Under Fire, page 10
And as his tired eyes turned to slits and him running his hand over her silky black hair, his spent mind wondered what that tiny sparkle of light was shining from his chest. Then he realized that it was the diamond on her damn engagement ring, sparkling in the moonlight.
Sinking into sleep, Warren refused to acknowledge that they had an expiration date—and that they were nothing more than a fucking ticking time bomb.
Chapter Thirteen
Warren
Typically Warren didn’t sleep over at anyone’s place, and especially not to share a bed. He hadn’t in over five years. There was a damn good reason for that.
But now he was passed out, in and out of REM sleep, clutching Alisa in her too-comfortable bed, in their too-intoxicating deal. REM sleep was a necessary evil—but dangerous for Warren. That’s when he remembered things he didn’t want to remember, especially when he was as damn fired up as he was then, and his mind ran wild with memories he couldn’t stop.
Memories that he knew he talked about in his sleep.
Memories he didn’t want anyone to hear.
In the early morning hours, when he was in a light sleep, a vivid dream he hated but often had started playing out in his mind. His body twitched as his dream brought him back to that deployment. It wasn’t the last one, and he’d forgotten how many he’d had since then. Too many.
There he was, at the height of the war in Iraq, lying on the top of a crumbled building, well before his promotion. Midday, the sun scorched the back of his neck, covered partially by a keffiyeh. The wind had blown part of the fabric off his neck and jaw, but he didn’t dare move to adjust position—his finger was flexed on the trigger of his sniper rifle, locked dead on the doorway of the building where his high-priority target was situated.
He was alone, as still as hell and hadn’t moved for hours. He waited and waited…and waited. A grayish grit circulated in the air, moving all around him, getting into his nose and mouth. It was like a shit dust—and tasted the same. The unforgiving climate threatened any outsider, making it clear that he wasn’t welcome.
“Whiskey Charlie, you sitting tight?” He heard the voice of his leading chief, Geoff, through his earpiece.
“Ten four,” Warren muttered back, keeping his voice low, despite the blistering gusts at the top of the five-story building in the heart of the Iraqi city.
“When he comes out, you engage. Don’t fucking hesitate. I’m right down here.”
Before the dream could continue down its usual path, Warren felt himself coming out of it, rumbling and thrashing in Alisa’s bed, causing searing pain in the scar on his back—reminding him of the moment he’d gotten it. He recalled blood gushing down his back as he writhed, and he remembered how the cold steel of the blade had felt when it had dug into his ribs.
In the dark of Alisa’s bedroom, hearing her asleep beside him, curled up and facing the other way, Warren ran his calloused hands over his rough stubble, willing the phantom pain to go away. That had been a bad fucking op—and his mistake had cost the team dearly, let alone him. That nightmare was on repeat, a not-so-friendly reminder of what type of mistakes he’d made—and the consequences he’d have to fucking live with for the rest of his life.
He didn’t have the option to be flawed. He didn’t have the option to be imperfect. His aching scar sprawling up his back would never relent, would never fully heal. It was a painful reminder of the cost of mistakes.
Coming to his senses, waking up, drinking in Alisa’s bedroom and the sheets that smelled like a mix of sex and conquest, only one question crossed his mind. What the fuck am I doing?
Alisa’s message from the night before ran across his mind as he pushed out of the bed, careful not to wake her. You’re allowed to make mistakes. He shook his head, rejecting the notion, disgusted by himself. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to falter—but he had. Taking her to the party? Fucking around with her? What the hell was wrong with him? She needed money. He was holding that over her, taking advantage.
Like an asshole.
And now, he gazed around her room, realizing how deep he was in. He’d slipped up and slept over.
A goddamn mistake.
It was clear as day to Warren that things had gone too far. He’d let things get too far. He had to do better. He had to get out of there.
Thank God she was a heavy sleeper. Even better, he knew how to be stealthy, slipping through her apartment soundlessly. The sun was just threatening to rise on the horizon, giving the quiet morning an eerie dark orange glow.
Dressing quickly then drawing a blank check out of his wallet, he cut her a large enough sum that she’d be able to buy herself a new car, an amount he believed was beyond generous. He dropped it near her phone on her kitchen counter with the memo…housework services. He wasn’t going to hold it over her head anymore. That was the price he had to pay for his honor.
As he twisted to push his wallet back in his pocket, he winced in agony, gripping the kitchen counter before him for stability. Hauling her body up in his arms the night prior, angrily whisking her away, passionately claiming her for his own—he shouldn’t have done any of that. His old nagging injury was back with ferocity. His scar throbbed, like it had just reopened…for the first time in years. A reminder.
Warren’s mind shifted, compartmentalizing. He had things to do, no matter that it was early Sunday morning.
Slipping on his shoes, mission-focused, he bent low enough that some of the book titles on her coffee table screamed out at him. But they weren’t novels. They were textbooks. He read some of the titles—Musculoskeletal Magnetic Imaging, Thoracic Imaging, Pulmonary and Cardiovascular Radiology, Nuclear Medicine…
‘Magnetic’. Her safeword. It hit him in the chest.
What the hell is she in school for? Radiology, imaging…nuclear medicine? Christ.
