Watts shook his head. I already knew what he was going to say, and I wasn’t going to stop him. It was a relief for someone else to offer tough love for a change.

“Zeke, it’s not going to happen, brother. I’m sorry, but the appeal is just a formality for them. They can’t put you out there. If something happens and we’re miles away from any hospital…”

“Bobby can fly me out. He can set down pretty much anywhere, in any conditions.”

“You want him to stop dropping loads to keep the guys safe to Mediflight you out?”

“The Mediflight guys can take over when he comes back to reload the slurry.”

Watts shook his head. “Listen to yourself, man. They’re not going to put us at a disadvantage just to hire you. You know it doesn’t work like that.”

“Fuck you,” Zeke said.

“Hey.” I nudged him.

He looked away, angry.

We ended the celebration early, walking out to Zeke’s truck. I purposefully walked through a cloud of smoke moving slowly toward the bar’s entrance, breathing in deeply. I miss smoking. So much.

“I’m proud of you for quitting,” Zeke said.

I shrugged. “I needed to anyway.”

He unlocked the doors, and we both climbed up into our seats. I pulled the seatbelt across my chest and it clicked, the only sound in the car.

Zeke sat behind the wheel, staring at the center of it, lost in thought.

“I know,” I said, rubbing his thigh.

“You don’t know. If you wanted back into the Marines, they’d take you tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to go back,” I said, realizing it as I said the words. I used to miss it every day. I used to need it as a distraction. After meeting Zeke, life was good again. Now, my days were filled with trying to get us back there. “I did my time. It was time for something new.”

“I wasn’t ready.”

My brows pulled in as I watched him process his anger, grief, and disappointment all in the same few minutes.

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “You’ve gotta quit saying that.”

“I don’t know what else to say. What should I say?” I asked.

He leaned forward, pressed the button to start the truck, then backed out of the parking space. I kept my hand on his thigh, but he drove home in silence with both hands on the wheel.

At home, Zeke showered without me, and I waited for him to come to bed, using my tablet to devour medical journals and peer-reviewed research; anything on the Internet that discussed Zeke’s condition.