Tossing It

by Rachel Robinson

  “What happened? Malena realized what a tool you were and changed her cell number?”

  “Ha-ha. I wish,” I say, sighing. Aidan picks up on the shift immediately. “Way worse.”

  “Oh. Let’s get out of here, and you can tell me about it at the bar.” His eyes shift from mine and away just as quickly, also a telling sign.

  I laugh a little. “You’re really going to drink beer? Just because they granted us leave for tonight doesn’t mean we’ll be alone. I bet they have people trailing us all night. We’re in deployment status, dude. I’m going to mind my manners like a good boy.” I try to change the subject, but the words left unsaid hang in the air.

  “Well, I’m going to have to pretend no one is watching because they have us trapped on this base like a prison. It’s never been this bad before,” he remarks. “Remember the good ole’ days? There wasn’t war in the states, I suppose. It’s hard to get used to.”

  “It hasn’t been this bad before,” I agree. Before the attack that changed the world as we know it, we were just a part of the Navy. Yes, a special operations part of the Navy, but now they treat us like a nonrenewable resource. They aren’t allowing people into BUD/s like they used to. You can’t trust anyone these days. Moles are everywhere and to prevent them from infiltrating the very heart of our military, they put a kibosh on accepting candidates until we have a more thorough way to screen individuals. The technology is coming, I’ve seen it, but it’s not there yet. In the meantime, we wait, atop a golden throne of stay the fuck away from everyone during this mission, and pray no one gets hurt. “It could be the end,” I say.

  “That’s ominous. What exactly is that in regards to?” Aidan says, opening the door to a black pickup truck. They belong to the base and we use them to get from one side to the other of the expansive compound. My stomach sinks as I conjure the different meanings of the end.

  I get in the passenger side as he starts the engine. “Everything, man. Just fucking everything,” I reply. “I’m going to tell you the whole story and without being a douche canoe, I need you to tell me what your take is.”

  “Without joking once?” he asks, pulling onto the road that will lead us to freedom.

  “Not once,” I confirm.

  We have to scan both of our ID cards to open the gates and the guards make note of the time and license plate number. Aidan sighs as the process takes longer than it should. “Fine. Tell me everything. I’ll probably make jokes about it tomorrow though.” “That’s fine,” I say, grabbing my ID from his hand after the guard hands it to him. I nod my chin at the man in uniform, making sure to give him eye contact. Aidan does the same. It’s tense. It wouldn’t have surprised me if they’d started laughing while saying, “Gotcha. No night out for you! Get your asses back home.” We pull into traffic—free.

  “Head down the strand,” I tell Aidan. “I don’t feel like doing Gaslamp tonight.”

  Ne nods. “We need that much time, huh?”

  “More than we have tonight,” I say, sighing. “Unfortunately.”

  “Don’t dick the dog. Just out with it.”

  It makes me sick as I tell him the whole story, not leaving a single detail out. I try to keep the narrative positive, because even subconsciously I’m trying to protect Malena from any back blow. Even when she’s as fucking wrong as they come. Aidan keeps his face neutral, wincing when I describe the images Eva captured. His eyebrows shoot up when I tell him the tidbit about her failed marriage and I remind him not to crack a single joke unless he wants me to crack his face. He nods once, compliant as a friend can be in a moment like this.

  “I gave her a ring before I left, man,” I say, swallowing hard. “There was no question in my mind what she meant or how far I’d go to keep her. No other woman compares and it makes me sick to think I’m just some dude she can toss away so easily.” When you say you’re the kind of guy you toss? What exactly does that mean? Malena asked me. I defined it for her so very clearly, and here I am surprised by the outcome. Like a sign that says IDIOT should be flashing over my head, signaling how I botched this from the word go. Maybe Dylan is her keeper, the man I’ve been preventing her from going back to until now. Banging a fist on the dash, I let out a roar.

  Aidan swallows hard. “You haven’t straight up asked her what the deal is? Face to face, or by video chat though?”

