DECKED OUT IN MY BEST suit, a black Kiton two-piece I splurged on after my second deployment, I wait on the front porch of the fraternity house, smoking a cigarette. The other frat and pledge brothers walk down the hill with their dates toward the Rusty Trombone as I wait for Ember to show. Being my first social, and with Ember on my arm, I was a little nervous getting ready, making sure everything was perfect, and for the first time since the pledging process started, I’m wearing my Purple Heart eye. It’s a prosthetic I had to grow to love, as it brings more attention than the normal ones do. There’s no iris or cornea painted on this one, only a pupil with a Purple Heart medal painted on top. When I wear it now, I feel a sense of pride.
If they’re gonna stare anyway, I’m gonna let ’em know where I got it from.
Ember is running late, and I’m on my third cigarette. My flask black leather wrapped flask, the one I received as a gift for being the best man at Tommy Callahan’s wedding, is in my hand, and every few moments I sip a little Jameson from it, priming myself for a good night out, and to prepare for the feelings of sweeping anxiety I know the crowded bar will undoubtedly bring otherwise.
Before long, a cab pulls up, much to my relief, and the door pops open. Ember exits the vehicle, a crimson flared dress clinging tightly to her torso, a pair of bedazzled Louboutins on her feet. Her beauty mesmerizes, even under the dim streetlight.
She’s dressed to the nines… and breathtaking.
As she saunters up the sidewalk toward the porch, she glances at me with a tight smile. I can tell by her expression that something’s up.
“Everything okay?” I ask, pocketing my flask as she approaches and gives me a tight hug.
“Yeah,” she mutters, her eyes falling to the ground.
I put two fingers beneath her chin and tilt her head up, smiling as her gorgeous eyes meet mine again. “Tell me what’s going on,” I demand, though in a nurturing tone.
“It’s Brady,” she says, letting out a heavy sigh. “That’s why I’m late.”
A wrinkle of concern crosses my forehead, a twinge of anger buzzes in my chest. “What did he do?”
“Nothing. I just got off the phone with him a few minutes ago. He was just kinda being a dick.”
“Abour what? Us?”
“Yeah, he’s mad I’m going to the social with you.”
“Fuck that! He’s got no right to be mad or go off on you. You ain’t together. You ain’t doin’ nothin’ wrong.”
“I know, I know.” She takes my hands in hers. “Let’s just go have some fun, okay?” She forces a smile.
“Okay, but I’m gonna say somethin’ to him tonight when I see him.”
“No, you don’t have to do that,” she says as we start toward the sidewalk. “He’s not going to the social anyway. He’s too pissed off.”
I stop dead in my tracks, and she stops along with me.
“So, where is he?”
Her eyes flit to the fraternity house, and then back to me as she shrugs.
“He’s in the house?” I ask.
She nods, and I turn, making my way toward the front door in a hurry.
“Bishop, no! Let’s just go, please?” She grabs for my arm as I reach the front door. “Please, babe?”
Turning back to her, my hand on the door handle, a determined look in my eyes, I say, “Ember, he needs to know it ain’t right what he’s doin’. He can’t treat you like this. Or make you feel this way.”
“It’s okay. I’ve already told him all that.”
I open the door but don’t enter right away. My eyes remain on hers. “But he hasn’t listened. Just stay out here, gorgeous. I ain’t gonna do nothin’ stupid. I just wanna talk to him.”
I go to walk inside, but she clings to my hand. Pulling her into me, I kiss her deeply, passionately, before leaning my head back and smiling. “I promise everything will be okay,” I say, kissing her once more, and then I make my way inside and down the hall, the front door closing behind me.
I reach Brady’s door, the third one on the right, and knock on it just as I hear the front door opening. Looking toward the noise, I see Ember creeping inside the house.
“Dammit, Ember,” I scold just as Brady’s door opens. Turning toward him, I see first the scowl on his face, then his shirtless torso, ripped far more than mine with a good twenty extra pounds of muscle.
“Can I help you?” he asks in an annoyed tone.
“Yeah, you can actually.” I set a hand high against the door frame, an intimidation tactic, no doubt. “I need you to stop givin’ Ember so much shit about hangin’ out with me. She’s a grown-ass woman,” I say just as she approaches.
He shoots her a nasty glare.
Raising my voice, I say, “I need you to not act like she’s your possession. I need you to be a man here.” His eyes fall back on me, anger lines in his forehead. “Y’all ain’t together. She’s a single woman. So, leave her the fuck alone. Got it?”
