The Final Line (19 page)

“Do you need to go talk to this guy?” Sean asked in a low voice. “Will it help you to confront him and maybe get some answers?”

“No, don’t worry about it,” Corey said with an impatient shake of his head.

“Corey,” Sean said heatedly. “It’s still early. We can get dinner afterward. You need to deal with some of this shit.”

Jesus. He’d gone from thinking he was going to get laid tonight to fighting back panic at the thought of confronting Michael Nygaard.

“You don’t have to take me home,” Sean said into Corey’s silence. “I’ll go with you and when you’re done, we can pick up where we left off.”

The last thing Corey wanted was to expose Sean to Nygaard’s toxic personality again. He had no idea what the fuck was going to come out of Nygaard’s mouth that might change the way Sean viewed him. “Fine. Let’s go and get this over with.” Corey decided to let the shit hit the fan now, early enough the pain would be minimal if Sean started to see him as a monster. Or if he even started to see himself that way.

Tyler told Corey where to pick him up so they could arrive as a united front. When he disconnected, Corey threw the phone to the floorboard between his feet. It struck with a loud thud and bounced a time or two before settling with a plastic clatter. He couldn’t catch his breath and the only thing he could hear was the thundering of his own heart.

Sean’s hand was suddenly covering one of his own on the steering wheel. Sean said something but Corey couldn’t hear him.

“Corey, slow down and pull over,” Sean said firmly, raising his voice almost to a shout. His hand patted Corey’s before gripping his fingers again.

He tried to focus on why Sean wanted him to pull over. Corey didn’t understand. Sean repeated his demand. Corey glanced down at Sean’s hand covering his and caught sight of the speedometer.

“Fuck,” he gasped, pulling his foot off the gas pedal. The street ahead looked tunneled, buildings and landscaping rolling by in a blur. He’d had no idea he’d been going that fast.

“It’s okay,” Sean said from beside him. “Just slow down and carefully pull to the side of the road.”

Wrapping himself around a telephone pole or slamming into the rear of semi by himself was one thing, but he had Sean with him. “I can’t fucking breathe,” Corey gasped.

“I know.” Sean rubbed the back of Corey’s hand. “Once you pull over we can fix that.”

Finally, Corey found a safe section of shoulder. He braked harder than he meant to, bringing them to a jarring halt. He slammed the gearshift into park and leaned his head back against the seat. He clutched at the front of his shirt, wishing it would let him breathe and his chest would stop hurting.

“Where are your prescriptions?” Sean asked.

Corey didn’t understand what Sean was asking.

“You said the counselor gave you prescriptions. Did you fill them?” Sean’s tense voice broke into Corey’s silence.

Finally, his brain engaged. Corey turned to look for the bag in the backseat.

“I’ll get them,” Sean said, unfastening his seat belt. “What am I looking for?”

Corey gasped out a description. Sean reappeared with the bag, already tugging at the zipper. Corey started to reach for the contents but Sean pushed his hand away. “I’ve got it. Xanax. That’s got to be it.”

Sean deftly took Corey’s nearest hand and poured a single, small tablet into his palm. He unscrewed the lid of the water bottle sitting in the center console. Corey tossed the pill into his mouth and took the water bottle from Sean with a violently trembling hand. When he’d swallowed the pill, he handed the bottle back and clutched at his shirt front again, wondering how long the medication would take to work.

“Just lean your head back and close your eyes,” Sean said softly. “Breathe slowly in through your nose and out through your mouth.”

Corey complied. He closed his eyes and let Sean’s warm, smooth voice drift over him as he counted to eight over and over again.

In a single instant, Corey’s shoulders relaxed, the pain in his chest eased, and he took a long, deep breath, filling his lungs. He lifted his head and opened his eyes slowly, wondering if there was ever going to be a time when Sean didn’t have to always see him at his worst.

Sitting up, Corey ran both hands over his face. There was a light sheen of sweat on his skin and his shirt was sticking to him in places. Fucking great.

A plastic rattle sounded beside him and Corey glanced over. Sean still held Corey’s canvas bag open in his lap. He sat shaking one of the prescription bottles, smirking at Corey.

“Good to know you and I are on the same page about some things,” Sean said, still smirking.

Corey focused on the bottle he held and realized it was the Viagra. The bottle of lubricant and large roll of condoms were obvious inside the bag, as well.

