Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
The thing about riding a motorcycle is the simple beauty found in the open highway. There is no better calm for my tortured soul than turning off my radio and just listening to the bike as the miles roll under me. The focus required to remain upright and out of the way of bad drivers allows me to shut out all of the thoughts that crowd my mind constantly.
Like my job as a Paratrooper in the 82nd Airborne, I have to focus on the jump, the wind, the direction, and when to pull my chute as I watch the area below preparing for attack. From the moment I release from the aircraft to the moment my boots hit the ground, I have to focus on the air, my breathing, and the steps that get me to the action. Then I can worry about the enemy and mission. In the air, it’s all about controlling the float and landing. While the seconds pass slowly, the feeling of my heart racing and adrenaline pumping for what’s to come never gets old. Those jumps are mere moments.
Riding, I have a different level of control and I can spend hours on the open road. Freedom from the games my mind plays on what I’ve done and what I have yet to do is the ultimate feeling. One I can only find on my bike.
As I press on, I simply relax further into the ride.
Fear is for pussies. It’s why I jump. I fear no man. I fear no woman. I fear nothing but God himself. The day I meet my maker, I’ll have plenty to atone for, but in the here and now, I have not one fear.
The bike doesn’t miss a beat, each tick of the engine enticing me to accelerate just a little more and a little more.
Faster and faster, I press on.
I ride and ride.
The day passes as do the miles as I finally find myself getting closer to Haywood’s Landing from Fort Liberty in Fayetteville, North Carolina. While the day is monumental this ride still feels like everything. I can’t say it’s in my blood because my life on a bike has nothing to do with my DNA.
I bought a house today. I didn’t think I would be doing this, but I’m not leaving the 82nd or the Army. I’m going to do this for the full twenty or longer if they let me. I finally have this place where I fit.
My father Nathan “Boomer” Vaughn was in the Army. He saw more combat than I can ever imagine. First as an explosives specialist then as a green beret. He is the badass living through all those top-secret missions. I am proud to carry on his name as both my brother, Colton, and I have both joined the United States Army. There isn’t a time in my life where I didn’t want to follow in Boomer’s footsteps. The same can be said for my brother.
Colt is in Ranger school. He’s making his own mark in the Army. In the beginning, I wasn’t sure I would want to do the full career thing. I thought I can join and see how it goes. That first jump, I was hooked. Adrenaline and focus blend together making my heartbeat faster and my vision clear in an instant. I live for it.
Until Boomer, we didn’t have a home that was ours. Buying my house today, I can’t wait to get back to Haywood’s Landing to give my mom a key to something that is all mine. She will understand more than anyone how good this all feels. Boomer gave her this, gave us this. I am proud of where I came from because of his love for our family. Making this ride home to give her this gift is all consuming.
I have a job I fucking love.
A house of my own at twenty-two. Life is fucking good and mine for the taking.
That day wasn’t about the house. It was about making my own place in this world. Today is me making my own place in the Hellions. Even now, this is as much about being with Boomer as it is being in the Hellions. I blink taking in the reality of everything once again. I don’t talk about it, ever.
My childhood before Boomer is never something I will discuss with anyone. My thoughts live alone in my head and that is where they will stay.
I let them all think I forgot the formative years with Dennis Williams. I didn’t forget a single second. Even though I was young, too young, I remember feeling afraid. Not of my mom, of him specifically. More than anything, I remember living with our grandmother tucked away trying to keep safe. The months in between visits with our mom because she couldn’t risk him finding us. I remember far more than I care to.