there were good things, too. Levi liked the structure, liked his fellow soldiers, liked the feeling that as screwed up as war always was, maybe they were doing something important. His unit was the 10th Mountain from Fort Drum, and they were the guys who got shit done. Sometimes it was best not to think about what those things were, but he was a soldier, a link in the chain of command, and he did his job. After his tour ended, he signed up for another. Made sergeant, then staff sergeant. Re-upped again and sent the bonus home to his mom.
Then one day, while on patrol in some horrible little town where people lived in shacks and everyone seemed to stare at them with dead eyes, a bullet sang right past his head, shattering rock. Another crack, and before Levi could even turn around, Scotty Stokes, a private who’d just joined their unit, crumpled to the ground. Levi grabbed him by the back of his vest and dragged him to shallow cover. They were cut off from the rest of the patrol, and the kid was bleeding badly from the leg, maybe an artery. Levi tourniqueted the kid’s leg as best he could. Returned fire, killing one of the gunmen, then hefted the kid over his shoulder and made a run for it, praying that neither of them would be hit.
They made it. The medic thought Scotty would lose his leg, but some badass ortho with a great pair of hands managed to save it. Scotty would set off metal detectors for the rest of his life, but he’d walk on the legs God gave him. And Levi got a Silver Star, though to him, it seemed more like dumb luck than any real forethought or skill. Lots of training, maybe. His mom and Sarah were proud, though. The Lyons, too, acted as if he’d saved the world. They had Mom and Sarah up for dinner, and all four of them Skyped with him, and that was pretty great.
From the time Levi had left on that Greyhound until he came back to Manningsport, Jeremy stayed in touch. Sent him emails all the time, Skyped once in a while, always smiling, always able to tell him something funny. Stuff about college, football, dorm life. Those little glimpses were almost hard to picture—Levi had never been to Boston, couldn’t imagine playing in a stadium that huge. When Levi described the desert sand storms, Jeremy sent him really excellent ski goggles and six boxes of Visine. Elaine and Ted sent him candy and organic potato chips, and of course Mom and Sarah sent him stuff constantly. Sarah’s report cards, Mom’s long, worried letters.
Everyone emailed pictures, but Jeremy went a step further and had them developed. Levi tacked them up next to his bunk—a picture of Sarah at Christmas, since the Lyons had had them over for dinner; the dense clusters of grapes hanging from the vines in the fall; the hills covered in snow in December, the water of the lake black and deep.
Home.
And when a car came screaming up to your outpost or you braced for the IED to blow you into chunks, when bullets streaked through the night air, home was the only thing that kept your shit together. On the days when the temperature hit a hundred and thirty and his gun was so hot he had to wear gloves to hold it, when his water was the same temperature as McDonald’s coffee and his mouth felt like leather from being so dry, those pictures were little pieces of paradise.
Faith’s name, which had been mentioned fairly often at first, stopped appearing after Jeremy graduated and started med school (he’d turned down the NFL, for crying out loud). There was some mention of one of Jeremy’s fellow medical students, a guy named Steve, and Levi wondered if maybe there was something there. Honestly, though he didn’t give it much thought. If his friend had come out of the closet, Levi would hear about it when Jeremy wanted him to.
Finally, five years after he’d first gone to Afghanistan, Levi got a leave long enough to go back. He’d seen his mom and Sarah twice since shipping out, once on a long weekend in New York City, once when he surprised them with a trip to Disney World. But this time, he wanted to go home. He popped in on Sarah at school in one of those tear-soaked CNN moments, endured an impromptu assembly in which the principal told him how proud they were (despite having given him a record number of detentions not so long ago). His mom made his favorite dinner—meat loaf and mashed potatoes, then wept happily all the way through it.
And finally, Levi called Jeremy; it was October, and Jeremy was home for the weekend from Johns Hopkins. “Hey, bud, wanna grab a beer?” he asked, then grinned as his friend cussed him out for not giving him more notice.
A few hours later, Levi was slightly drunk from all the beers bought for him. Connor O’Rourke had done a round on the house, and everyone had toasted Levi. He’d been hugged by every woman in the place and practically leg-humped by Sheila Varkas (total freak, that one), was repeatedly thanked for his service, had his back pounded and his hand shaken and was told how proud the town was. It was...nice. It was great, actually. The kid from the trailer park turned American hero and all that.
And then, finally, he and Jeremy got to sit down and talk.
“So how are you really, buddy?” Jeremy asked, his eyes as kind as ever.
Levi watched a drop of condensation slip down the side of his bottle. “Doing okay,” he answered, not looking up.
Jeremy was quiet for a minute. “Do you need anything?”
A good night’s sleep. War had definitely taken that away. A brain bleach to get some of the more horrific images out of his head. “No,” he said. “But thanks for all those packages and stuff. Especially the pictures.”
Jeremy leaned forward. “Well, listen. I don’t know what it’s like, I’m just some dumb-ass med student studying bowel disease.” Levi gave a half smile. “But if you ever need anything, or want to unload or whatever, I’m here. And I’ll be here the whole time, and when you get back, too. Okay? You’re my best friend. You know that.”
Levi gave a nod, peeled a shard from the label. Maybe there would be a day when he told Jeremy some of the things he’d seen...and done. It wasn’t today, though. He looked up at Jeremy and nodded again. “Thanks.”
Jeremy sat back in the booth and smiled, that broad easy grin that Levi remembered from football huddles, when Jeremy would tell them just how they were going to shock and awe their opponents by coming from behind and stealing the win. “So. Any way you can get a few days off next June?”
Levi shrugged. “It’s possible. Why?”
“I need you to be my best man. June eighth. Faith and I are getting married.”
Levi didn’t blink. “Holy crap.”
“Yeah.” Jeremy grinned sheepishly. “She said yes. I was a nervous wreck, but she said yes.”
Yeah, right. Faith Holland had probably been planning their wedding since the day she’d met Jeremy.
His buddy was blathering on about who’d be in the bridal party, and Levi suddenly held up his hand. “Jeremy,” he said. “Just one second, okay?”
“Sure.”
To ask or not to ask. That was the question. Levi glanced around. O’Rourke’s was almost empty; two people at the bar, two more at a table. Connor was behind the bar, tallying up receipts.
“What is it?” Jeremy asked.
“You’re getting married,” Levi stated for clarification.
He nodded. Levi didn’t say anything, just looked. Maybe lifted an eyebrow. Jeremy swallowed, then forced a grin. “Yeah. So?” He wiped his forehead, suddenly sweaty, and that was clue enough. If he was this nervous, then maybe he was just waiting for someone to bring it up.
“I guess I was always
