Page 90 of Never the Same

It really, really was. But the only way to move in a direction that isn’t backward is by doing something different, something you’ve never done before. I had no clue where that thought came from, but so help me, I wanted to stick with it instead of clinging to the negative ones.

She brought the phone to her chest, and there was only one thing left to do before we joined the team and took off for the hotel.

I wordlessly stepped back and unfurled my fingers, offering her my hand. She rested her free one on top of mine as I finally responded to her earlier comment. “We are in this together.” I swallowed. “No matter what.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Hollis

In the air

The engines droned like angry bees bottled in steel, a sound that didn’t seem to disturb the operators on board. Nor did the intermittent hiss of hydraulics and fans. Because when I surveyed the inside of the plane, looking beyond the cargo pallets and gear strapped down with bright-orange webbing, at least three soldiers were passed out.

Even if I didn’t have anything to do, I doubted I’d be able to sleep so easily. I’d been putting off going through Jason’s texts because I knew it was going to hurt. Like a thousand little knife pricks into my flesh as I learned why and how he’d become so closed off, broody, and not people-y.

This was a big deal. Huge. My knees had buckled when he’d offered me his phone in Charleston. The same happened to me when he told me I might be his second chance as well.

I glanced at Jason at the back of the cavernous cargo plane setting up a nylon-mesh hammock-thing. Talk about improvising comfort. He’d offered me a “bed,” but I’d declined, choosing to stay strapped into one of the red troop seats for now.

Jason turned to the side, slipping on a pair of headphones while catching my eyes. “You okay?” he mouthed.

I gave him a hesitant nod, then he forced a smile and climbed onto the hammock. Now or never. I typed in the passcode. My thumb hesitated over his mother’s name before I opened the thread. I flipped back as far as I could go. 2019.

Unrelenting shivers banked my skin as I read the messages. The phone became heavier the longer I scrolled, the weight of his past physically with me. He was giving me his memories, and I had none of my own to give him.

Endless requests for money and promises to change from his mother. She’d even opened credit cards in his name using his identity, and when he would ask her about it, she’d casually apologize. He’d pay off the debt, and she’d do it all over again.

Then there was her drug addiction. He’d beg her to get help. She’d agree, then blow the money he sent for treatment on more drugs. Apologies came, followed by his forgiveness. The same cycle of her taking advantage of him and him helping her anyway.

Rehab finally stuck, only for her to switch vices to alcohol when his father started getting sick. Forgive your father messages came next. He doesn’t remember hurting you. He doesn’t remember hitting you. Forgive him. Help him.

I had to stop and take a break. Pull myself together before I could finish. My heart broke for the abuse he’d suffered. No wonder you didn’t want me risking my neck for your father’s.

After fidgeting with the ridiculous chain I had to wear, I worked my way to their last text exchange. I may not have remembered anyone from my past, but no doubt in my mind he had to be one of the strongest men I’d met in my life.

I forged ahead to his father’s texts next. None had been exchanged in the last year. His texts had been hollow and brief, eventually muddled as his memory declined.

I checked on Jason. His headphones were still on, eyes shut. He had one knee bent, the other leg lazily stretched out with his arm behind his head as a pillow.

You were going through all this with his condition, and now I’m like this.

He’d carried his family like a rucksack full of bricks, and he’d never set it down. Now I truly understood why he didn’t talk about himself.

I went to his photo app next, nervous to go through his Don’t Give Up folder after everything I’d read. That folder had to exist because at one point he had wanted to give up, and he’d found the courage not to and come up with a way to fight through the pain.

The first image was from a newspaper article depicting tornado-ravaged homes from an F5 twister. There was a picture of a boy, maybe Chase’s age, standing in the rubble, the foundation of the home all that remained.

Is that you? I read the names in the article, confirming it was, in fact, Jason. I cupped my mouth, a few tears creating tracks down my cheeks. I tasted their saltiness on my lips, trying to keep it together to continue.

More screenshots of news articles from online from when he lived in Oklahoma, including another tragic F5 tornado event, along with an image of a food shelter, which had me assuming he’d had to eat there at some point.

I thought back to the kitchen when he told me he had to fend for himself when it came to food; he’d literally meant that, hadn’t he?

I wasn’t sure how much more I could take, and this wasn’t my life. My face was hot to the touch and puffy.

When I got to the pictures he’d saved from his service time, I lost it. I ignored the stares from the strangers eyeing me and unbuckled and made a beeline for Jason.

Alex met my eyes, his forehead tight with worry, as I rushed past him and Ryder to get to the man who’d opened himself up to me in his own way.