I sit forward, dropping my feet to the floor, and grab the device off the footlocker I use as a coffee table.

The name flashing on the screen brings the biggest smile to my face.

“Jesus Christ,” I answer, settling back against the cushion and propping my feet up at the other end. “How the fuck are you? What’s going on?”

“It’s going,” Jake says. His voice is rough. He sounds tired. “Just got back late last night. Fucking time difference is screwing me. I can’t sleep.”

“How was it this time?”

“How’d you think it was? It’s Afghanistan.” He pauses. I hear a can opening and wonder if he’s missing it today. The drink. The drugs. “It’s all a bunch of shit,” he says. “Same as last time they sent my ass over there. Nothing’s changing.”

“How are you doing?” I press.

“I’m fine. Jesus. I’m not drinking. All right?” he’s quick to reply, shooting down my worry. I listen as he takes a sip. “That’s a Redbull that’s got you freaking out. Relax.”

“You’re drinking a Redbull and you’re tired?”

“Read somewhere it can have the opposite effect if you’re really lacking. I thought I’d give it a shot.”

I shake my head, smiling, then throw my arm behind me and use it as a pillow, propping myself up higher.

“Seriously though,” he starts. “I’m fine. I know you worry about me and I appreciate it. I always have.”

“You’re my brother. And you’re doing some pretty scary shit. You know I’m going to worry.”

“Nothing scarier than what you’re doing,” he counters.

“Maybe, but I don’t got shit in my past I gotta keep hold of.”

“I’m not wanting to use,” he bites out, shining a light on his demons. “All right? And if I start feeling those urges, I know to talk to someone. I got it handled.”

“Just looking out for you, man. That’s my job,” I tell him. “And it’s one I’m going to keep doing no matter how much you bitch about it, so get the fuck over it. You had a long deployment, Jake. I don’t know what all kinds of shit you saw over there and I’m not asking, unless you want to share.”

“Not really.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“Shit,” he mumbles. I hear shuffling through the line.

“What?”

“I just spilled my Redbull everywhere. God . . . motherfucker. That was my last one.”

I smirk. “Probably for the best. That shit makes you mean.”

Jake breathes a laugh. “Whatever,” he murmurs.

“Seriously though. I’m glad you’re back and okay,” I begin, hearing my phone beep with a message. “Hold up a sec.”

I hold the phone out and read the text.

Riley: I just spent an HOUR trying to open that stupid coconut.

Chuckling, I bring the phone back to my ear.

“What’s up?” Jake asks.

“Nothing. This chick . . .”

“Uh oh,” he murmurs.

“Nah, it isn’t like that,” I tell him, wincing. “Well, it is, but it’s not.” I shake my head. “I don’t know. Shit’s complicated.”

“Sounds like a long fucking story I don’t want to hear. Actually, tell it to me. It might put me out.”

“Fuck you,” I laugh. “How’s Katie?”

“She’s good, I think,” he answers. “Didn’t get to talk much while I was gone. I think that was hard on her.”

“Sure it was.”

“I’m planning on going to see her now that I’m back.”

“You better be swinging by here if you’re driving to Texas, shithead,” I order.

Jake’s stationed in South Carolina, so to get to his girl he has to drive through Alabama. And considering it’s been over a year since I last saw him and he just survived another deployment, his third in six years, I’m going to be pretty firm on that request.

He chuckles. “I am. I’m gonna head up and see Mom and Dad too.”

“When?”

“Shooting for a few weeks,” he says. “I got some things I gotta do here, and I gotta wait for them to approve my leave. Bastards take their fucking time with that shit.”

I know all about that. He’s complained to me before. Jake doesn’t hide shit that gets on his nerves. Ever.

He’s better at hiding other stuff. Stuff he shouldn’t be keeping locked in.

“Just give me a heads up when you’re coming,” I request. “I’ll try and take off so we can hang out.”

“Cool.” His voice breaks with a yawn.

I smile.

Guess the Redbull does work.

“Fuck,” he murmurs. “I better try and get some sleep. I’m gonna be dead tomorrow.”

“All right, man. It was great talking to you,” I tell him, feeling good about this phone call. “Keep me updated on shit.”

“Yeah, I will.”

“Later.”

“Later.”

The line disconnects.

Limbs heavy with relief, I relax further into the couch and pull up the text from Riley.

She’s opening coconuts by herself? Using tools, no doubt?

That motherfucker . . .

Me: He didn’t help you with that?

Riley: I didn’t ask for help.

Me: You shouldn’t need to.

Riley: Stop it. It’s not like he saw me struggling and refused to help.

Me: What did you open it with?

Riley: A hammer.

Me: And where’d you get the hammer?

Riley: His tool box.

Me: Did he see you get it?

Riley: Yeah.

Me: There you go.

Riley: ???

Me: I see my woman getting in my tools, I go find out why.

Riley: I know how to use a hammer.

Me: Not the point.

Riley: *rolls eyes*

Me: Roll them all you want. Just know if I were there, you wouldn’t be handling your coconuts. That’s my job.

Riley: Stop.

Me: Unless you wanna handle them while I supervise. I’m down for that.

Riley: STOP!

Me: ?

Riley: My COCONUTS?!? REALLY??

Me: I’m talking about the fruit. What the fuck are you talking about?