Chapter 17

“So,” Sam said, channeling his nervous energy into the leg he was shaking as he sat beside Carmina. They were at the VA, waiting for a group session to start. Sam had been to a couple of these before. He found talking to Mark more helpful. It wasn’t because he didn’t think any of these people could understand what he was going through. Just the opposite: they all did. But in group sessions, he felt like that trivialized his experiences. He knew a lot of people who attended didn’t feel the same way. Having other people around who understood and could relate helped them cope. But Sam just wasn’t the kind of guy who shared his innermost feelings with strangers. And he didn’t think that just because they’d been through similar experiences they were qualified to give him advice. But mostly it was because he didn’t like sitting around in a small room with a bunch of strangers. It made him too nervous. Probably the crowd thing. But Carmina liked going. What she didn’t like was going alone.

She looked over at him, a question on her face. To look at her you’d never guess she had a TBI. She was just as pretty as the day he met her. Big, soft, brown eyes with long lashes, a cute little nose, caramel-colored skin. Sam wasn’t sure why he’d never been attracted to her. But from the first time they met, he thought of her like a little sister. Probably had something to do with some macho crap ingrained in him since childhood to protect the weak and helpless, aka women. Which was bullshit and he knew it. That’s what one shrink had told him, anyway, as a way to explain his guilt over Carmina’s injury. He glanced at her hair. It had grown out a lot. She’d had a buzz cut for a while after the injury. Now it was down to her chin in a swingy little style that suited her. He should tell her that. He realized as her eyes narrowed that he’d been staring too long and hadn’t answered her question.

“I met a girl,” he blurted out. Carmina’s eyes went wide and then she gave him a big grin and held out her fist for him to bump. Her dog, Buster Keaton, sat up and watched them. He was a service dog and Carmina loved him like crazy. The love was mutual as far as Sam could tell. Buster K, as Sam called him, was a big-ass mutt with some German shepherd and some lab and maybe some bulldog in him. He had cards in his blue vest that described Carmina’s condition, and they had a sign language between them so she could command him without words. He helped to calm her down if she got panicked, too, but that didn’t happen often.

“We’re sort of dating,” he admitted. His eyes darted away. “And, um, King. With King. You know.”

Carmina reached out and tugged his arm to get him to look at her. She held up three fingers, eyes wider still.

“Yeah,” he said. He could feel himself blushing. “Keep it down, will you?”

Carmina laughed, like it was a joke, and he realized what he’d said. “Oh, man, sorry. I didn’t mean…” She just shook her head and looked at him with an exasperated smile. Then she made the give me more gesture.

“We hooked up over the summer, before you moved down here,” he told her. “It was like an experiment, you know? I was worried I’d go apeshit if I slept with someone, she was cool about it, and King stayed in the room to make sure nothing happened.” Carmina grabbed his arm again and frowned at him as she shook her head, pointing at him. “I know,” he said impatiently. “It’s all in my head. Whatever. The point is, it was hot and we liked it, and when we met up with her again here in Birmingham, we decided to see where it goes. And I guess I just wanted to make sure you were okay with it.”

Carmina sat back with a confused look and pointed at herself, shrugging.

“You know you’re supposed to be trying to talk,” Sam chided her softly. “The doctors said you have to at least try.” She frowned ferociously at him and narrowed her eyes. “Don’t shoot the messenger,” he said, holding up his hands. “Look, I asked whether you minded or not because you don’t have feelings for me or anything, do you?” he asked awkwardly after a moment of silence. Talia and Lelei and Mrs. Ulupoka had been telling him for months that he needed to have a talk with Carmina about this, just to clear the air. They were worried about her and why she’d come down to Birmingham. She didn’t let them fuss over her much. She said it made her uncomfortable.

At his question, Carmina burst out laughing. She laughed so hard that several people turned to glare at them, as if they were farting at a funeral. “I’m being serious,” he hissed at her, which only made her laugh harder. Buster K lay back down, convinced she was fine. Every time she started to stop laughing she’d look at Sam and start all over again. She had to wipe the tears from her eyes. “Okay,” Sam said at last. “So that’s a no, right?” She nodded in answer while still chuckling. Sam hadn’t seen her laugh that hard since she’d gotten out of the hospital.

“No,” she said in a clear voice. Sam grinned at her.

“Good job,” he said, punching her in the shoulder.

“Okay, everybody,” some guy said from the podium in the front of the room. He still had a military haircut and wore a long-sleeved button-down shirt. He practically screamed Marine. “Let’s get started. I see some familiar faces and some new ones. So I guess we should start with introductions. Feel free to share as much or as little as you like. I’m Kevin. I was a Marine for twelve years, and did two tours in Iraq.”

Great, thought Sam, I can pass. He looked at Carmina and she looked a little worried. He sighed inwardly. He’d have to introduce himself if he wanted her to try to introduce herself.

“Gary,” the first guy said. “Army. Afghanistan.” That was all he said. Boy, Sam got that. Go, Gary. He seemed even more reluctant to be there than Sam. Probably court-ordered or some shit. Gary sort of set the bar for everyone else. A few people didn’t give more than their name, and Sam wasn’t so sure they gave their real names. Sooner than he would have liked it was his turn.

“Sam,” he said. “Army. Afghanistan.” If it was good enough for Gary, it was good enough for him.

