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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

TAMERON

For soldiers, home was almost always a complicated word.

What was home? For some, it meant their partner, their family.

Kids. For others, it was a place, like their house or apartment.

It could be parents for those who were still young.

Heck, I’d had a buddy who swore up and down he wasn’t home until he was with his dog, a badass German shepherd named Gerhard.

I’d never had a clear answer to that question. I loved my parents and family, but they weren’t my home anymore. My parents moved out of my childhood home shortly after I enlisted, so I had no emotional attachment to their current house.

I’d always lived on base while enlisted since that was easiest as a single guy, but I’d never thought of my place there as a home either. It had always been temporary in my mind, a stopover on a journey to…somewhere.

Then everything had blown up in my face—literally, pardon the pun—and I’d ended up here, in a strange city but with men who were my brothers.

Nash had managed to make the house he’d inherited from his grandparents into a home for all four of us.

For the first time in my life, home had become a place.

Amid all the upheaval and the fight to transition to civilian life, it had become a refuge, the one place where I could be myself.

But while I was sitting on the couch, staring into space and being in my head as usual, Creek was packing the last of his stuff.

He’d be officially moved out by the end of today.

Bean barely spent time here anymore either.

His room was still here, but he was usually at Jarek’s, except on Fridays because of movie night.

Nash was still here, of course, but it wouldn’t be the same.

Creek deposited a box near the front door, then plopped down on the couch next to me. He let out a deep sigh, then removed his prosthesis and lining until he had his bare stump, which was redder than usual. “I’ve been walking more than I’m used to. It’s a little sore.”

“Need me to check it?” The bottom of his stump was hard for him to see and he often used a mirror to ensure nothing was getting too irritated or, far worse, infected.

“Nah, Heath did this morning. I just need a little rest, but that was the last box, so I’m good.”

The last box. That was it then. My chest tightened.

“You okay?” he asked with uncharacteristic sensitivity.

I shrugged. “I’m fine.”

Creek bumped my shoulder. “Do you want me to let you get away with that bullshit or call you out on it?”

I snorted. “Look who’s channeling Nash.”

He sat a little taller, grinning widely. “Yeah, I pulled that one off, didn’t I?”

“Sure did.”

Then his grin faded. “But I do mean it. We both know you’re not fine.”

I rubbed my face just so I could hide for a few seconds. “I don’t know what I am.”

“I’m sorry for moving out.”

“You shouldn’t be. I’m happy for you. Heath is amazing, and you guys are ridiculously perfect for each other.”

He sighed. “I know, but I feel awful for leaving you.”

“Don’t. You’re moving on, as you should. It’s not your fault I’m still stuck here.”

As much as I tried, I couldn’t keep out the bitterness that had crept into my tone.

“Yeah, that’s gotta suck.”

Thank fuck Creek was at least honest with me and didn’t try to convince me I wasn’t. “It does. A lot.”

“Hence my guilt for moving out.” He scratched his chin. “It wasn’t an easy decision, you know. Heath and I argued over it for a long time. I wasn’t sure if you were ready yet.”

Emotions surged inside me at the thought that he’d worried over me. “That means a lot, man. Thank you. But I want you to move on. I want you to be happy. Bean too.”

Creek slowly shook his head. “Jesus fuck, that man hit the jackpot with Jarek. Guy has the patience of a saint.”

“Bean’s worth it,” I said, my loyalty to Bean demanding nothing else.

“Course he is, but how many men would’ve taken the time and effort to find that out?”

“True that.”

As if on cue, Bean sauntered through the front door, his face lighting up when he spotted us. “Oh perfect, you’re not gone yet. I brought food.”

He held up a shopping tote.

Creek immediately shot up straight. “Home-cooked food? That you made?”

“Seafood pasta, and yes. I messed up an order and made the wrong thing, so Zayd told me to take it home.”

There was another man with a lot of patience. I gave Bean’s boss loads of credit for hiring a man with such substantial memory issues. Not many businesses would’ve made that decision, but Zayd had, and Bean loved his job as a cook.

“I could eat,” I said.

Creek nodded, then cocked his head. “Nash won’t be home until the morning. He’s on a night shift.”

We all looked at each other, then grinned. “Couch,” we said in unison.

Nash was strict about eating at the dinner table, which was fair enough since it was his house. But when he wasn’t home, we often ate on the couch, feeling like rebellious teenagers.

