Closer to the Edge

  I laugh thinking about that HELO ride. I was in and out of consciousness, but I remember a few things before they shot me full of morphine. I recall Hoss calling me a pussy and telling me it was just a flesh wound, even though I knew from the pain that my knee was most likely a mangled mess of blood, flesh and bone. I also remember Hoss asking one of the medical corpsman if he had any beer mixed in with the cooler of blood bags because “it’s been a rough fucking day and I could use a brewski”.

  “What about the other two guys? Did they make it out okay?” Olivia asks.

  I nod my head with a smile on my face. “Yep, Lucky got Zeus to the extraction point in record time and the bullet Zeus took to the shoulder was through and through, so the doctors were able to fix him up pretty quick. Thank God Lucky had the sense to radio for a second HELO as soon as theirs took off.”

  We sit next to each other on the couch, still holding hands, staring silently at the brace on my knee. I know that things could have gone to complete shit in the Dominican if it hadn’t been for the competence of my team. I am so fucking grateful for the opportunity to be sitting here next to Olivia, breathing the same air as her. Fuck, the fact I’m still topside is a miracle in itself. I am NOT going to fuck it up this time.

  “It killed me to leave you,” I whisper, keeping my gaze locked on my knee. I can’t look at her for this next part. My reasons for leaving seem like complete and utter bullshit when I look at her face and see what my abandonment did to her.

  “So why did you?” she whispers back.

  With a deep sigh, I close my eyes and go back to the beginning. Back to where it all started, where friendships were made and unbreakable bonds were formed.

  “If you can believe it, I was a scrawny little shit in high school. I’d shot up to six feet the summer before ninth grade but I was all of a buck twenty-five soaking wet. Combine that with my love of all things Star Wars and I was an easy target for the asshole bullies in the pretentious private school my parents made me attend,” I told her, thinking about all the times I’d been shoved against lockers and tripped in the hallways.

  “One day, right at the start of football season, these four douchebags from the lacrosse team were chasing me across the field. I don’t even remember why I was running from them, I just remember busting onto the field right in the middle of the Varsity football practice. I realized after I got to the end zone that no one was chasing me anymore. When I stopped and turned around, I saw two guys in football gear beating the hell out of the assholes who’d been chasing me. When the lacrosse guys managed to get away, my saviors walked over and introduced themselves—Jared King and Chris Dragon, the only two freshmen on the Varsity football team because they were fucking beasts even at fifteen years old. I knew who they were; hell, everyone knew who they were, but we obviously didn’t run in the same circles and I assumed they didn’t even know my name. I actually put up my hands in front of my face like the pussy I was because I just assumed they were coming over to kick my ass, too. I’ll never forget the first words Jared said to me.”

  I change the resonance of my voice to something deeper, attempting to mimic Jared’s low, monotone speak.

  “Jesus Christ, Forest Gump. I’ve never seen anyone run that fucking fast down a football field before. If you can catch a ball, eat a few cheeseburgers and bulk up a bit, we might have just found our new running back.”

  I laughed thinking about how shocked I was back then. I was seconds away from pissing my pants in fear and before I knew it, I’d been recruited for the football team, made two new friends and stopped getting the shit kicked out of me on a daily basis.

  “Those guys worked with me every day, pushing my limits in the weight room and making me eat more food in one sitting than I’d ever eaten in my life. By the end of that first season, I’d gained twenty pounds of muscle and our football team was undefeated.”

  I feel Olivia squeeze my hand and it gives me the courage to keep going.

  “They saved me when I was fifteen years old. They helped me figure out what I wanted to do with my life and they turned me into the man I became. Their families became my families when my parents were too busy working or taking trips around the world with my sister, leaving me alone for almost every major holiday. Caroline became the kid sister they never had and they helped me threaten every dude who came sniffing around her. I was Jared’s best man when he married his high school sweetheart and I was Chris’s wingman every time he found a new flavor of the week to bang,” I say with a laugh. “They were my best friends, my family and the only two people in my life who I would do anything for.”

