I threw my pack on the bed, looking around the dusty room. I lifted the blinds. The light filtered through in sharp beams. It should feel good to be home, but it didn’t. Everything about it seemed foreign. As if I was a stranger in my own home. I eyed the pillow and folded quilts suspiciously. A couple years ago I would have seen them as rustic hand-me-downs. Now they looked like expensive luxuries.

I didn’t want to be here. I shouldn’t be back home. I wouldn’t be if the Army hadn’t forced me to take leave. After two years in Razastan and a failed mission that almost cost me my entire team, I was back in the U.S., unwilling and restless.

Nothing about it felt right.

I should be with my team. I should be serving my country. Not stuck here as if I had been sentenced to house arrest.

I tried to remember what it was like to live under a roof. The desert sky had been my ceiling for so long I didn’t know how I was going to sleep in a regular bed again. The conditions were rough, but I liked being outside. I was trained in the worst conditions. The men around me were just as tough and fearless. They had to be to be part of Delta Force. Anything less would get us all killed.

That was the price of war. That was the price I was willing to pay to keep everyone else safe.

I closed the bedroom door behind me, inspecting the cabin as I moved room to room. It didn’t look as if anyone had been here since I deployed.

The bathroom door creaked open. I turned the faucet and the pipes squealed. For a second, I thought the cabin was without running water, but it sputtered and coughed, dumping a splash into the drain. I let the water run in the sink until the bits of silt and stale water had run through. I splashed it on my face, using my palms as a small basin.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I barely recognized myself. My skin was tanned from the sun and my beard had grown in. I reached for a towel and dried off before heading to the living room.

I hadn’t made any calls. I didn’t want a big welcome home party, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before my family knew I was home. Eventually, I had to face the obligations I had to them. Maybe I could have a night to myself before that happened.

I opened a cabinet door in the kitchen. It was bare. As much as I hated it, I was going to have to drive into town for groceries. I slammed the cupboard, scattering dust around the kitchen. There were a lot of things I could live without, but food wasn’t one of them. I lived too far outside of town to order pizza. Fuck. It would be good to drink a beer right about now. I stuffed my keys and wallet in my back pocket and let the screen door close behind me.

I walked to my truck, slid into the driver’s seat, and started the ignition. I could make a quick trip into town to pick up a few basics.

* * *

I threw a box of cereal, a huge steak, and a case of beer in the shopping cart. I couldn’t shake the feeling that the other customers were watching me. Maybe I was used to being paranoid. It didn’t matter what city or village we were in during the war, I had to stay focused all the time. There was never a break. Everyone in Razastan was a suspect. Even children carried bombs. I didn’t look at people the same way as everyone else. As far as I was concerned they were all walking weapons. They all the ability to kill or to take out civilians. I couldn’t shake the feeling now that I was buying groceries at the market. I knew it was fucked up.

I tossed a few loaves of bread into the cart on top of everything else and wheeled it to the register.

The clerk rang up the items, scanning them one by one. I reached into my wallet to pay for the bags of food.

The woman smiled at me. “Let me guess…you are back with that unit at Fort Helix back from overseas. I know an Army man when I see one.”

“How did you know?” I asked. I was immediately suspicious.

She ran the items over the glass scanner. “Well, your haircut for one.” She started placing the food in paper bags. “And I saw on the news last night a lot of the soldiers came home. I thought I’d ask.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. I didn’t like talking about the Army. I sure as hell never told anyone what I did in the military. Delta Force was off limits for any conversation. End of story.

“It’s nice to see you home.” She smiled. “Makes me feel good when our boys are back.”

I nodded. “Thanks.” I shifted uncomfortably on my feet.

“Did your family plan a big welcome home?” she asked, loading cheese and pasta into a paper bag.

“Here.” I handed her the money. “No. Not really their thing. It wasn’t a planned leave.”

She opened the register to give me change. “It’s nice when our soldiers come home. I love the banners and the flowers. I wish we could have a parade for you.”

“That’s not necessary.” I knew I sounded gruff, but she was quickly getting carried away.

“Do you at least have a girl waiting for you? Someone to cook you a hot meal?” she pestered.

This woman was damn nosey. “No, ma’am.” I took the receipt from her.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that. It’s not much, but thank you for your service. I appreciate what you do. Or did. So, thank you.”

I tried to smile, but I felt eyes on me, and I didn’t like the attention the conversation was drawing. I didn’t do my job for thanks or praise. I did it because I wasn’t built for anything else. It was in my DNA. It was who I was.

I nodded at her as I left the store.

I loaded the bags in my arm and deposited them in the back of my truck. I couldn’t peel out of the parking lot fast enough. I wasn’t comfortable in the store. I wasn’t comfortable talking to the clerk. And I sure wasn’t comfortable giving her any information about my military status.

I threw the truck in drive and headed back to the cabin. At least there I would have solitude. A place to stay clear and focused. A place that was isolated. Until all hell broke loose and my family figured out I was back.