“Jesus,” Corey moaned, reaching for the bag. Sean must really think he was fucked up.

To Corey’s surprise, Sean slapped his hands away again. “I got it. Just sit there and relax.”

“It’s not what you think,” Corey protested.

“Jesus, I hope it is!” Sean exclaimed with a laugh.

“No, the Viagra is because—” Corey stopped short. He was fucked either way. Sean would think he was a perv, popping Viagra to have marathon sex. Or, Sean would know the truth; that Corey’s dick didn’t work three-quarters of the time.

“The Viagra is because you’re battling anxiety, and anxiety makes us all go limp every once in a while.” Sean shrugged and put everything back into the bag, zipping it closed. “I’m flattered that it matters enough for you to plan ahead.”

Corey sighed. “It is way too fucking early in this…whatever it is…for this much drama.”

“If this is as bad as it gets, I can deal with this easily. Do you need me to drive?” Sean’s expression was placid.

Corey chuffed a laugh. “No, I’m fine now.” He put the Jeep in drive and carefully pulled back into traffic.

They found Tyler parked where he said he’d be, at the end of the block where Nygaard lived.

“You brought your date?” Tyler asked as he climbed into the back of the Jeep.

“He wanted to come,” Corey replied blandly. “I’m beginning to think he’s just fucking nuts.”

“Well, then, he’s perfectly equipped to deal with you,” Tyler quipped as Corey rounded the corner.

Sean laughed.

They sobered as Corey pulled to the curb across the street from Nygaard’s house. The garage door was open but Corey didn’t see anyone moving around. Sean and Tyler climbed out of the Jeep. Corey sat frozen, his hands gripping the steering wheel again. He swallowed hard. Why the fuck had he agreed to do this?

Corey jumped when his door opened. Sean stood there, watching him closely. “The fact that just agreeing to do this gave you a panic attack, means there is something here you need to confront. If you’re not ready, you’re not ready. But you’re going to so much effort to make things better for yourself, why stop short?”

Sean extended his hand to Corey, encouraging and offering support at the same time. Reluctantly, Corey took it and slowly climbed out of the Jeep.

Stepping in close, Sean spoke so only Corey could hear. “You might think that all of this makes you look weak. The fact that you’re facing this entire thing head-on means you’re strong.”

Corey sighed and nodded. He clenched his jaw, unable to look Sean in the eye. He took a deep breath, and steeled himself for the coming confrontation. If Sean thought he was strong, Corey was damn well going to
be
strong.

Together they crossed to Nygaard’s house. As they reached the driveway, an older man who strongly resembled Nygaard came out of the garage.

“Thank you gentlemen for coming.” He extended his hand. “I’m Jim Nygaard, Michael’s father.”

They each shook his hand as they introduced themselves.

“Sean isn’t a Marine, he’s a friend of mine,” Corey said sharply. “Nygaard needs to make this quick, ’cause I’m not making my friend sit through our dirty laundry all night. Understood?”

“Of course, of course,” Jim said, leading them all through the garage. “It means a lot to Michael that you’d come hear him out, so it means a lot to our family.”

Corey looked closer and saw the haggard appearance Jim Nygaard tried to mask with a smile. There was a tightness around his eyes and mouth, a tension about him that belied the façade of the gracious host. Corey dialed back his resentment toward the man. However inconvenienced Corey was, Nygaard’s father was dealing with what probably felt like a world gone mad.

Jim Nygaard led them all into a spacious backyard with a raised wooden deck. Michael Nygaard sat at a table on the deck. Another man, who looked like he was also related to Nygaard, stood in front of a barbeque grill.

“Hey guys! You made it.” Nygaard jumped to his feet. He shook each of their hands. Corey introduced Sean stiffly and reluctantly. “You guys want a beer? Dad, get the guys some beers.”

“No.” All movement stopped at Corey’s loudly spoken word. “This is not a social call. We are not here for a fucking barbeque. Say what you have to say so we can get on with our lives.”

The tension was palpable and Corey felt bad for Nygaard’s father. But they were not friends. Nygaard’s actions were inexcusable, and Corey was not going to be charmed or manipulated into acting like they were all friends.

“At least sit down and make yourselves comfortable,” Jim Nygaard said into the awkward silence.

Nygaard was putting his family through enough already, Corey didn’t want to make it any worse, so he dropped down into a chair directly across the table from Nygaard. The third man approached, carrying a platter laden with grilled meat.