Gritting his teeth, he couldn’t deny that he barely knew her. He’d spent more time trying to fuck her than trying to get to know who she was. His cock had an agenda of its own. That was exactly what he hadn’t wanted to happen. He leaned in farther to read the name of her university program from a printed-out sheet, partially covered, but heard a soft moan from her bedroom. He stilled his movements.
But everything went silent again.
Exhaling slowly, he soundlessly exited. He found his truck in the parking lot—jumping into the driver’s seat. At barely five-thirty in the morning, he wasn’t prepared to have any conversation.
As he rolled out of the lot, keeping his V8 engine as quiet as possible, something happened that struck him as out of place. A loud blacked-out motorcycle crept down the street, a driver with a black tinted helmet staring at him. It was the kind of bike with a custom job, something made to look ultra-aggressive. Snapping him quickly out of his head, Warren felt his nerves prickling. He just knew something was wrong. He watched the driver eyeing him like it was personal.
Like they knew what he was doing. Like they knew where he’d come from.
Through his rear-view mirror, he gazed back up at her apartment door, wondering if he should stick around. But the bike had disappeared, leaving him alone in the vicinity. Waiting a few minutes for something to happen—nothing did, except the sun getting higher on the horizon—he shook his head, trying to convince himself that it had been nothing. It was just his guilt.
But he just wasn’t sure if it he was more guilty for fucking around with her or for leaving.
Chapter Fourteen
Warren
The Southern Californian blistering sun had finally risen over the long stretch of grass in the local park. The hot summer temperatures were already mounting, causing sweat to bead on Warren’s chest as he ran after a soccer ball. His opponent was ruthless, never giving him a second to breathe.
What else should he expect from a six-year-old girl?
“Warry!” Katy’s joyful yelps came from behind him as he raced her to the ball. “I’m going to get it!”
Despite what nagged at the back of his mind, Warren put on a big grin, ready to teach her a thing or two about competition. He wanted to give her his full attention, even if his mind was divided and working against him. He and Katy—they only had a certain amount of time together.
“Not so fast, kiddo.”
His skilled footing found the ball before her, kicking it back her way so she could send it toward the net. They played a game of soccer where half the time they were on the same team, half the time they weren’t. Although it was a little confusing, he didn’t make a big fuss over the rules of the game. He was just out to have a couple of hours of fun. Seeing her every day, usually twice a day, was the only thing that kept him sane when he was off tour.
He watched her run, giggling as she kicked the soccer ball down field.
“Come on!” she called back at him, her pink cheeks flashing under the sun. “You’re too slow!”
He pushed off, chasing her, closing the distance between them. But then something unexpected happened. She accidently shot the ball to the side, and it rolled down the grassy mound onto the sidewalk. Without hesitation, the little girl ran after it, trying to grab it, getting dangerously close to the road.
“No! Katy!” Warren stormed forward.
But she didn’t listen.
“Katy!”
In a full sprint across the grass, he lurched into emergency stress mode as he saw her little frame teetering to catch the ball that was dribbling down the sidewalk, nearly falling into the street.
“Stop!” Everything inside him was shattering as split-seconds felt like minutes.
Fuck.
He closed the distance as fast as humanly possible, like she was in grave danger. Just as she tried to get the ball from the gutter, he lunged. Snatching her body, curling it into his own, he felt his heart hammering out of his chest. He buried his face into her curly blonde hair, struggling to breathe. Christ. But it wasn’t because of the sprinting.
“But I was just—” she started, confused.
Cortisol rushed through him, coiling around his brain. He knew an extreme stress reaction when he felt it. Even still, he held her tighter than life, thanking God that he’d made it in time. Thanking God she hadn’t gotten hurt.
“I was just trying to get the ball,” she said.
“It’s okay. It’s okay,” he said. “Let’s just play on the grass from now on. Let me get the ball if it runs away.”
Mothers gently pushing strollers in the sleepy still of Monday morning were looking at him like he’d lost his mind. There was not a single car on the road. The local park and surrounding streets were dead quiet.
He had completely lost his shit.
Trying to recompose himself, he kissed her hair, knowing he had to get a fucking grip. It didn’t matter if it felt all too similar. It wasn’t the same situation, he reminded himself. He wasn’t in Iraq. He was home. Katy was okay.
“Are you okay?” She patted his back. “Do you need to go see the doctor?”
“I’m okay.”
He sucked in air, shaking it off, tightening her into his chest. She hugged him back, looking up into his eyes.
“I wish you lived with us.”
“I know,” he said, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ears. “Me, too.”
“I can ask mommy?”
“Better not right now.”
She gently ran her fingers through his hair, smiling and giving him a childlike peck on the cheek. He placed his hand on his cheek where she’d kissed him, closing his eyes so he could keep it with him forever.
“Can we keep playing?” she asked, pointing at the grass.
“Absolutely.”
His face twitched as the agony from his scar coursed through his body. That’s when Warren knew for sure that his scar was opening again, in a figurative sense. And he couldn’t let that happen.