  I shake my head. “This is fresh information. Just the email.” Now it seems a little immature. I should have called her. “I wasn’t thinking clearly. She does that to me. It’s unnerving,” I explain. “You wouldn’t know the feeling, man.”

  “Sounds like I don’t fucking want to know that feeling,” he says. “Sounds like this is a bunch of horse shit and drama that I’d do well to avoid. This is what I think of anytime someone asks me if I’m going to settle down with a woman. This. Right here. Is it worth it? All of this heartache?”

  “I guess it remains to be seen. I’ll keep you posted,”

  “Wait. This is the first time you’ve…cared for a woman before?”

  “Yeah,” I say, shrugging. “Without a shadow of a doubt.” All I’m left with to show for it are shadows and doubts.

  The strand is a long stretch of road that leads to Imperial Beach and it lays in front of us. There’s sun begins to set as we talk through my messy love life. He asks questions I’m surprised by, and I give him answers that he never expects. Aidan keeps his eyes on the road, as do I, out of habit, and also because while we’re off tonight, we’re still on alert. You don’t see the things we’ve seen and live a normal, carefree life ever again.

  “The taco place?” Aidan asks, either trying to change the subject or giving me an out to be finished with this conversation. “Figured low key might be best,” he adds.

  Running my hands down my face, I say, “Yeah.” And even though there are probably a thousand taco places in Imperial Beach, he knows the one. The same one we frequented when we first arrived in San Diego all those years ago. It was delicious, cheap, and fast. “You see that black car that just passed?” I add, narrowing my eyes looking at the side mirror to try to catch a glimpse of the tail end of the sedan.

  “Yeah, looks like a convoy of sorts,” he replies, nodding in front of us at the cars heading toward us in the opposite lane of traffic. Another sleek sedan passes with windows tinted so dark we’re unable to see how many passengers are inside. The next car, exactly the same as the first two slows down, a significant change in speed, and Aidan follows suit. “What the fuck is going on, man,” Aidan whispers. It’s not a question, it’s a statement. “A suicide bomber?” he asks, eyes cutting to mine quickly, and then focusing back on the car, now crawling toward us. There are no cars behind us in our lane, and there’s one car quite a distance behind the one creeping toward us. The four cars, the two that passed going in the opposite direction and the two now moving toward us, are all identical.

  My hand automatically falls to my sidearm on my hip under my T-shirt. A weapon that would have no purchase in a fight against a bomb. “No. The car is too nice,” I say, letting my mind wander back to our meeting earlier in the day. This is what the war has done to us. This mentality of assuming the very worst right off the bat. Action first. Questions later. Innocent lives have been lost when we pause to question before springing to action. “The two that passed have stopped,” I say, shifting in my seat. While this truck is armored, like any military use vehicle, we’d be fucked if a bomb is involved.

  “Call it in,” Aidan says.

  “So much for someone following us,” I say, regretting my earlier statement. We need backup. The phone call to base takes mere seconds as I give them exact details of the situation, I disconnect as the sleek car veers into our lane and blocks all forward movement. “Fuck,” I mutter, opening the glove box rooting around for anything that might help us.

  Aidan swallows hard, pulls the truck to a stop and puts it in park, his concealed carry already in hand. It will take our heavily armed backup at least ten minutes to get
down this far. Underneath the seat, I find an errant bulletproof vest someone stashed after a training session and toss it to Aidan. He doesn’t question it and slides it over his head, on top of his shirt, gaze focused on the imminent threat in front of us. “Wait them out,” I say. “Give the boys more time to get here,” I say. “They’ll bring the bomb squad just in case. Staying put is our best chance if these bastards get funny.” What else would they be doing? Why would they stop us? They wouldn’t know who we are. Except for…the truck. They’d know our vehicle.

  My heart is pounding, and my stomach turns upside down as different scenarios flit through my mind. My chest rises and falls as I watch the car door open. I check the clock on the dash. We need more time, but we also have to stay ahead of the situation. The cars behind us are still far enough in the distance that our focus should remain in front of us. “Okay, fucker,” Aidan growls. “Ready?”

