You live your life forward and understand it backwards.

How did it start? I don't know where to be begin. It had been a very rough year. We lost Elvis in Afghan. That hit all of us like the bomb that killed him. I mean here was my best friend someone I had grown up with in the Army. We'd seen each other through some extraordinary periods. Me with my first divorce, him with a baby, his constant disastrous love life and then Molly. I want to sob, sob for the loss of this amazing man I was so proud to call my friend, sob at the waste of a life in a war that I didn't even understand anymore.

I think of Afghan and the many times I had been there. Two events overshadow everything in my life. Losing Elvis was a kick to the gut, Losing Molly it felt like someone reached inside me and pulled out my heart, stomped on it and shoved it back at me. Even now its hard to admit how I failed again at marriage. I tried, we both tried but at some point the constant badgering each other because we both put our careers first became too much.

I love her, I will always love her but, I'm not in love with her and I know she feels the same way. We agreed to keep things quiet whilst we sorted out the legal stuff but, I knew Kingy had cottoned on that something was not okay with me. I lost count of the amount of times he's had to tell me to pull myself together. I hadn't been like this over Rebecca. Molly was different, she brought me back to life. I will never forget that and I will always be grateful I met her, feel in love with her and for a brief period knew pure happiness.

Which brings me back to looking at a blank page in this damned book. I've been sat here for hours staring at it. Willing myself to pick up the pen and begin writing. But something is holding me back, something is telling me that once I write it down I can't ignore what happened. I can't forget it happened and do I even want to?

My counsellor says I must write things down "get a journal" she said. It will help with the grief to put pen to paper. So I'm sat here at 02.00 willing myself to write in a stupid book that my Mum got me today. I'm sat in my childhood bedroom at the age of 36. Back home with another tour behind me, another failed marriage behind me, thinking about Elvis and how I have so much to tell him. How would I tell him? And if he hadn't died would this have even happened? Thinking about Molly and wondering how I would; will tell her. I need to tell her, I owe her that.

Is this a mistake? Did I fuck it up again?

—

"Shit, shit, shit" I pull at the tight bun and let my hair release. I can almost here it ahhhh'ing at the relief of being free. If only it were that easy for me to feel that release. I'm half happy, half guilty and thinking how did I let this happen? How did I not know this was happening?

Everytime I say no more, it cant happen again. But he's like a drug and I can't help myself. When I'm with him I feel safe, protected, happy. I never thought after Elvis I'd get over it. I mean I'm definitely not over it. How could I be? The man I loved, the man I had wanted to grow old with died in front of me. How do you get over that?

But, I made a decision about a month after he was gone. In fact I was on my way home to Manchester after finishing the Nepal tour when it happened. I knew he wouldn't want me to stop living because he had. I knew he'd want me to live a happy, full life.

I reach for his letter and read it again. I read it most nights now. It's comforting to think he still has my back even though I cant see him. If I could only talk to him one more time, only look into his eyes and feel that love. The tears as always fall easy when I get into this weepy mode. Its normal the doctors said. "You need to just let it happen, don't fight it". I wanted to fucking scream at them they had no idea how I was feeling, what I was going through.

But the Bossman had, and did. He seemed to be the only one who understood. It was natural to just slip away in Nepal and talk. There was nothing more to it then. We'd talked about everything. He had told me about Molly and I was genuinely gutted for both of them. This job can make or break a marriage. I talked about Elvis; to be honest that was all I wanted to talk about. The moment we'd met, the dates we'd had. How he'd proposed the first time. All the while Charlie had just sat there listening nodding wisely and when I cried holding me. Soothing me, letting me know it was okay to feel sad.

After Nepal we'd all headed home. To be back in Manchester in the safe haven of my childhood home; listening to my Mum & Dad squabbling over the remote, it was normal. Almost like nothing had even happened to Elvis. It was when I closed my eyes that I saw him, those few seconds of trying to save him. The guilt overwhelming me when I couldn't. All these things led up to it. I needed a friend, someone who understood, who knew what I was feeling.

I hadn't seen him for a couple of months we'd kept in touch texting mostly. He told me things were shit and he was in the process of moving his stuff back to Bath. I said and I'll never know why I did but I asked if he wanted to meet for lunch. I'd never been to Bath, it was full of history might be a good trip.

And so he had picked me up at the station and taken me to a lovely place for lunch. He was honest from the get go. He'd brought Molly here for their first date and whilst we weren't on a date he had wanted to do something special for me. I cant say I wasn't flattered by the attention. I guess I hadn't noticed on tour what he did. Pulling out my chair, holding the door open. All those chivalrous things that most men I knew seemed to have forgotten about.

I was still raw from Elvis so nothing happened, could've happened. I guess after that day we started hanging out with each other. He made me laugh, I never felt anything other than mates, good mates. We did another tour and once again we were in work mode and whilst he was still the Bossman there had been a shift in our relationship. It happened gradually I cant give a date or a time when I looked at him and thought 'I think I love you'. There was probably never a moment like that for either of us. It was definitely a slow burner and maybe thats why it hit both of us hard when we realised what was happening and how deep we were….

—-

I'm staring at the ceiling, lying in bed trying to sleep. I've given up on the journal, stupid bloody idea. I'm bored of this counsellor always trying to get me to open up and telling me how healthy it will be to let go and realise I need to grieve. I bloody know whats happened to me. I've lost men under my command, I've fucked up two marriages, I nearly died and now I think I might've fallen in love with my best friends future wife. I don't know how it happened, I never intended for it to happen. I loath myself for allowing it to happen and I feel guilt, enormous guilt that I've let Elvis down by allowing myself to get into this. How do I get myself out of it? And more importantly do I want to?

I know this won'tsit well with a lot of people. But, I wrote it a couple of months ago and decided to publish.