  I pause and finally take a chance at looking up at her face. “Until I met you.”

  I let that statement sink in before I go on.

  “You have no idea how much I struggled with the decision to leave. You need to understand that it wasn’t a choice between you and my best friends. Even if it were, I would always choose you, Olivia. But I owed them my life. I promised to have their backs and I fucked that promise right up when I let them die in the Dominican. They were always so fucking strong and together, the three of us were unstoppable. I thought they were indestructible and I was so focused on keeping my own ass safe that I left them alone. I should have stuck by them. I should have known…”

  Her hand is squeezing mine in a death grip at this point and I focus on that instead of the unmanly fucking tears that are pooling in my eyes.

  “Do you know what it’s like to hold a man’s wife who’s six months pregnant while she grieves for a husband who will never meet his child, knowing the entire time that it’s your fault? It’s your fault he’ll never teach that kid how to play catch, never perch him up on the bathroom sink and show him how to shave or tell him stories about his time as a Navy SEAL.”

  I hear Olivia sniffle next to me and I know she’s crying. I want to pull her into my arms and take the comfort I know she’ll give me, but I can’t. If I do that I know I’ll break down. An apology is the best I can do.

  “Jesus, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you any of this before. I should have made you understand that it was never a choice. It was something I had to do or I would never be able to forgive myself. I would never be the man you needed if I was carrying around this guilt and anger for the rest of my life.”

  I see her head lean down out of my peripheral and I know she’s trying to get me to look at her.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t understand? Do you think I’m so awful a person that I wouldn’t get what you needed to do?”

  My head whips up and I stare at her with wide eyes. “Fuck, no! It was nothing like that. Olivia, you were the best thing that ever happened to me. You kept the nightmares away, you loved me when I didn’t deserve it and you made me whole again. You gave me a reason to get up in the morning. Jesus, the first time I saw you standing there in Parker and Garrett’s kitchen tapping your foot with an attitude, I forgot every single bad thing in my life. You gave me everything and I just didn’t want you to see that side of me. I didn’t want you to know that I was the type of man who could let down the two most important people in his life.”

  “Stop it, right now,” she scolds, letting go of my hands and placing her palms on either side of my face. “You are the strongest, most honorable man I have ever met. You put your life on the line for people you don’t even know every time you go on a mission. These men, these best friends of yours, you don’t think they knew exactly what they signed up for when they became SEALs? You told me yourself that every time you go, you have to shut down and come to terms with the fact that you might not come home. They knew the chances they were taking. I don’t believe for one minute that these men would blame you for the things that happened on that mission. They were highly trained; the best of the best. What happened wasn’t your fault any more than it’s their fault you practically got your knee blown off.”

  I close my eyes and let her words sink in. I’m not sure I believe them, but the conviction in her v
oice goes a long way towards helping me heal.

  “I’m so sorry you lost them,” she says softly. “I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell me about them before now. I wish I could have known them.”

  I open my eyes and smile at her. “They would have loved you. Jared would have forced you to look at eight thousand wedding pictures and Chris would have told you you have a great ass.”

  We both laugh and, for once, it feels nice to remember the good times with my friends instead of the horror of the day they were taken from me.

  Her hands drop from my face and I instantly want to beg her to put them back. When she touches me, I feel comfort deep down in my bones and I never want that feeling to end.

  “Thank you for telling me about them. It’s nice to finally understand why you had to go, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still angry about it.”

  I nod my head in agreement. I can give her all the explanations in the world, open up my heart to her in ways I never did before, but it doesn’t erase the fact that I left or take away the pain I caused her.

  “I had to make things right. I knew nothing I did would bring them back, but they were everything good and right about my past,” I explain.

  “But I was your future,” she whispers softly. “And you should have trusted me enough to let me in.”

