In the summer of 2007, I found myself in the middle of the desert, maintaining the berm around a small outpost near the Iraq border. It was just me and another soldier working together when we saw the wreckage of a Humvee that had been hit by an IED being pulled onto the post. We walked over and stood silently beside it, unable to find any words for what felt like an eternity. The blood of soldiers still stained what was left of the seats. Someone’s sons and daughters had lost their lives, thousands of miles away from home. They had paid the ultimate cost of war.

There are two men in my life whom I would go to war with—literally. I served in the Iraqi war with one of them. These are the kind of friends who would drop everything and come to my aid if I called in the middle of the night. One of these men is my twin brother, Kyle, and the other is my best friend, Tylor Jones.