“Guys, this is my older brother John,” Nygaard said.

Corey stood and shook John’s hand politely. Tyler and Sean followed his lead, both gracious as they introduced themselves to John. Corey resumed his seat, crossed his arms over his chest and said to Nygaard, “You wanted to talk, so talk.”

“First, Corey, I want you to know how much it means to me that you came to the jail last Saturday,” Nygaard said solemnly. “We’re not in the same command anymore, so you didn’t have to come, but I appreciate that you did.”

Corey stared at Nygaard, not responding to any of his words. He wasn’t in the mood for trite niceties. He wanted Nygaard to say something worth listening to.

“Anyway, I need you guys to know that what happened wasn’t my fault,” Nygaard said, twirling a half-full beer bottle in his fingers.

“Then whose fucking fault was it?” Corey demanded angrily. “You kicked her sister out of the house. You were alone in there with your girlfriend when she was beaten to death. You were covered in her blood when they found you. Who the fuck else’s fault is it?”

“No, I did it, or at least I guess I did. I don’t remember,” Nygaard said hastily.

Corey threw up his hands in anger. “Why don’t you just be a man and accept responsibility for your actions instead of always making excuses?”

“I have Traumatic Brain Injury, compounded by PTS.” Nygaard sounded coached and Corey clenched his jaw. “I’ve seen a doctor and had some tests. One of the IED blasts must have caused the physical damage. But, Corey, you know what caused the PTS.”

Silence settled over the group and a chill swept through Corey. He held Nygaard’s gaze without blinking, determined to give nothing away.

“No, man, no one knows what the fuck turned you into a coward and a woman beater,” Tyler said with vehemence, abruptly breaking the strained silence. “You keep fucking up, you expect everyone to cover your ass and lie for you, and when you finally go too fucking far, you throw your fellow Marines under the bus.”

Corey glanced at Tyler in surprise and saw he wore an angry expression. Corey couldn’t remember a time he’d seen the calm and steady Tyler this angry. He wondered if Nygaard realized just how bad he’d fucked up to have pushed someone like Tyler to such rage.

“So you’ve got a boo-boo on your brain and you went through some scary shit over there,” Corey sneered. “We all went through some shit, but most of us deal with it like men; like Marines. You’re a bully and a chicken-shit, and you always have been. Now that you don’t have anyone to bully into covering up for you, you blame the Marine Corps and the same Marines you used to bully.”

“You
know
I was fucked up before what happened with Maritza, Corey,” Nygaard pleaded. “You saw it, you know it.”

Alarm flooded Corey’s body with adrenaline sending it spiking through his system. He leapt to his feet, knocking his chair backward. “I didn’t see shit!” he yelled.

“You ordered me!” Nygaard shouted, also jumping to his feet.

“I ordered you to secure a perimeter.” Corey clenched his hands, taking a step around the table toward Nygaard. “The rest is on you.” Only Corey had no idea what ‘the rest’ was.

“You ordered me! You sent me out there alone when I needed you.” Nygaard pointed an accusing finger. Tyler placed a restraining hand on Corey’s arm at the same time Jim Nygaard tried to calm his son. “You know you did or you wouldn’t have covered it up.”

Corey pushed past Tyler, only vaguely aware of the shouts around him. He advanced on Nygaard, intending to shove his words back down his throat. “I didn’t cover up a fucking thing. Especially not for a fuck-up like you!”

“What we saw ain’t in the reports,” Nygaard shouted, trying to get past his father and brother to reach Corey. “It ain’t in the reports just like what we did to those dead insurgents ain’t in the reports. You covered it up and it fucked me up. This is your fucking fault!”

Corey lunged, vision going red in his rage. He barely felt Tyler’s and Sean’s hands on him as he tore loose and nearly got his hands around Nygaard’s lying throat.

“Corey, don’t let him get to you!” Sean was suddenly in front of Corey, pushing at his chest. “If you do, he wins. Don’t let him win.”

Corey stepped back several paces. Sean followed him. Tyler stepped between Corey and Nygaard, face red with rage.

“We’re outta here,” Tyler said with disdain. “You don’t want to explain. You just want to blame someone else.”

“I needed help back then and I couldn’t get it ’cause no one told the truth in the reports,” Nygaard shouted as Corey allowed himself to be led away by Sean.