He tossed the ball back onto the grass, pushing through the pain to run after her and staying much closer for the remaining time they had at the park. He’d never be able to explain how much that little girl meant to him. He’d never be whole again, and he’d never forgive himself if anything ever happened to her.
* * * *
An hour later, Brooke rose from her faded blue lawn chair as Warren walked Katy up to her home. The curly-haired youngster beamed from ear to ear, holding her soccer ball on her hip as she walked up her small grassy lawn.
“Mommy!” Katy lunged forward, hugging her.
Brooke embraced the little girl, sending her inside to wash up before snack time. Once they were alone, Brooke turned to Warren, her face solemn.
“Does she know you are leaving in a matter of days?” she asked, adjusting her messy brown ponytail.
“Not specifically,” he admitted.
“Come on. Don’t just disappear.” The disappointment on her worn-out face was undeniable.
“I know. I won’t.”
“It was really hard for her last time you were gone. She needs to be prepared.”
Warren folded his arms, settling comfortably into numbness. Brooke stared at him, as if she knew exactly what was running through his mind. It was probably in hers, too. The truth he wanted to forget was that if he kept leaving, maybe one day he wouldn’t come back. Or, he’d be coming back in a body bag.
The vision of Geoff flashed across his mind, and he found himself stumbling forward. As if she felt it, tears welled in her eyes.
“Five years today. You know that, right?” she questioned, driving a searing knife into him.
A knife that even he could feel.
Silent, Warren ran his hands over Brooke’s shaking shoulders, pulling her into his chest. He didn’t know what else to do.
She continued through a cracking voice, “Sometimes I just get so fucking angry. Why him? Why us?”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
She ran her hands over her face, as if trying to wake up. There was one thing Warren knew. She was so strong. Hell, just thinking about everything she’d been through…
“I’m always here for you guys,” he reminded her.
“Really?” she fired at him, pushing him away. “Because you haven’t been here much the past five years. You didn’t even show up to his goddamn funeral.”
The words cut deep.
But Brooke didn’t understand. She didn’t want to understand.
He stepped back, and Katy came out to say goodbye. He forced a smile, which she seemed to know was false. He tipped his ballcap and took his leave, not wanting to prolong it.
He’d fucked up, and he knew it.
The problem is that some fuckups are unfixable.
* * * *
Warren returned to work as he pulled through the military training facility up in Wrightwood, running on too little sleep. In the higher-altitude mountainous area, the desert air brought him back to Iraq—perfect training conditions for what they had to do on their next deployment.
Maybe it was his pent-up anger, maybe it was his frustration, but he was planning on fucking delivering some hard-ass training, regardless of the pain he was in. By the end of the day, everyone was going to be suffering just as much as he was. He was going to make these boys perfect, whether they liked it or not. He was going to teach them what it meant to never give up.
Warren zipped up his hoodie, fresh from his place, slinging his modified shotgun over his shoulder. He was the type of guy who liked to research and purchase his own equipment, giving him a little stockpile at home that made him look like he was prepping for the apocalypse. Thinking about it a little more, he realized how that could have freaked out Alisa.
The master chief was meeting him in the office that morning to go over where they were at and readiness levels for getting at the next high-priority target. Warren moved into the compound’s office, a small building with top-secret access. No cell phones were allowed. No landlines. In fact, the building had been outfitted like a safe—keeping their discussions impenetrable.
“Chief.” Master Chief Rose turned to greet Warren as he walked in.
They were alone.
“Sir.” Warren nodded at the man he’d worked with for a long time.
They’d been through a lot together. They’d seen a lot of shit and suffering. They’d also seen a lot of wins.
The master chief motioned for Warren to sit, so he did so, sliding his guns off onto the side table. He’d be needing those later.
“I’m going to cut right to it,” the master chief started. “I have been informed that there was an incident over the weekend.”
“There was,” Warren confirmed, sitting confidently in the cheap chair.
“You punched one of your petty officers?”
“I did.”
“Care to explain?” Master Chief Travis Rose’s eyes widened as he looked around the room in disbelief, a shine emanating from his receding hairline.
Warren stared down the master chief, angrily sucking his teeth—the first show of emotion he was willing to express. He’d thought of exactly what to say all weekend, but by that point, he found himself too goddamn incensed to keep it cool.
“Petty Officer Gaudet made a disgusting racist comment, and I reacted.” Warren leaned forward, hot red flushing up his neck, thinking about how his subordinate had deeply disrespected Alisa. “I want him formally disciplined.”
The master chief narrowed his eyes, showcasing wrinkles that promised experience. “Write up a report with the full story, and we will proceed with disciplinary measures. We are zero tolerance here.”
Warren rapped the chair’s arm with his knuckles in a tone of finality and moved to get up.
“Wait.” The master chief motioned for Warren to sit. “This isn’t over. I also have to deal with the fact that you punched him… You outrank him, you are his leader—and you assaulted him.”
“And I’d do it again. Harder.”
“And ‘you’d do it again’?” The master chief tilted his head in incredulity. “And this is instilling confidence in your leadership? You know very well that I should be disciplining you as well for that. You are trusted with the well-being and safety of the platoon, your crew. I can’t have you punching your men when we have better ways for handling this type of shit. You know this.”
