It was pitch-black and there was nothing but the smell of burning rubber and smoke. He was on the ground, crawling, dragging his friend with him, determined not to leave him behind. He could feel the dirt and rock beneath his fingernails, the trickle of sweat running down his neck. Every few seconds the sky lit up with bursts of fire like some macabre parody of a fireworks display.

“Just leave me, Matt. Get out of here.” Cy started coughing before he could even finish the sentence. His legs were twisted to the side in an unnatural position. Matt couldn’t take time to dwell on what that meant. He just knew they couldn’t stop moving.

“I’m not leaving you behind, man. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but we’re getting out of here.” Matt had hooked his left arm over his friend’s chest and was using his right arm to drag both of them from the wreckage of the vehicle. Cy could barely move, so he was purely dead weight. Matt’s arm was screaming from the effort to pull both of them along, but he didn’t let go. He couldn’t let go.

The air was filled with the sounds of gunfire and screaming. Matt looked up to see the medics running toward them. They were going to be okay.

“Aah!” Matt cried out when Cy was pulled from his arm. His shoulder hurt so badly, as if he hadn’t been able to register the pain until he finally let go.

“We made it.” He looked to his right where the medics were packing Cy’s wounds. But when he looked, his friend had no face. There was only darkness where his head should be.

“No! Cyrus, no!” Matt woke up then, the scream trapped in his throat, almost strangling him. He patted the sheets next to him frantically, his chest rising and falling with the force of his breaths. For several long moments, he was trapped on the razor’s edge between nightmare and reality. Then his heartbeat slowed as he took in the familiar shapes of his room, the lamp on the nightstand, the dresser across the room. He was at Elliott’s house. In bed.

Safe.

“Aw, hell.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. His bare toes dug into the carpet. He’d never slept in clothes before, but he’d started wearing pajama pants since the dreams had started. He was used to getting up in the middle of the night.

He walked downstairs and flipped on the lights in the kitchen. After a glass of water and a piece of cheesecake that had been in his refrigerator long enough to be highly suspect, he trudged back up the stairs and got in bed. In therapy he’d learned to allow himself the freedom of remembering. It helped to think back on the events and remind himself that he’d done everything he could.

His friend’s death was not his fault.

So as soon as his eyes closed, he allowed his thoughts to go back to that evening. He was riding shotgun in the ATV and his friend Cyrus was driving. Cy was only five years younger, but it felt like light-years. He’d looked up to Matt, even signed up for jump school when Matt explained the volunteer-only program was always in need of qualified recruits.

They’d been tasked with delivering medical supplies to a hospital in the city of Balad. Cy had been talking about what he was going to do on his leave. He had a girlfriend back home in North Carolina and he’d just found out she was expecting their first child. Matt had been teasing him about being busy at home on his last break when the first shot hit the side of their vehicle.

He turned on his side and squeezed the pillow between his arms. Cy had swerved. They’d hit something and he couldn’t remember exactly what had happened after that. He just knew he’d been unwilling to leave his friend behind when he’d crawled from their overturned vehicle. It was all a blur of fire, bullets, and smoke, but he remembered that much. He’d been so determined to drag his friend out that he hadn’t realized how badly his shoulder had been compromised. It wasn’t until days later that the full extent of the damage was apparent.

He’d been on disability for almost six months before he’d been cleared to go back to work. He’d gone through all the requisite Army counseling, but he still couldn’t pass the general physical fitness test.

He’d picked up most of his life just as it had been before, so most people thought he was okay. It was a wonder to him that he’d managed to fool as many people as he had.

It wasn’t possible to ever be truly okay after watching a friend die right in front of you.

Cy would never have the chance to do all the things he’d talked about—getting married, watching his kid grow up, moving to the West Coast where, in his opinion, all the best looking women were. He’d been a fighter and Matt was suddenly ashamed that he’d been sitting around feeling sorry for himself when his friend would never again have that privilege.

More than just his ego had been bruised when he’d failed part of the fitness test. His goal of being a Ranger was now more like a distant dream. He’d joined the Army to serve and protect. It felt like he was failing at the one thing he’d been sure he was good at. But everything he’d tried so far hadn’t worked, so maybe it was time to try something different. Cy would have said “If you don’t like where you are, then go somewhere else.”

He thought back to what Mara had said about Penny being a miracle worker.

He could only hope.

*   *   *   *   *

THE NEXT DAY, Matt stood on the Alexanders’ front porch. He shifted the case of sodas he held so he could ring the doorbell. Before the chime even finished, the door was wrenched open and laughter and warmth spilled over him.