you want to.”

The words are no sooner out of my mouth than he’s grabbing a chair, flipping it around backwards, and straddling it. “Okay,” he says, bracing his elbow on the back of the chair and putting his chin in his hand. “Now, I’m ready. Tell me everything.”

I snort, unfamiliar with this side of Hayes. “There isn’t much to tell. I asked her to go with me. She said yes. End of story.”

Hayes glares at me. “That’s not the end of the story, Campbell,” he says, pointing at me. “Now give me the good stuff.”

I glare back at him half-heartedly, but eventually I break. “You’re turning into Silas. Do you know that?”

He shrugs. “Yes, now spill.”

With a soft chuckle, I do. “Ivy is no longer engaged, and I’m going to do everything I can to get her back.”

Hayes’s mouth opens and closes, clearly in shock. For someone who wanted to know everything, he clearly wasn’t ready for this.

After a few seconds of him looking like a fish out of water, I start to worry I’ve broken him. Snapping my finger in front of his face, I say, “Earth to Hayes. Are you still with me?”

He shakes his head, clearing the confused look from his eyes. “Sorry, but Ivy was engaged?”

My laugh is full and deep. Leaning back in my chair, I hold my stomach and wipe a small tear from the corner of my eye. “You really are bad at this gossip thing. I guess I should have known that, though, seeing as that’s how MJ managed to break your nose with that tire iron last year.”

His eyes narrow into slits. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

Lifting one shoulder, I pretend to think about it and then give him the honest answer. “Never.”

“I hate you.”

I don’t even pretend to think that’s true. It’s not. He’s been too good of a friend, and whether he realizes it or not, he’s had a hand in saving my life. “No, you don’t.”

“You’re right,” he says with a smile. “I don’t, but let’s go back to the doctor. We got sidetracked for a minute.”

“ You got sidetracked, Hayes.”

He waves his hand. “Potato, tomato.”

“You do know that’s not how the saying goes, right?” I ask.

“What are you, my English teacher? Stop procrastinating and tell me about the doctor.”

I sober. It feels good to joke around with Hayes again—for those jokes not to be forced—but I want him to know I’m taking this seriously.

“I went to see MJ’s dad. He’s not taking a lot of new patients anymore because he’s semi-retired, but he made an exception for me when I called and explained everything.”

Hayes rubs the scruff on his chin. “He’s a good doctor.”

“Yeah, he is. He recommended a therapist, and he put me on medicine.”

“And how do you feel about all of that?” Hayes’s eyes pierce through me, waiting for my answer.

“I won’t lie and say I’m completely over struggling with the idea of seeing a doctor and taking medication, but it’s not as hard as it used to be—and I think that’s what I need. One better day until they are all better days.”

The hope of one day having days like that makes me tear up. I’ve spent so long in the dark, I forgot how much I’ve missed the light. Swiping the tears away, I look back at Hayes. Tears brim in his eyes, too.

“I’m proud of you, Campbell.”

______________________

Chaos is ensuing in my parents’ home as I walk through the door. My mom is yelling from somewhere in the back of the house, and just as the door closes behind me, my niece and nephews go darting by, looking as if they are on the run.

With a sigh, I take one step and then scoop each of them up under my arm.

“Okay, little rascals, what have you done this time?” I ask, tickling their ribs as I carry them down the hall.

“We didn’t do anything, Uncle Campbell,” Indy says, looking at me from under long lashes. She’s perfected the look of innocence, and it usually gets her whatever she wants from my mom and dad. But I’m no fool, so I stare back at her with one brow cocked, waiting for the truth.

My niece breaks with a flourish, hanging her head to the floor and going limp in my arms so that I nearly drop her. “Fine. We might have stolen the cookies grandma baked for the cookout tonight.”

“Like one of them?” I ask, not seeing the harm in one cookie before dinner. Except I should have known better with these two.

“Nope,” Indy says, popping her head back up with a grin. “All of them.”

“Indy,” Liam whines from my other arm, “Don’t you remember what Uncle Campbell said the last time? We are innocent until proven guilty. You just proved us guilty.”

I have to hold my breath to keep from laughing because laughing only encourages these two, and the last thing they need is to be encouraged to continue with their antics.

“Ah, dang it, Uncle Campbell. Can I take back my answer? I meant to say I plead the fifth.”

I nearly choke on my laughter. I knew teaching them all that lingo when we were playing cops and robbers was a bad idea. I just never realized it would be me who would get bitten in the butt.