Without waiting for a response, I drop my hand and turn, grabbing Ember’s hand, and leading her away.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he calls out from behind us.
As we reach the front door, I look back toward him with a smirk, saying, “Be sure you do, kid. Be very sure.”
Opening the door and waiting for Ember to pass through, I wink at Brady, and then I follow her out.
As we make our way toward the sidewalk, Ember warns, “You want to be careful with him. He’s got a temper. It’s all the ’roids he takes.”
Squeezing her hand, I smile and say, “Ember, I ain’t worried about that little bitch. I’ve been in my fair share of fights. I’ve handled my own. And I ain’t afraid of him, or anybody else.”
“I just don’t want the drama, you know?”
“I don’t either. Trust me. But if it finds me, I’m ready and willin’ to take care of it.”
I let go of her hand and slip the flask from my back pocket. Handing it over to her, I ask, “Want some?”
She digs into her purse and pulls out her own pink flask with a smile and a wink. “Handled.”
“Well, cheers then.” I clink mine against hers and lift it to my lips. “To an epic night.”
“To your dick inside me later,” she adds, taking a drink as I burst out in laughter, a little of the liquor flying out of my mouth.
I wipe an arm across my lips and say, “Goddamn, woman. That was outta left field. Though I don’t know why I’m so surprised.”
“Too much?” she asks just as we reach Main Street. There are people everywhere, going to and from the five bars that dot this small downtown. The Rusty Trombone sits a block to our right, its Nashville-esque sign framed in rusted metal with the bar name in bright shimmering letters that light the street out front.
“Not even fuckin’ close. I love when you talk dirty,” I admit, guiding her toward the front of the bar, where a cluster of brothers and their dates stand, smoking cigarettes with drinks in their hands.
“Well, there will definitely be more of that later,” she says with a sexy little smirk as we approach the group. The only one of them I’ve really gotten to know is Tim. I internally chuckle as he sports an ill-fitting suit with a Metallica shirt under the jacket and combat boots on his feet.
“What’s up, bro?” I ask, slapping hands with him. “How is it in there?”
“Fucking crowded. I needed a breather. This is exactly why I never do these things.
Overcrowded as fuck. Waiting an hour for a fucking drink. It’s not just our social in there either. There’s a few going on.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“Which fraternities?”
“Alpha Zeta and Beta Chi.”
“They arranged a social with us and Beta Chi in the same fuckin’ building?”
“Yup.” Tim nods, shrugging. “Brady’s bright idea, I guess.”
“Well, let’s hope it don’t turn into a fuckin’ fight club in there.”
“If it does, you come and get me, alright?” He smirks. “I might be heading back here otherwise.”
Patting him on the back as I start toward the door, I say, “You bet,” followed by a
chuckle.
As we enter, almost immediately, Ember lets out a squeal and goes running toward a short blond in a tight red halter dress. They embrace, and then Ember excitedly walks her by the hand over to me.
As they approach, Ember motions toward the cute blonde with a killer smile, and says, “Bishop, this is my best friend in the world, Holly. Holly, this is my friend Bishop.”
Shaking her hand, I say, “Awesome to meet you, Holly! I’ve heard great things.”
“Great to meet you too,” she responds with a cute little smile. “And I’ve heard quite a bit about you myself.” She bumps hips with Ember, and Ember rolls her eyes.
“Shut up, bitch. Don’t give away my secrets. Now, where is this new boy toy of yours?”
Holly motions toward the bar. “He’s grabbing a drink. Do you want to meet him over there?”
“Sounds good,” Ember responds, grabbing my hand and pulling me along after Holly.
Several shots down, and too many beers to count, my pledge brothers and I, with our dates, stand in a large circle by the bar. It’s been chaos around us all night, with so many people in the building, which has led to a bit of excessive drinking to calm my nerves. Unfortunately, once the drinks add up, the line between comfortable drunk and uncomfortable drunk is just a sliver. I’ve danced over that line by this point and my head is floating. Drunken conversations cross back and forth between the lot of us, but I’m not particularly engaged in any of them.
Jeremy whistles loudly, garnering the group’s attention, and he lifts his glass in the air.
“Guys, I ain’t tryin’ to get sappy, but I’m drunk, so fuck it. It’s been a great time gettin’ to know y’all. I’m lucky to have such awesome pledge brothers. And to your beautiful dates, thanks for makin’ all of us look good tonight, ladies. Cheers!”
