Disclaimer: Castle and all of its characters belong to Andrew W. Marlowe, Terri Edda Miller, and ABC Studio Productions. "I Drive Your Truck" belongs to Lee Brice.
Eighty-nine cents in the ash tray.
Half empty bottle of Gatorade rolling in the floor board.
That dirty Braves cap on the dash, dog tags hanging from the rear view.
Old Skoal can and cowboy boots, and a 'Go Army' shirt folded in the back.
This thing burns gas like crazy, but that's alright.
People got their ways of coping and I've got mine.
I drive your truck. I roll every window down.
I burn up every back road in this town.
I find a field, I tear it up 'til all the pain's a cloud of dust.
Yeah, sometimes
I drive your truck.
"I'm reenlisting, bro." Javier had dropped the statement during a Madden marathon night. The pair of them had been pouring over a six pack and a couple of pizzas, trying their hardest not to drip either on the controllers and yelling at the animated players on the flat screen. The words had stopped Ryan dead in his tracks on the way to the kitchen to grab another beer, and had him spinning on his heel to face his partner, his mouth gaping.
"What do you mean you're reenlisting? Bro, how the hell am I supposed to have your back if you're in another country completely?" He cursed himself for the squeaking sound of his voice.
He knew that Esposito had been a special forces soldier when he'd joined the Army straight out of high school. He also knew that his partner had served overseas for longer then he ever cared to share with anyone. He had been a sniper. He had killed more people then most normal citizens could even hope to understand. But, most of all, Kevin Ryan knew that Javier Esposito felt an innate sense of duty to his country. Truth be told, Ryan respected it, but it also scared the hell out of him.
"They need me, Ryan. I have to go back." Esposito scoffed, his voice full of disbelief. "You know that I'm just as dedicated to the guys down range as I am to you. Or Beckett. Or Castle. If they need me, I have to go."
"You just said yourself that you're dedicated to us too. How are you going to just walk away from our team? Did you even consider what that is going to do to us?" Ryan snarled, his pulse racing with what he could only perceive as rage. He paced the kitchen, raking his hands roughly through his hair.
"Ryan, I didn't have a chance to consider any of that. But I know that you guys are going to be fine without me. You guys are the best in the business, and just because I'll be gone for a little while doesn't mean that that's going to change at all. I think you guys are going to be just fine." Esposito crossed to the kitchen and stood in front of Ryan, grabbing his shoulders and stopping him from pacing. "Bro, can you just look at me? Please?"
Ryan shook his head and kept his eyes trained on the tile between their feet. Esposito lifted his chin so that Ryan's watery blue eyes locked with his dark mocha ones. He stared at his partner, trying to find some way to stop him from looking so completely and utterly broken.
"I don't want you to get hurt. You're my best friend." Ryan finally whispered after what seemed like an eternity of silence.
"Kev, I could get hurt every day that I get up and put that badge on too. What makes this any different?"
"I'm not there to protect you. Here I have some swing over the situation. If you get caught up in a dangerous situation, I am there to help you. I've got your back and I can help you out of a jam. If you're over there, I have absolutely no way to help you, Javier." Esposito put his hand on Kevin's shoulder and gave him a comforting smile.
"You don't have to worry, bro. I'm going to be fine. I'll be home in a year, and then we'll be down at the Haunt laughing about this. I promise."
I leave that radio playing that same ol' country station where ya left it.
Yeah, man, I crank it up.
You'd probably punch my arm right now
If you saw this tear rolling down my face.
Hey, man, I'm tryin' to be tough.
Mama asked me this morning if I'd been by your grave,
But that flag and stone ain't where I feel you anyway.
I drive your truck. I roll every window down.
I burn up every back road in this town.
I find a field, I tear it up 'til all the pain's a cloud of dust.
Yeah, sometimes
I drive your truck.
The static laden voice of, what sounded like, Conway Twitty played through the cab of the old Chevy. The radio station never did come in quite right when he past all of the city limit signs. When the towering buildings of the city faded into the quiant country side and small suburban towns of New Jersey the old country station faded quickly. However, he could never bring himself to reach out and turn the radio off or change the channel. He never did.
The faint smell of cologne and chewing tobacco mixed with mint clung to his clothing every time he drove the truck. The change in the ash tray had long since begun gathering dust, and the Wintergreen Skoal can on the console had collected condensation inside the black plastic disc, causing the smell of it to seep out. All of that combined with the familiar smell of coffee to comfort him. It was like he could imagine he wasn't the only one riding in the truck.
He pulled into the same old gas station that he stopped at every time and threw the truck in park. He glanced into the back seat of the crew cab out of the corner of his eye, grimacing when he caught sight of the grey 'Go Army' t-shirt and dark blue basketball shorts still folded underneath worn out running shoes.
They used to go running every morning through Central Park. Rain or shine. He remembered that every morning when he was running and there was no one next to him to make cracks about the rookie uniforms that got stuck patrolling the park. He often caught himself turning to make a joke, but then he would remember that he was running by himself. And that wasn't going to change any time soon.