“Too late, Independence,” I say, using the nickname I gave Indy when she was one and refused to let anyone help her learn to walk. That trait has now carried over to other things as well. I set them down and lower myself to one knee so I’m on their level. “Now spill. Where did you hide the stash?”

The twins glance at each other in unison, and then cross their arms, zipping their lips tight.

My eye twitches. “Okay,” I sing-song. “I guess I’m going to have to separate you then. See which one of you cracks first. Indy, well start with—”

Before I can get the words out of my mouth, they are rushing me and tackling me.

I wrap each of them up in my arms to keep them from getting hurt as we fall.

Their little fingers dig into my ribs, tickling me just like I’d done to them moments before, and grown man or not, I’ll break every time in a tickle fight.

“Okay. Okay,” I cry. “I give. You win. You can keep the cookies. I won’t tell.”

A throat clears above us, and we all freeze, looking up to find my dad standing over us with his arms crossed over his chest and his glasses sitting low on his nose.

“Uh—that wasn’t what it sounded like.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he says, clearly not believing me. His eyes jump to the twins, who are still lying on top of me, frozen. “Go give your grandma back her cookies before you give her a stroke, and stay out of them before you ruin your dinner.”

They jump up like their butts are on fire. I get up, moving to follow after them, but my dad’s voice stops me.

“You’ve riled them up enough, son. Come to my office.” He spins without waiting to see if I will follow. Looking down the hallway, I debate whether I can make a run for it, but before I can, his voice rings out again. “That wasn’t a question, Campbell.”

When I glance back in his direction, he’s disappearing into his office. I have no choice but to follow, but I drag my feet anyway, taking my time getting there.

Growing up, it was never for friendly reasons when my dad invited any of us kids into his office.

More often than not, it was because we had driven my mom to the point of insanity that day while he was at work, and she’d asked him to step in to handle it.

It’s where every serious conversation I’ve had with my dad has happened, and walking in there now feels like I’m ten years old again, prepping myself for that.

Besides that day in their drive, we haven’t spoken since I dropped the news about Willow, so I expect him to ream me out when I step through the door.

Instead, I find him standing behind his desk, tears dripping from his face, and his knuckles turning white as he leans into the wood. The sight stops me in place, a mix of fear and confusion settling into my chest.

“Dad?” My voice cracks, and he looks up, his eyes finding me standing in the doorway.

In the time it’s taken me to get to his office, he’s removed his glasses, giving me a better look at him.

It’s been a long time since I’ve really looked at my dad, and I somehow missed how tired he started to become.

The gray that had been creeping into his hair years before has fully taken over, and the bags beneath his eyes age him far beyond his actual age. “Are you okay?”

“You know, son,” he says, turning his head to look at the window, sadness taking over his irises. “I’ve spent my adult life trying to be a good dad, and it’s been a hard pill to swallow realizing that I failed.”

“Dad—” I start, but his gaze jumps back to me, shaking his head.

“No, Campbell, let me get this out. You’re different than me.

You have been since you were young. You noticed things I never noticed about the world, and you have a sensitive heart.

I was terrified of raising you weak in a cruel world, and I was taught that emotions make you weak.

But I was wrong because you’re the strongest man I know. Stronger than I’ve ever been.”

For the better part of my life, I’ve had trouble believing in my strength as a man because of the voice in my head that sounded so much like my dad’s. He was doing his best, but it hurt me all the same.

“I don’t think you failed, Dad. I learned a lot of things from you—things I’m better for. But it’s unhealthy for us to suppress our emotions the way we do. You say we are different—and in a lot of ways we are—but everyone has feelings. And I’m tired of being ashamed of that.”

“I never meant to make you feel ashamed.”

“But I did, and sometimes I wonder if you do, too.” The statement is raw and honest, something I’ve never been capable of when talking to my dad.

His graying brows dip together, and I hold my breath, waiting for the disappointment to hit when he shuts down like he always does. But to my surprise, he doesn’t.

“You’re right, son. I do.”

His confession rocks into me, splitting my chest with a new kind of sadness because it shouldn’t be this way.

There shouldn’t be such a stigma for men’s mental health, but there is.

And there are probably a hundred other men out there, suppressing all the things I’ve suffered alone because they are ashamed.

But it can change with us. It doesn’t have to stay that way for our family.

“I’m starting therapy, Dad. Maybe you should, too.”

An internal battle flickers through my dad’s eyes—one I know well because I’ve fought it myself. “I’ll think about it.”

It’s not exactly a yes, but it’s not a no either. And that’s a start.