“Sam fucking Taylor,” a guy named Bob said from the other side of the room. “That was a kick-ass game against the Seahawks, dude.”

“Thanks,” Sam said, squirming uncomfortably in his hard wooden chair. So much for anonymity.

“We try not to reveal too much about participants,” Kevin said. “Sorry for the interruption,” he said to Sam, as if he were the one who started it. “We don’t want to intimidate newcomers.” Sam gave him the look that comment deserved, the one that said fuck you without words. Carmina had taught him that one. Kevin looked unimpressed. He was a Marine, after all.

“And you?” Kevin said to Carmina with a condescending smile. She was the only female here tonight. They’d run into this before, assholes that didn’t think she had a story because she was a woman. She was also the only one with a service dog, which some people also interpreted as weak. Sam disliked this Kevin guy more and more with each passing minute. Sam looked over at Carmina, waiting for her cue. He could see her biting the inside of her lip, but she didn’t look at him and gesture for him to talk for her.

“Carmina,” she said slowly. She pointed to her head. “T.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. To their credit, no one tried to rush her. “TBI.” She tapped her lips. “No soy bueno…” She was nervous. She lapsed into Spanish when she was nervous. She finally looked at Sam.

“Talking,” he said. “She has trouble vocalizing what she’s thinking, especially when she’s nervous. We were in the same unit,” Sam explained.

“Okay,” Kevin said. “No pressure here. We don’t make anyone talk if they don’t want to.” Oh, yeah, Sam thought with a sigh, that’ll help her try to talk more. Way to go, Kev.

“What’s TBI?” one of the guys asked her.

“Traumatic brain injury,” she said very slowly, each syllable pronounced carefully.

“Were you shot?” he asked, frowning.

“Okay, hey, we don’t ask questions,” Kevin interrupted. “We each get to tell our own stories at our own pace. If you want to answer questions, then you can tell us that.”

“Whatever,” the guy said, sitting back in his chair. That was two now that Kevin had effectively shut up for the night.

“Bomb,” Carmina suddenly said. She looked at Sam, but he could tell she was looking for permission, not for him to speak for her. He nodded and she pointed to him. “Both. The rest…” She shook her head. “I got…thrown. Hit head.” She shook her head. “Hit my head,” she said very slowly, then nodded, satisfied. Sam smiled his approval at her.

“Shit,” Bob, who’d recognized him earlier, said. “I didn’t know you were hit, Taylor. You never talk about it.”

“Well, not to you,” Sam said defensively. “I don’t even know you.”

“Whoa,” the guy said, holding up his hands. “Too good to talk here. Got it.”

“Let’s not attack one another,” Kevin said, glaring at Sam. “Nothing gets accomplished that way.”

“Could we not say attack?” one guy asked in a shaky voice.

“You must be new at this,” an older vet named Al said to Kevin. “We try not to use aggressive language.” Sam had to try hard not to smirk at Kevin.

“Sorry, sorry,” Kevin said apologetically. “Yes, this is only my second time leading a session. My bad.” He looked over. “Sam, would you like to talk now that Carmina brought you into the conversation?”

Carmina looked at him with I’m sorry written all over her face. Sam gave her a lopsided grin. “Only if Carmina is done,” he said. She nodded energetically. “In that case,” Sam said. “It was a routine transport run. Carmina and I were in the back of the truck with a couple of other guys, and two in the cab. IED. Blew the truck to hell. Then we were ambushed. Carmina was thrown out of the line of fire and knocked out. I was pinned under a burning door. I got shot, too. Broke an arm. The rest of the unit was in bits and pieces. We got first-class tickets home.” A few of the guys laughed. “That was three years ago.”

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Kevin said, pausing long enough that Sam realized he was actually asking if Sam minded being asked a question.

“No, go ahead,” he said.

“How did you get from there to playing professional football?” Some of the guys nodded, listening really hard. Like he had the answers to how they could get their own shit together. This was the part Sam hated. He didn’t have his shit together, but he couldn’t tell them that, could he? For some insane reason seeing him out there playing a game gave them hope. He fucking hated the responsibility.

“I was drafted out of college,” he answered. “Deferred playing until after my tour. When I got out of the hospital and contacted the Cowboys—they drafted me—they told me they’d traded me to the Rebels. So I contacted the Rebels and, believe it or not, they wanted me. Or at least wanted to see what I could do at minicamp. That was last year. I just always talked about coming back and playing and the guys all wanted me to do it. So when I got back, I did. I thought I owed it to them, you know? To play.”

“Not all of us have a professional athletic career to fall back on,” Gary grumbled.

“It was never about playing ball,” Sam said, not really angry. He got where Gary was coming from. “It was about doing what I said I wanted to do. Not being afraid to try. I made it back. They didn’t. They couldn’t do all the things they’d talked about, so I’m doing it for them.” Sam slumped in his seat, suddenly embarrassed. “That’s all.” Carmina reached out and grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Me tambien,” she said, mixing up her languages. But she was talking, so Sam didn’t care.

Kevin actually did the leader thing and moved the conversation around to someone else, much to Sam’s relief. He’d done his part tonight. He’d gotten Carmina to talk, and he’d gotten a few of these guys to think. As far as he was concerned, that was some pretty good footwork.