“Cheers,” we repeat, and just as I’m about to take a drink, it’s Mac’s face that lets me know something’s up.
His mouth goes slack, a wrinkle of concern in his brow, and he points behind me. I turn, and just as I do, I see a beer bottle coming straight for my head. It smashes against me, breaking into dozens of tiny little pieces. I take a step back, grabbing for my face as I make sense of what’s just happened. As I wipe the blood from my eyes, I see someone charging for me. It’s when he’s inches away that I realize it’s the same guy I beat the fuck out of a few weeks ago.
He tackles me, the back of my head hitting the bar top as I’m taken to the ground. I see stars. I’m immediately taken back to Army combatives; as drunk as I am, and as much as my head now throbs, it comes instinctually. With one swift move, I’ve countered his attack and found myself on top of him in a full mount. It’s when I start pounding his face with the palms of my hands that I completely black out.
I don’t come to again until I feel a deep burn in my eyes. I roll over and grab my face, gasping for much-needed air. As I fight to see something, anything, I feel my arms being grabbed by rough hands and I’m turned over on my stomach without much care.
“What the fuck!” I call out as I feel my hands being cuffed, my vision still blurry.
“Do not resist!” a voice yells as I’m helped to my feet, and I fight to see through the burning haze.
“What the fuck is goin’ on?” I plead, as the tears well in my eyes, brought on by the mace that now blinds me. Snot and saliva runs freely to the ground.
“Walk,” the voice says sternly.
“My eye, man,” I say as I’m forced to walk in staggering steps, still blinded. “I’ve gotta prosthetic eye in. It’s burnin’, man. I need to rinse it out. Please.”
“Let’s get you outside first,” he responds, guiding me along. “Watch your step here.”
I take small steps forward until I’m outside, the dim streetlight breaching the haze, the cool wind rustling past me and of much relief to my burning eye sockets..
“Can I please just rinse this shit out? I ain’t tryin’ to run. I ain’t tryin’ to fight. I just wanna wash my eyes out.”
“He’s bleeding too, Eric. Pretty bad,” another voice says. I try and rub my eyes out on my shirt, but it just gets more of the mace in them.
“Fuck!” I shout, batting my eyelids and fighting back against the intensified sting with gritted teeth.
I feel hands take hold of my wrists, removing the handcuffs. I lift my palms to my face, about to wipe my eyes out when the officer who cuffed me says, “Hey, hey, hey. Don’t rub your eyes. It’ll make it worse. Officer Collins, grab me a water bottle. And get one of those EMTs over here.”
“Roger that,” the other cop responds.
I’m in a daze. My head burns from the open wound, my eyes, little balls of molten lava.
“Here you go,” he says, setting a bottle against my hand. “Pour it in each eye. Go ahead and use the whole thing.”
I do as I’m told and the feel of the cold water rushing into my burning sockets is one of the best sensations I’ve ever felt. It’s borderline orgasmic. I pop my prosthetic out and rinse it well before returning it to the socket.
“Feel better?” he asks as I pour the rest of the bottle into each eye.
“Much better. I was hopin’ to not have to ever go through that again. Ain’t been gassed since basic training. It’s just as shitty as I recall.”
He laughs.
Batting my eyes, a slight burn persists, but I can now see what’s going on around me. Though it’s cloudy still, I can make out hundreds of people on the street in our vicinity. Some with phones up, recording, others just gawking as hordes of people tend to do when something out of the ordinary happens. Flashing lights from an ambulance, fire truck, and about three cop cars paint Main Street in red and blue.
I am the main attraction.
Scanning the crowd, I spot Mac, Jeremy, and Carter standing back behind some officers, who are keeping people at a distance. Behind them, there are more DIK brothers, Trevor and Damian, and Ember is just to their left. She has pity in her eyes, a wrinkle of concern in her brow… and something else, something that grips my heart like a vice… disappointment.
An EMT approaches, his tired eyes studying me. “Pretty good gash you got there. Gonna need stitches,” he says, the officer nodding in agreement.
Officer Piscotty, as his nametag reads, is a middle-aged man with a thick Sam Elliott mustache, salt and pepper, and he has the beginnings of a retirement gut. “You gonna need to take him in, I’m guessing?” he asks, and the EMT nods.
“Yeah, do you need to get a statement still?”
