I turn off the tele then wander to the kitchen for a wet cloth to clean Zander a little, no need for Ford to see his brokenness. Thinking of the swelling on my face, I grab a plastic bag, put an ice cube in it and apply it to my lip.Tamara is going to kill me for having to reschedule the photo shoot.
Ford must’ve flew here because he arrived at my door in under fifteen minutes. He knocked twice then entered on his own accord, Hank giving a jovial greeting as he made his way inside, Ford on his heels.
“Jesus, boss, what have you done now?” Ford exclaims as he surveys the scene. He placed a hand at my elbow to help me up, the cloth covered in greasy wing sauce in my opposite hand. His Southern drawl more pronounced now, “Alright, up ya go darlin’. Let’s get him settled.” His gaze moves from the heap on the floor to my face and immediately his mask darkened.
He didn’t say anything about my lip, just picked Zander up as if he weighed no more than a sack of flour then made his way to my bedroom. Once inside, he tossed Zander on the bed as I switch on the overhead light; even the blinding light doesn’t have him stirring, confirming he’s consumed far past any reasonable amount.
Ford turns in my direction then strides two steps to stand in front of me. Bringing one large hand out to cup my chin, he turned my cheek to get a better look at my lip, then let out a growl, “What the hell happened?”
I swallowed hard but waved my hand in dismissal, “nothing, I swear it was an accident.”
I can smell the cigarette smoke lingering on his clothing and in his breath, even past the chewing gum he has in his mouth. It’s the same revolting smell I have never been able to forget. It makes my stomach churn and my pulse quicken. My throat tightens.
Ford isn’t here to hurt ye, get your shite together, focus on Zander.
His other hand tightens into a fist at his side. His tone extends in anger as his brows draw together in a scowl, “Lili, don’t you dare go about protectin’ him, I mean it. He is gonna to be madder than a wet hen when he sees this. So, again, tell me what the hell happened?”
I look him in his eyes as I push his hand away. Stepping back, I take in a well needed breath, willing my pulse to slow.
“He came through the doorway, I caught him, his head connected with my chin. See? An accident. Accidents happen.” My fingers go to my swollen lip, and I wince.
“He isn’t going to accept that as an answer, you know that, right?” He cocks a brow in challenge, waiting to see if I’d break from the original story.
Instead I try to switch the subject around, “What is wrong with him? He has barely talked to me. Have I done something?”
Ford sighs as he crosses his arms then shifts on his feet, a shake to his head as his answer.
If I didn’t know him as well as I do now, I’d be frightened by the man’s demeanor; he radiates anguish now that his barriers have slipped.
“Seriously, Corporal?” He growls and begins rubbing his forehead, “I thought I was the only one he was pushin’ off. I didn’t think in a million years he would do that to you. I’m sorry.”
He let out a mumble of Spanish that I didn’t quite understand, however, I caught most of it. He runs a hand through his short espresso colored hair then scratched at his thick scruffy jaw, hesitant to expose anything about their past.
What he reveals leaves me stunned.
“This month has been three years since Afghanistan.” He paused as his nostrils flared, “since-.” His words fall short as a pregnant pause fills the room.
I lightly grip his tattooed forearm covered in scars and can sense his trembling.
Then it hit me.
“Oh, no.” I reply weakly, understanding the premise but not the full details as I trace a darkened line along his skin, “since you received these.” His scars.
He nods and tries giving me a smile that ended up more as a grimace, “We were gonna to sit at home and have a beer together as our annual send-off to our brother, but he insisted on being alone.” He voiced, waving a hand to Zander on the bed, “the stubborn bastard.”
My Thoughts exactly.
I purse my lips and let go of him, wrapping my arms around my middle, “What about Shark? He shouldn’t be alone right now either.”
He takes a deep breath in then lets it out slowly, “Shark, he has a different way of dealing with this and is more than likely not alone right now.” He shakes his head.
He is trying not to think about the past, but it’s written all in his body language; tense muscles, flexing hands, ticking jaw.
Whatever happened three years ago haunts every single one of them.
His voice breaks at his next words, “Corporal has been through a lot, has helped me through a lot.”
“You and Zander seem to be close. He needs you, as much as he might say otherwise.” I turn my gaze to the bed, then back to Ford, “he will not talk to me about it. But I know pain, Ford. None of you are alone in this fight.” I allow that to hang in the air a moment, then I turn and make my way to the foot of the bed where Zander’s feet are still dressed in his boots and hang off the bed.