  I have nothing to say in response to that because she’s absolutely right. Maybe if I had opened up to her about Dragon and King when we met, we wouldn’t be where we are now, trying to pretend like things aren’t awkward and strained between us after my time away. Maybe I wouldn’t have left the way I did, breaking both our hearts in the process. Maybe just her voice over the phone could’ve battled the ghosts that haunted me in the Dominican and I wouldn’t have been so damn suicidal that I walked into an ambush that resulted in a knee that’ll be fucked up for the rest of my life. Should have, would have, could have. It’s all bullshit and there’s nothing I can do to change it outside of making sure it never happens again.

  “So, how come you’re working for a temp agency? I can’t believe the hospital would let their best nurse go without a fight,” I state, wanting to know about her life now that my sharing time is over.

  Her face clouds over and, for a minute, I think she’s going to shut me down again and I want to take back my words. Then I think about the things I told her and I get a little pissed off. She can’t just expect me to pour my heart out to her without getting something in return. I know I fucked up and kept things from her, but there are obviously things she’s keeping from me, as well. I can see it written all over her face. Thankfully, she speaks before I can put my foot in my mouth.

  “I don’t work for UC San Diego anymore. This temp job is the only one I could get and that’s just because Garrett pulled a few strings and threatened a few lives.”

  She tries to make light of her explanation with an awkward chuckle, but I’m not buying it.

  “What the fuck do you mean this is the only job you could get?” I ask angrily. “You ran the entire ICU floor and you were the best nurse they’d ever had in the history of that hospital. You even went to night school to get your PT license because it killed you to have to let your patients go when they were transferred. You wanted to follow them through every step of their recovery. You were an amazing nurse. You ARE an amazing nurse.”

  She tries to pull her hand out of mine, but I won’t allow it. I hold on tighter and pull her closer to me, reaching up with my other hand and placing it on her chin, forcing her to look at me.

  “What the hell happened while I was gone?”

  I see her chest rising and falling rapidly and she swallows nervously.

  “A lot of things happened, Cole. When you left, everything went to shit. EVERYTHING. I know I’ve been a bitch, and I’m sorry for that. I needed to understand why you left and I know it probably seems like I’m being demanding and unreasonable, wanting to know everything when there’s so much that I need to tell you, as well. I can’t help it. I’ve been angry for so long that I don’t know how NOT to be angry. I’m still trying to come to terms with you being here, with you being alive when I tried to pretend like you were dead from the moment you left. It was easier that way. It made the pain bearable. I could get up out of bed every morning and do what I needed to do because I refused to let myself hope that you’d walk through the door at any moment. You were gone. You were never coming back and I had to keep moving, keep breathing, keep living.”

  Her words cut through me like a rusty, jagged knife and I want to rub my knuckles against my chest to make the pain stop. I knew I hurt her when I left, but hearing the extent of her pain makes it a thousand times worse. I need to hear this, though. I need to know how much damage I’ve done so I can figure out a way to fix it. And I WILL fix it, no matter what it takes.

  “I made some foolish mistakes at work and I paid for them with my job and almost my license,” she finishes with a nonchalant shrug.

  She’s lying. She’s making light of this and I don’t understand why. I could always tell when she was lying because she ran her tongue over her lips and refused to make eye contact. Why is she lying to me? Does it have something to do with my parents? They made it obvious they didn’t approve of Olivia, but I made it quite clear that their opinion didn’t mean jack shit to me. I made my mother swear that Olivia’s job would never be affected by our relationship, and she grudgingly agreed when I threatened to cut her out of my life permanently. Did she go back on her promise? Did my being out of the picture make my mother think she could play God with Olivia’s life? The thought makes my blood boil and I feel so much rage rushing through me that my hands start to shake again.

  “Liv—”

  She cuts me off with a squeeze of her hand and look over into her eyes.

  “Just give me some time, okay? I need to wrap my head around all of this and I need to do it the right way. I don’t want to cause a rift in your family,” she says softly, confirming my suspicions that my parents DID have something to do with Olivia’s career change.

