Hadn’t I just done this? Hadn’t Josh, Sam, and I just sat in a military chapel with a flag-draped coffin? How the hell did we get here again? Where was the justice in this? Hadn’t we both suffered enough already?

The bagpipes lit into “Amazing Grace,” the chapel acoustics carrying the sound so well that I felt it in my very bones. Josh stared straight ahead at where Will lay, his face unreadable but his eyes tortured in a way I couldn’t understand but desperately wanted to. Even if it ripped me apart, I wanted so badly to climb inside his thoughts and help him heal.

We sang. We prayed.

The honor guard stepped forward, one man short, confusing me until Grayson stepped forward and took his place to carry Will out.

Sam laid her head on my shoulder, her tears falling on my bare arm.

We left, following them out until Will was loaded into a glass hearse pulled by white horses. The drive to the burial was slow, keeping pace behind the horses winding down the hilly path through West Point. I reached over to Josh, rubbing his neck. He leaned into my touch but didn’t speak, and I didn’t break our solemn silence.

We turned into the cemetery and drove as far back as the paved way allowed. The burial itself was quicker than I remembered from Dad’s funeral, but this time I took in the details, where I’d merely existed through Dad’s.

The volley of gunfire caught me off guard, and Josh startled, his body jerking in his seat. I held his hand, but he didn’t look over at me, still keeping his eyes on Will.

General Donovan handed Will’s mom the folded flag, her sobs splitting the relative quiet until “Taps” began to play.

It was too final, too soon for a twenty-four-year-old man to be laid in the ground. It wasn’t right, any of it. This war was taking chunks of my soul, of Josh’s, piece by piece.

The service ended, and the seven of us stayed until we were the only ones left. Morgan, Paisley, Jagger, Josh, me, Sam, and Grayson all stood sentry as they lowered Will into the ground.

I remembered how cold it had been when we did the same for Dad, and even though the June weather was far mellower in New York, I felt just as frozen, as numb.

“I don’t understand,” I said to Sam. She turned to me, her eyes red and swollen. “I don’t understand how we’ve gone from burying our parents to burying our friends.” I glanced past her to where Morgan stood holding onto Paisley, her head high as tears marked her cheeks. “Burying the men we love. I just don’t.”

She wrapped her arm around my shoulders.

“I don’t, either. I don’t think anyone does.”

We stayed until he was at rest, and I prayed that he knew more peace in the next life than he had in this one.

Chapter Twenty-One

JOSH

The front gate to the cemetery was closed at 0600, so I drove around to the back, where I’d seen a small opening in the gate yesterday. The parking lot was mostly empty, except for the spots closest to the Starbucks on the far side.

I parked our rental next to another white sedan, whose owner had obviously had the same thought, and walked toward the back of the cemetery, cursing the still-tender wound in my leg. Ember was going to be pissed if she woke up and found I’d driven the car, let alone left her without a note. But she’d looked so peaceful, and she’d been getting about as much sleep as I had lately, which meant none. If I wasn’t waking her up with nightmares, then I was usually making love to her, taking respite in those small moments where she was all that existed to me. But I’d woken up an hour ago and snuck out like a teenager past curfew and drove around the post, simply elated in the power of being behind the wheel of a car again. I’d gravitated here naturally after a while.

The light morning fog had an eerie effect as I took the small, worn path between the hedges and the gate post. It felt different here this morning than it had yesterday. Yesterday, this place contained all the grief in the world, the voices of those silenced too young. This morning, it felt quiet, peaceful.

I turned to the left and walked among the newer stones, reading some of the names to myself as I hobbled by. Too young. They were all too damn young. Michael Adams was only twenty-four, just like Will.

I continued the path until I came upon Will’s grave and stopped in my tracks. Standing there, a sweater wrapped around her from the morning chill, was Paisley. I started to retreat, but the gravel crunched under my feet and she turned. Fuck.

“Josh?” she called out.

I half waved and headed over, the wet grass immediately soaking my running shoes. “Hey, Paisley.”

She gave me a small smile, her eyes swollen to nearly unrecognizable proportions. “I didn’t want to leave without spending a little more time here.”

“Yeah. I wanted to take a couple of minutes, too.”

“Did you want to be alone? I can go for a walk.”

I shook my head. “No, you don’t have to leave. I couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to wake Ember.”

She laughed, pathetic as it sounded. “Jagger’s still knocked out. He’ll only take the pain meds at night, now.”

I’d never wanted to run away from someone so badly, like the joggers who were sporadically making their way through the cemetery as we stood there. Then again, this leg was barely supporting me to stand, let alone run.

“Why are you avoiding me?” she asked, looking up at me with raised eyebrows.

“What? I’m not.” I bold-faced lied to my best friend’s wife.