Piscotty shakes his head. “You alright to ride in the cruiser to the hospital?” he asks me. “It’s gonna be a bit until we can get another ambulance out here.”
“I don’t mind,” I respond. “Do I need to be cuffed back up?”
Officer Piscotty eyes me for a moment, an eyebrow quirked when he asks, “What service were you?”
“Army Infantry. Six years.”
“That how you lose your eye?”
“Yeah.”
“I was Marine Corps Infantry. Desert Storm,” he says, reaching a hand out toward me, and we shake hands briefly. “You gonna run on me? Or try to fight back? Cause I still gotta take you in after you get stitched up.”
“I ain’t goin’ anywhere. I just want this fuckin’ burnin’ to stop.”
“It’ll start to fade here soon. I probably should’ve just used my taser.”
“Yeah.” I laugh. “I would’ve much preferred that experience.”
After getting my head cleaned up, seventeen stitches put in, and engaging in the usual military chitchat with Officer Piscotty throughout, we’re at the police station now, in a stark interview room. My hands are still uncuffed and there’s a hot cup of coffee in front of me that tastes like brewed dog shit. The officer sits across from me with paperwork in front of him and a pen in his hand. Pulling a pair of reading glasses from his breast pocket, he perches them on the bridge of his nose and eyes me over the frames.
He clears his throat. “So, tell me what happened … from the beginning.”
“All I remember is standin’ at the bar, drinkin’ with my friends, and the next thing I know, this guy is hittin’ me over the head with a bottle. The bottle shattered, he tackled me, and I fought back. End of story.”
“Not quite. Do you know why he hit you with a bottle?”
“No idea.”
“So, it was completely random?” He eyes me skeptically, as if he knows something I don’t.
I nod.
“Yes?”
“Yeah.”
“Had you ever met the victim before?”
“The victim? Is that what we’re callin’ him? What does that make me then?”
“I didn’t mean that how it came out. I just don’t think you realize the damage you’ve done. We just got an update on him from the hospital. Four missing teeth. Broken jaw. Broken orbital. You really messed him up good. He’s gonna have a long recovery.”
A new nervousness sinks its teeth into me, a choking knot in my throat. “I don’t remember that.”
“You don’t remember what?”
“I don’t remember hittin’ him that much. I kinda blacked out, I guess.”
He breathes out a heavy sigh, scratching at his chin, and his eyes study me. “We’ve collected video from the establishment. Statements from witnesses. One of those witnesses claims he witnessed you attack his friend, the young man in the hospital now. He said you beat him up a few weeks ago. There are reports that support his claim.”
“He says it was me? Well, he’s sadly mistaken. I ain’t ever met that kid in my life. Not ever. And I haven’t fought since before my Army days.”
His eyes are locked on mine. He seems to be plenty aware of the bald-faced lie I just presented him with. I don’t look away.
“We have nothing on your involvement in the previous incident, but what you did tonight went too far. You’re a trained soldier. He’s a twenty-year-old kid. I don’t care what he thinks, a kid is just what he is. And now he’ll be lucky if he’s not drinking out of a straw for a while.”
“He attacked me,” I say firmly.
He nods. “Yes, and that’ll be taken into account.”
“So, am I arrested?”
“As of now, yes. We’ll set bail in the morning. You can make a phone call and have one of your friends or family post it.”
I lean forward, my elbows on the table. “Listen, he’s a twenty-year-old man. An adult. He hit me over the head with a bottle. A weapon. Cut me open. Then he charged me. I hit my fuckin’ head against the bar top. I’ve got the stitches to prove both. Eyewitnesses too. Instinct kicked in. Did I mean to take it to that level, no. But I was just defending myself. He was underage and under the influence. That’s gotta account for somethin’.”
A look of understanding passes over his features as he takes in what I’ve just said, his head slightly nodding. “Well, nothing’s official yet. You spend one night in jail, and that might very well be the only one you do. Alright?”
“Roger that.” I sit back in the chair and cross my arms, nausea taking hold as I think about the prospect of legitimate jailtime. My heart beats like a drum in my chest.
“And Bishop.” He stands, putting out his hand. “Thank you for what you’ve done for this country. I mean that.”
I stand too and take his hand in my own, shaking it for a moment.
“From one vet to another,” he continues.
“Thank you for pavin’ the way. And for bein’ cool with me tonight.”
“Just get some sleep. Everything will be sorted in the morning and then we’ll go from there. Alright?”
“Sleep?” I laugh. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”