  She lets go of my hand and stands up from the couch. “I want to start off by doing a few range of motion exercises so I can gauge what type of PT we want to start with.”

  Olivia busies herself digging through the duffle bag of supplies she brought with her. She pulls out something that looks like a giant protractor as well as a rolled up yoga mat. She unfolds the mat on the floor, patting it as she looks back over her shoulder at me.

  I pull myself up from the couch using my crutches and try not to let the anger I’m feeling show on my face as I make my way over to her. Olivia helps me get down on my back on top of the mat before ripping off the four large pieces of Velcro holding my knee brace in place, explaining what she’s going to do to me as she removes the brace and sets it off to the side.

  I let the feel of her hands on my leg as she lifts it off the mat and bends it into different positions and the soft cadence of her voice calm my anger. I wanted to keep Olivia to myself for a while. I didn’t want anyone meddling or trying to ruin my attempts at forgiveness. Unfortunately, there’s no way out of the confrontation now. My mother has a lot to fucking answer for. I’ll give Olivia the time she needs to tell me what happened in her own way, but there is no way in hell I’m giving my mother that same luxury.

  If she was the cause of any of Olivia’s problems while I was gone, I will never forgive her.

  GROWING UP POOR, you never really realize as a child that you are poor. You live in a run-down apartment complex using bed sheets as curtains, you have to wait until the first of the month when the welfare check comes in to buy groceries and all of your clothes are permanently stained from the last eight children who owned them because you take what you can when you shop at Goodwill. You’re surrounded by others who are in the exact same situation as you and it all just seems normal; like everyone lives this way and that makes it okay. It’s not until you start school, seeing the other kids in their fancy clothes and finding out their ho
mes have actual front yards and pools and curtains made out of fine Italian fabric instead of threadbare Scooby-Doo, that you realize you’re different. You’re different in a way that makes everyone look down on you, makes them avoid you for fear that your pathetic way of living will rub off on them.

  I don’t know who my father was and, judging by the sheer volume of men my mother paraded through our tiny apartment, it could have been just about anyone in the greater DC area. My mother’s pale skin and thin, light brown hair completely contrasted with my olive complexion and thick mane of black hair, proving that my father was most likely of Indian descent. Until I started school, I assumed everyone only had one parent and that it was perfectly normal to have a mother who slept all day and frequently forgot that she had a little person to take care of and feed. By age three, I’d learned to run a bath and clean myself, at four I taught myself to cook Ramen noodles and by the time I was five, I was an expert at cleaning up my mother’s vomit and helping her through withdrawals once a week when she couldn’t scrounge up enough money to get whatever fix she needed at the time.

  By the time I was in high school, I was a full-fledged adult who worked a part-time job, paid all of the bills, forged my mother’s signature on school documents and skipped out on the handful of parties and proms I was invited to because I couldn’t leave my mother alone to choke on her own vomit or get the shit kicked out of her by her dealer when she couldn’t come up with the money she owed him. Given how I spent my formative years, one would think that I’d choose a profession as far away from the caretaking field as I could possibly get, but I realized quickly that I am good at taking care of people. The days I spent helping my mother take a bath or sitting up with her as DTs wracked her body or forcing her to get up and put food in her stomach instead of crushed pills up her nose or syringes in her veins were the days that I felt most proud of myself and what I’d managed to accomplish. I like how helping someone get better and motivating them to work harder makes me feel. Taking care of my mother was like my own personal addiction. Every time she relapsed, instead of getting frustrated or sobbing at the unfairness of my situation, I became more motivated, thinking of new ways to get her to change her life around. Her sobriety lasted for a few days and then she’d immediately fall right back down the rabbit hole and I’d start all over again, thinking about what I could do differently the next time. It was a never-ending cycle and, even though I failed each and every time with her, I knew as soon as I filled out college applications that taking care of people is what I was meant to do.