Homecoming by Denise Grover Swank

Chapter One
     
     
    Will stepped off the plane into the Kansas City airport, each step harder than the last. His heart hammered in his chest, catching his breath.
    Keep going. One foot in front of the other.
    He felt naked traveling in civilian clothes instead of his Marine fatigues. Naked and vulnerable. Being a Marine had been his sole purpose in life.
    Now he had nothing.
    His shoulders slumped as he followed the other passengers out of the secure area and toward the baggage carousel. His entire life fit into a duffel bag. What did that say about him?
    He looked around for a familiar face, unsure who to expect. His mother? Megan? He knew better than to expect his father. Will wasn’t looking forward to that moment of reckoning.
    The carousel kicked on, and bag after bag dumped onto the metal slats. A crowd swelled around the oval space, but Will focused on the tarmac outside the windows. He closed his eyes, sucking in deep breaths, and he tried to block out the screams in his head. And the children’s faces pressed against the glass.
    “Hey, buddy.” Someone tapped his arm.
    Will reached for a nonexistent handgun at his waist, then grabbed the guy’s arm and twisted it behind his back.
    The man let out a shriek of surprise. Will dropped his hold, horror rising in his throat, choking his words. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He backed up several steps, grabbing his head between his hands.
    He was fucking losing it.
    Close to hyperventilating, he ran outside, surprised by the arctic blast of wind that hit him, chilling the hairs on his bare arms.
    Keep it together. Just for a little while longer .
    He’d kept it together for so long he was about to explode.
    A security guard moved closer, standing on the sidewalk several feet away. While the uniformed man wasn’t in a hurry to confront him, Will’s training told him that he was being watched. Lifting his head, Will took a deep breath, running his hand over his face.
    Get your bag. Get out of here.
    His duffel was on the carousel, circling around as bags continued to dump onto the platform. People gave him a wide berth as he moved toward the bag, watching him in curiosity and fear.
    The fear was what killed him the most.
    His hand shook as he reached for the straps and the older woman next to him scowled. Will knew how he looked with his dark circles, rumpled clothes, shaggy hair, and shadowy stubble. Like a drug addict coming off a weeklong binge. It was a wonder he hadn’t been pulled aside for questioning already.
    He had to get out of here.
    It had become painfully clear that no one was coming. He’d have to rent a car to go home. Turning to the glass sliding doors, he saw a shuttle bus marked  Car Rental  parked on the curb. He started to run toward it as it began to pull away but he stopped in the street, his energy gone after its initial spurt.
    A car honked, jolting him out of his thoughts, and he stumbled toward the curb. The guard from earlier moved toward him, a hard look in his eyes. Will had to get out of here and fast. He knew how to get to the car rental building. What did it matter if he rode the shuttle or walked? Who was he in a hurry to see? No one, apparently.
    He followed the road circling the airport, about a half-mile to the car rental building. He didn’t have a coat and the cold air froze his skin within minutes. But he welcomed the cold after the desert heat of Iraq, his home for the last nine years. He wanted anything that could rip the memories out of his head and replace it with something else. Maybe he could freeze it out. Maybe he could freeze to death.
    It wasn’t the first time he’d had suicidal thoughts since  the   incident,  as the higher-ups in the Marines called it. He’d been placed under heavy guard after it happened, not only to protect others but to protect himself. He’d never understood that, especially since he hadn’t been publicly crucified. How much easier would it have been if they’d just let him end