He sighed loudly before opening the heavy door and sliding out of the driver's seat. He walked into the gas station slowly, his feet hitting the hardwood floor a soothing sound. The finish had been scraped off due to years and years of wear and tear. He figured the elderly store owner just hadn't had the ambition or the funds to refinish the floor, but frankly, he preferred it this way. It gave it character.
He made a beeline for the coffee that had been sitting stagnantly for God knew how long, and poured it into one of the paper cups and moved to the rack of Hostess products, snagging a Twinkie and heading to the register.
The owner was behind the ancient cash register, his wrinkled smile bringing a grin to his own face.
"Good to see you again, Detective Ryan. You going to go see the plot?" The man asked, his voice shaky with age.
"Yeah, Jim, I am. You know how it goes." Ryan put on a fake smile, and handed the man his items. Jim rung them up and read him the total. Ryan handed him the money and gave him a quick good bye before striding out of the store and climbing back into the truck.
He took a long drink of the coffee before pulling the truck out of the parking spot and steering it towards the cemetary that he'd become so familiar with. He had already stopped to visit Javier's mother on the way through. She seemed more down and out then she had been the previous year. She looked as though time and sadness had finally begun to catch up with her and Ryan felt like shit that it was effecting her that way.
He pulled into the parking lot of the cemetary a few minutes later and parked in one of the spaces. He dropped his head to the steering wheel and sucked in a couple ragged breaths to calm himself before hopping out of the truck and tromping through the cemetary. He walked silently until he reached the white marble stone with his best friend's name etched intricately into it. He reached out and ran his hand over the top of the stone lovingly. His voice was quite when he spoke.
"Hey, bro."
I've cussed, I've prayed,
I've shook my fist and asked God 'why?'.
But these days, when I'm missing you this much,
I drive your truck. I roll every window down.
I burn up every back road in this town.
I find a field, I tear it up 'til all the pain's a cloud of dust.
Yeah, sometimes,
Brother, sometimes
I drive your truck.
"It's been a rough year, you know. I really wish you were still here." He gave a sad chuckle and glanced at the tan line on his left hand where his wedding ring had once been. "Jen left me, bro. She said that I was dragging her down the same hole that I fell down when you died. I know that it's been four years, but..." He gave a heavy sigh. "My whole world just...stopped. My life shut down when those guys in uniforms showed up at the apartment, Javi. I still don't know why you had them tell me instead of your mother." He paused to ponder the issue for a moment before shaking his head. "That's a lie. I know why you did it. Your poor mother probably would have had a stroke if they'd shown up on her door step."
Kevin ran his hand over the back of his neck, squeezing the tightly wound muscles there gently before beginning to pace the well manicured grass in front of the gravestone.
"Beckett and Castle miss you too. They got married last year, a couple weeks after I came to see you last time. They have twin boys now, too. Roy and Javier. I love those kids." He smiled sadly and pulled a photo of the twins when they were born out of his wallet. Their eyes were bright blue like Castle's, and they both had a dusting of dark hair on top of their heads. His God children were perfect in every way. "I wish that you were here to meet them, Javi. You would have been a good dad to your own children. I know it." He nodded and set the photo so that it was leaning against the headstone, pinning it there with a small rock so it didn't blow away.
He glanced around the veteran's cemetary, the rows of marble stones seemed to stretch on forever. They reminded him of the day so many years before that he and Esposito had stood by Beckett and Castle as they carried Montgomery's casket through manacured grass and laid him in the ground. The day that he had watched a bullet tear through Beckett's chest. That had been almost a year and a half to the day before Javier told him he was reenlisting.
His commanding officer had called and explained the circumstances that lead to his death in military type precision. They had been running an operation in some country that the man had refused to disclose and something had gone haywire. They had been infiltrating a compound when the leader of the terrorist organization had discovered them on a camera system they hadn't even known was wired through the building.
The security lackies had been on them in seconds. Bullets had flown and all of the targets had been neutralized. But not before a stray bullet had torn through Javier's throat and he'd bled out on the cold floor of a compound thousands of miles away from his family and his friends. The thought of it still chilled Kevin to his core.
"It's good to see you again, Javi. I really, really miss you, you know?" He gave another sad chuckle before patting the stone and walking back to the truck. The cool, pre-Autumn breeze that blew across the cemetary had him tightening the light jacket around his waist and hustling to slip into the driver's seat. He reached out and touched the dog tags hanging from the rearview mirror lovingly.
He pulled away from the cemetary and tore down the street, his tires squealing slightly. He always drove too fast when he drove Javier's truck. He drove it on days that he missed Javier the most. It almost felt like he could convince himself that Javier hadn't been killed and he hadn't been taken from them.
And most days, that was enough.
Thoughts? Drop me a review and let me know.
Much love,
J. Rook