The Marine Finds His Family. Angel Smits

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      Tammie grabbed her now-bare order pad from where she’d left it on the counter and shoved it back into her apron pocket. She seated the two men and headed back to the kitchen with their order, hearing the door open again. Yep, the rush was back. Thank goodness.

      * * *

      DJ STARED OUT the window at Brooke Army Medical Center. The whip-snap sound of the flags outside came through the glass and took him back. Too far back. He cursed and turned away from the sight of the fabric dancing at the end of the thick metal poles. That was not why he was here.

      “Tell me straight, Doc.” He knew what the doctor was going to say, but he wanted to hear the words.

      “I think you know what the answer is,” the doctor guessed.

      “Yeah, but humor me. Say it.”

      The silence in the exam room was heavy, and DJ wanted to fill it with cursing. Instead, he sat still, meeting the doctor’s hesitant gaze with a glare.

      “You’ve reached a plateau. At this point I don’t foresee any measurable improvement.”

      “So the discharge stands?” DJ said through clenched teeth.

      The doc looked at him and simply nodded. He didn’t move. He seemed to barely breathe. He didn’t like being here any more than DJ did. DJ knew that, but dang it, it wasn’t his life that was going down the drain.

      Without another word, DJ slowly, stiffly stood, then walked to the door and threw it open. He stepped out into the hall, his gait uneven as he moved down the narrow hallway. He knew it was hotter than hell outside, but he walked out into the late afternoon anyway. He wasn’t coming back here, and he couldn’t wait to escape.

      The huge Harley he’d ridden in on sat just where he’d left it, the frame baking in the sun. The bright blue paint on the tank and fenders glistened in the leftover sunlight, the chrome winking at him. If he had “plateaued,” why the hell could he drive this monster? They’d told him he couldn’t do that. They’d told him he might not walk, yet here he was. How did they know he couldn’t still be a soldier? They wouldn’t even let him try.

      He straddled the bike and kicked it to life, filling the air with the throaty roar of the engine and all the curse words he hadn’t let fly inside the hospital.

      He wasn’t in the mood to go back home. Home. Was that what Wyatt’s ranch was? It wasn’t really. It never would be, even with all the family memories that lurked within its walls. The only thing even slightly homelike there was his son, Tyler. And Tyler seemed at home there as anyplace else he would be.

      DJ was the one who didn’t know what home was.

      He headed east, in the general direction of the ranch, but when he hit the freeway, he passed the regular turnoff and instead headed north...and kept going.

      The hot wind slid over his skin. Heck, now he could let his hair grow out. He could dress more like himself, instead of in the endless parade of ugly camo. He could... His thoughts ended. All he saw ahead was emptiness.

      The machine ate up the miles. He knew what he had to do. He knew where he should go. He knew... But before that he needed space, time to himself and a drink.

      The Lucky Chance Bar was technically only fifteen miles away from Wyatt’s ranch—if you were a crow. It took DJ the same two hours to get there over the winding roads. He pulled the bike into the dirt parking lot and let the engine fall quiet for a while before he climbed off.

      The rough country bar was where DJ had cut his drinking teeth as a young man. Since he’d been home, he’d avoided the place, too afraid that the lure of oblivion would be too strong to resist. Tonight, he knew he’d failed. There was no more resisting. All his nightmares were coming true.

      By the time DJ was settled in the booth at the back of the bar, alone, where he’d sat countless times back in the day, his mind was full of memories of the recent past.

      Decisions needed to be made and DJ was avoiding making them. He knew that. Medical discharge. He’d have a couple months of terminal leave before it was all final, but it might as well be today. He was done.

      “You still like warm beer, I see.”

      DJ looked up. Standing beside the table was a tall, lanky cowboy. He couldn’t see the guy’s face, what with the shadow of his hat brim and the dim lights, but there was something familiar about the guy... The comment was what seemed more familiar.

      “Yeah, guess I do.” The beer and oblivion had seemed so appealing until the reality was right here in front of him.

      “Your memory get killed over in that desert?”

      The man’s thick Texas drawl rang a few warning bells in DJ’s brain. DJ frowned. He’d only known one guy— “Lane?”

      The other half of that troublesome teenage summer when Granddad had nearly killed DJ stood there, proud as can be.

      “About danged time you woke up.” Lane grinned and slid into the seat across from DJ without waiting for an invitation.

      They shook hands over the scarred table as DJ’s brain filled with a wave of memory. This couldn’t be good. Not good at all. But he leaned back in the booth and looked at the man who’d been a boy the last time he’d seen him.

      A very drunk boy if memory served. DJ smiled.

      Lane took off the worn cowboy hat, setting it on the table. He looked rough around the edges. DJ hadn’t seen him in a couple of years, since the last time he’d come home before his last deployment.

      “So, how’s your family doing?” Lane asked.

      DJ smiled. “That’ll take a couple of hours. Next topic. How’s your dad?”

      “Fair enough.” Years ago, probably at this same table, they’d sworn to keep their messed-up, convoluted families out of their intent to have fun. Seemed not everything had changed over time.

      “So, whatcha doin’ here?” Lane looked up. “Haven’t seen you since you got back. Heard you were injured.”

      “Yeah. Trying to heal.” DJ didn’t want to go into details and the waitress came over just then and saved him from doing so. He bought a round, but DJ realized he’d lost his appetite for bars and hangovers. Lane’s appearance reminded him of how miserable the aftermath always was. They’d nearly killed each other too damn many times.

      They drank their beers slowly, in silence. “Damn, we’re old,” DJ finally said.

      Lane laughed. “Speak for yourself, old man.” He became serious quickly. “I guess I’ve spent too much time sobering up my dad lately. Takes the fun out of it.” When the waitress returned, Lane ordered a round of coffee and they both laughed.

      “Here’s a surprise for you.” DJ leaned forward on the table, hoping to take some of the pressure off his back. The bench was hard. “I got a kid. He’s eight.”

      Lane stared. “No kidding.” Something other than surprise flashed in Lane’s eyes, but DJ couldn’t tell what it was. “How’d that happen?”

      “The СКАЧАТЬ