“You stay,” I told Creek, who really shouldn’t be on his feet anytime soon. “I’ll grab plates and stuff.”

“I’ll heat up the pasta,” Bean said.

A few minutes later, we all sat with a plate of steaming pasta in our hands. Smart as he was, Bean had heated the pasta, not the individual plates, so they weren’t too hot for us to hold. And god, it smelled amazing.

“How was work?” Creek asked Bean. We always asked him because repetition helped him remember things better. And because we couldn’t count on him to voluntarily tell us anything out of the ordinary because, half the time, he had no recollection.

“Good. I tried out a new recipe with salt-crusted snapper as a special of the day, and it sold out.”

I blinked. Had he really recounted that without checking his little black book for details? That was highly unusual. Creek’s eyes met mine, showing the same surprise.

“That’s awesome. You should make it for us sometime,” I said. Then I remembered, and my stomach sank. “I mean, whenever we get together. Since you won’t be here anymore to cook regularly.”

Jesus, that had come out as an actual whine. I really needed to get a grip on myself.

“I’m sorry,” Bean said softly. “I know this is hard for you.”

How could something be irritating yet heartwarming at the same time? I loved that they were worried about me and it meant the world to me, but at the same time, it annoyed the fuck out of me that they felt they had to. As if I were fragile. Vulnerable. As if I needed…

As if I needed help.

But I did need help, didn’t I? I couldn’t do this alone. I needed to lean on others, as I’d been told repeatedly. That included Creek and Bean, which meant that…

Fuuuuuuck.

I took a deep breath, putting my plate on the coffee table.

“It is hard for me. It’s not even about missing you guys, though you know I will.

But I feel like I’m losing my home, the one place where I could be myself.

I’m so happy for you both and want you to live your lives, but I don’t know what to do, how to feel at home anywhere anymore.

I guess that…” My voice cracked, but I pushed through it.

“I thought this house was my home, but it wasn’t.

It was you. Nash and you two. You were my home, and now that’s gone. ”

My throat was so tight I could barely swallow. Fuck it, I couldn’t do this. I was about to lose it and didn’t want to do that to them. “Excuse me,” I said, getting up, but Creek’s iron grip around my wrist pulled me right back down.

“Don’t go,” Creek said, surprisingly gently compared to the strength with which he held me. “Please.”

“I can’t do this,” I said between clenched teeth. “I refuse to lose it in front of you guys.”

“Why?” Bean asked softly. “We want to be here for you.”

“Because it’ll only make you feel more guilty, and I don’t want to do that to you.”

Bean firmly shook his head. “You’re not responsible for our emotions or even our reactions. You have a right to be sad or even angry. We know you’re not begrudging us our happiness. You can be happy for us while grieving at the same time.”

Damn, when had he gotten so wise? Nash had said almost the exact same thing. Maybe they had both learned more from him than I had realized.

“I also think you’re wrong,” Creek said, letting go of my wrist as if he knew I had given up on trying to escape this conversation.

I frowned. “Wrong about what?”

“About only being able to be yourself with us. I don’t think that’s true.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think you’re fully yourself with us. There’s always a part of you that you’re shielding…like you tried to do just now. You never show us your deepest emotions. The superficial ones, sure, but not the underlying ones.”

What the fuck was he talking about? “I have no idea what you mean.”

“You never get angry with us for forgetting that you can’t hear us if we look the other way when we talk. Or when we mumble. Or when we forget to turn the subtitles on.”

I shook my head furiously. “That’s on me. I have no right to be angry with you when you’re not doing it on purpose. It’s my problem that I can’t hear well. Not yours.”

“Why not? I’ve yelled at you guys plenty of times when you’ve left shit on the stairs, making it harder for me to navigate them, to name one example.”

My insides grew cold. “Yeah, but that’s…different.”

It was different, right? It wasn’t the same thing because…why, exactly?

“It’s not. If we are, as you say, your home, why can’t you be yourself with us? Why can’t you show us that anger, that annoyance, that frustration? You’re always adapting to us instead of the other way around, and it’s not right.”

I’d never heard Creek spout such wisdom, and inside me, pride and admiration battled with anger and frustration. Because he was right, dammit all to hell. He was absolutely, one hundred percent right, and I hated it.