Free Justifying Jack (The Wounded Warriors Book 2) by Simone Beaudelaire, J.M. Northup Page B

head.
I know what that's like.
Then Sam smiled weakly, apparently trying to make his comment less serious by saying, “It's worse than the time we stayed up over 36 hours straight.”
    “That was horseshit,” Mike exclaimed, jumping at the thread of humor. “Sleep deprivation training did nothing to prepare me for that shit.”
    “Or this,” Sam remarked, scratching the side of his head absently with one hand and motioning towards the room with the other.
    Trying to ignore the elephant of Sam's mental break, which threatened to fill the whole room, Jack requested, “Sam, don't call me Sarge, okay? We're not in the military anymore, man.”
And I don't want to be reminded of what I've lost.
    “Wait, what?” Sam's eyes opened wide. His sudden reaction, dramatic by comparison, was unexpected, putting the duo on alert. Mike and Jack glanced at each other with concern, misunderstanding Sam's behavior, worried he was about to explode again. “What do you mean?”
    “We were all discharged, remember?” Mike asked Sam nervously.
    Sam rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. “No, man,” he informed them. “I was retained. I won't be discharged until the doctor says I'm 100%.”
    “Wait, you're still enlisted?” Mike looked askance at Jack and then turned back to Sam. “Why?”
    “Major Hansen said they don't release troops unless they're cleared medically,” Sam yawned, flopping onto one of the hard plastic chairs with rounded corners. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes.
    “Hmmm,” Jack shrugged. “I guess I'm a badass then because they discharged me on a medical.” He caught himself rubbing his thigh and forced his hand to stillness, crossing it over his chest to keep it out of trouble.
    “Yeah, but how long were you in the hospital overseas? Three, maybe four months, right?” Sam inquired. “Am I remembering that correctly?”
    “He's got a point,” Mike agreed. “I mean, while we were finishing our enlistments, you were in the hospital, recovering.”
    “Okay,” Jack acquiesced, “but I'm not 100% either.” His thigh twitched in protest from standing so long. Jack ignored it, suspecting if he sat again, they'd need to bring him a wheelchair.
    “Yeah, that's true,” Mike concurred. “But maybe that's the difference?”
    “What do you mean?” Jack wanted to know.
And why the hell are we talking about this? Have the ghosts of therapy past taken possession of us?
    “Well, I mean, there's really nothing more they can do, right?” Mike tried to explain.
    “Yeah,” Sam interjected. “I mean, you're never going to be 100% again.”
    Thanks, friends. I really wanted to remember that.
Jack gave Sam a leveled look. “Will you?”
    Sam sort of deflated and turned his gaze away. “Honestly… I don't know.”
    Okay, knock it off, Nelson. Making Sam feel worse isn't going to fix what's wrong with you. It's true you'll never be 100% again, but that's the hand you've been dealt, so shut up and deal with it.
In concession to his aching limb, he leaned against the wall, turning the conversation back to Sam, but trying to sound calmer, gentler this time. “What happened, man? How'd you end up in this… fine establishment?”
    “It's ah… it's sort of hard to explain,” Sam looked embarrassed and he seemed to be avoiding direct eye contact.
    We all have nightmares, fears, so if anyone could understand, it'd be us.
“Try,” Jack encouraged.
    Mike turned his attention from Jack to Sam. “Yeah, man. What's going on?”
    “Okay,” Sam said, but he sounded uncertain. He licked his lips and wrung his hands together, saying, “Everything would be fine. I'd be enjoying myself and then… then I'd be…
there
.”
    “Afghanistan?” Mike surmised and Sam nodded, giving his confirmation.
    “I thought things were… better?” Jack remarked sadly. “I thought… well, when we saw you at the bar, you seemed… happy.” His hand had crept to his leg again, so he tucked it behind his back.
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