second tour of duty. Everyone knows I was there with Ryan when he jumped off the hospital roof. It’s the reason we started the foundation and built this counseling center. But it still feels like a punch in the gut every time someone mentioned him.
Ben must see the pain rising to the surface in my facial expression. “You don’t have to talk to him, but I felt kind of sorry for the guy. I figured the least I could do is ask. I’ll tell him to leave.”
He gets up and rounds the desk to leave his office, but I grab his hand as he passes me. “Wait.” He looks down at my hand and I quickly release my grip on him. “I’ll talk to him, just give me a minute to pull myself together.”
The muscle in Ben’s jaw clenches as he gives me a curt nod and heads out of the office. I lean forward in the chair and hide my face in my hands as I take a few deep breaths. The last time I met someone who served with my brother it did not go well.
I met Julio Perez at a community service awards ceremony for veterans. We had a ten-minute conversation where I discovered he was going through some terrible things—nightmares, insomnia, debilitating depression—but he insisted he didn’t need help. His expression was dead, occasionally reverting to a sort of manic smile that was more sad than frightening. I ended up leaving the ceremony early because I was so upset by my conversation with him. I couldn’t stop imagining that what happened to my brother would happen to Julio if he didn’t seek help.
I stand from the chair and make my way out of the office, pressing my lips together as those emotions that are always ebbing just below the surface begin to swell inside me. The walk down the corridor to the boardroom is frightening, only made worse by the fact that I’m nearing the area of the building where the air conditioning isn’t working. It’s hot.
I reach the boardroom and immediately see him through the glass wall. He scarily thin and not as dirty as I imagined he would be. He’s leaning forward on the conference table, his fingers toying with the bill on his black baseball cap. I swallow my nerves and pull the glass door open.
He looks up and my heart jumps a little at the troubled look in his eyes. He sees the fright in my eyes and he looks down at the surface of the smooth surface of the maple conference table. I instantly feel horrible. He probably gets those kinds of looks all day and didn’t expect to get one in a counseling center for veterans.
“I’m Brina,” I say as I approach him, holding my shoulders back to let him know I’m not afraid of him.
He stands from the table and I hold out my hand to him. He removed his hat before he takes my hand to shake it. His sandy blonde hair is shaggy and he’s got a major case of hat-hair, but without the hat I can see that he’s younger than Ryan.
“Brandon Newell,” he says as he takes my hand and shakes it gently.
He puts his hat back on and waits for me to take a seat before he follows suit.
“You knew Ryan?” I ask as I try not to stare at the burn scars on his right hand.
“Sorry. I know I probably look a little out of place here.”
“Don’t be silly. We built this place for you, and others like you.”
He stares at the surface of the table as if he’s unsure how to respond. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure Ryan would have felt out of place here, too.”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, no offense. He just always was talking about how he didn’t feel like he belonged in Afghanistan, but he didn’t belong here either.”
I grit my teeth to fight back the tears. “Did you want to talk to someone? We’re opening up the center in a few hours and we’ll have counselors available. In fact, they should be arriving within the hour if you want to just wait in the lobby.”
I’m not the person he needs to talk to. Talking about Ryan has never been easy for me. Luke has always been patient with me on this subject, but this guy probably doesn’t even know that I
Ben must see the pain rising to the surface in my facial expression. “You don’t have to talk to him, but I felt kind of sorry for the guy. I figured the least I could do is ask. I’ll tell him to leave.”
He gets up and rounds the desk to leave his office, but I grab his hand as he passes me. “Wait.” He looks down at my hand and I quickly release my grip on him. “I’ll talk to him, just give me a minute to pull myself together.”
The muscle in Ben’s jaw clenches as he gives me a curt nod and heads out of the office. I lean forward in the chair and hide my face in my hands as I take a few deep breaths. The last time I met someone who served with my brother it did not go well.
I met Julio Perez at a community service awards ceremony for veterans. We had a ten-minute conversation where I discovered he was going through some terrible things—nightmares, insomnia, debilitating depression—but he insisted he didn’t need help. His expression was dead, occasionally reverting to a sort of manic smile that was more sad than frightening. I ended up leaving the ceremony early because I was so upset by my conversation with him. I couldn’t stop imagining that what happened to my brother would happen to Julio if he didn’t seek help.
I stand from the chair and make my way out of the office, pressing my lips together as those emotions that are always ebbing just below the surface begin to swell inside me. The walk down the corridor to the boardroom is frightening, only made worse by the fact that I’m nearing the area of the building where the air conditioning isn’t working. It’s hot.
I reach the boardroom and immediately see him through the glass wall. He scarily thin and not as dirty as I imagined he would be. He’s leaning forward on the conference table, his fingers toying with the bill on his black baseball cap. I swallow my nerves and pull the glass door open.
He looks up and my heart jumps a little at the troubled look in his eyes. He sees the fright in my eyes and he looks down at the surface of the smooth surface of the maple conference table. I instantly feel horrible. He probably gets those kinds of looks all day and didn’t expect to get one in a counseling center for veterans.
“I’m Brina,” I say as I approach him, holding my shoulders back to let him know I’m not afraid of him.
He stands from the table and I hold out my hand to him. He removed his hat before he takes my hand to shake it. His sandy blonde hair is shaggy and he’s got a major case of hat-hair, but without the hat I can see that he’s younger than Ryan.
“Brandon Newell,” he says as he takes my hand and shakes it gently.
He puts his hat back on and waits for me to take a seat before he follows suit.
“You knew Ryan?” I ask as I try not to stare at the burn scars on his right hand.
“Sorry. I know I probably look a little out of place here.”
“Don’t be silly. We built this place for you, and others like you.”
He stares at the surface of the table as if he’s unsure how to respond. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure Ryan would have felt out of place here, too.”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, no offense. He just always was talking about how he didn’t feel like he belonged in Afghanistan, but he didn’t belong here either.”
I grit my teeth to fight back the tears. “Did you want to talk to someone? We’re opening up the center in a few hours and we’ll have counselors available. In fact, they should be arriving within the hour if you want to just wait in the lobby.”
I’m not the person he needs to talk to. Talking about Ryan has never been easy for me. Luke has always been patient with me on this subject, but this guy probably doesn’t even know that I
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