  “Yes,” I reply, the grip on my gun tight, my only weapon. A man in a dark suit steps out of the car, a casual swagger in the slight movement, sunglasses covering his eyes. He’s being protected, it’s obvious. “Cover me,” Aidan says, stepping out of the truck, staying behind the open door. Opening the passenger side door, I repeat the movement, keeping my gun between the jamb and the truck.

  The sunglasses come off. “You boys are all alone,” the accented voice calls. “How explosively perfect.” He grins, and two more men similarly dressed step from the back seat of the car, guns bigger than ours clutched in their hands.

  “State your intentions,” I demand. A verbal threat would make this easier on paperwork.

  “For men so elite, you are ignorant. Why would you leave your guarded playpen?” One of the men barks at us. His voice pierces me, sets the ringing bells of familiarity into a warning siren inside my mind. It’s him.

  I try to keep my voice down and tell Aidan my realization. He stiffens, his whole body processing what exactly this means. “He’s mine,” I say, taking in my surroundings, the positioning of the other car. Aidan will start left, I’ll go from the right. With limited ammunition, this is going to be a challenge. I contemplate if trying to run them over with the truck would be a quicker option, then decide against it. Explosives. There has to be explosives. This fucker’s favorite game is comprehensive, small devices that create devastating damage.

  “The second car is their go car,” Aidan says. “Take out the tires.”

  “We don’t have that kind of ammo,” I deadpan.

  Aidan chuckles. “Guess you better shoot straight.” Aidan shifts his weight, leveling his aim. “Next step,” he says.

  “Yep,” I throw back, checking the mirror to confirm the cars behind us are still as far away as they were the last time I looked.

  One of the bad guys that stepped from the back seat takes aim at Aidan with a ratty looking M4 and pulls the trigger. The bullet hits the door and pushes Aidan back a step, but it doesn’t penetrate the panel. First fire means fair game, and I pick off the one in the back easily, his body falling to the ground. That’s all it takes for all fucking hell to break out. Gunshots resound around us, loud and relentless as the bad guys scatter. More men appear from the go car, all of them with weapons far superior to ours.

  Aidan takes out a guy, a perfect headshot, just as a searing pain seethes up one of my legs. A glance down proves blood is, in fact, seeping down my leg at a steady pace, a momentary distraction. My gun disappears from my hand as a bullet picks it off, sending it flying through the air, rendering me useless, weak, bleeding, and fucking unarmed.

  I fall over into the seat of the truck, unable to stand on the leg bleeding out. Aidan only glances at me briefly before leaving the safety of the paneled door to seek out my weapon, our only chance. I see the two cars in the mirror rapidly moving toward us—one in each lane.

  Aidan appears in the mirror, cutting my view of the cars. He has my gun. He has it. He takes a bullet in his chest plate and I hold my breath for him, knowing how strong the blow feels when you’re hit.

  “Toss it,” I call out to him, leaning out of the truck on my good leg, holding out my hand. “Fucking toss it,” I scream, sweat dripping down my face. He does and by some grace, I’m able to catch it and pick off the guy approaching my side of the truck.

  “We’re fucked! Where is the backup?” Aidan calls.

  Limping, trailing more blood than I’m letting myself process, I stumble toward the bastard reloading his gun. My guy. My guy. My guy. My guy.

  “No! Leif,” I hear Aidan say, but he’s already firing toward the assholes approaching from the back.

  This is the moment. My defining moment. With the black, steel clutched in my outstretched hand, my other hand steadying it, I take aim at the bastard’s head and pull the trigger. A misfire. No bullet. He laughs and turns his fully loaded M4 on me.

  The world goes black.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Malena

  Nine months later . . .

  She died on a Friday. About a week after I broke up with Leif. Of complications brought forth by the pneumonia. I buried her in a plot next to the Baptist church. The whole town showed up for the funeral. After she passed, I moved in with my cousin Amber, I always knew she would be there for me when it mattered. It was mostly so I could stay out of the Bronze Bay limelight when my pregnancy finally started showing. And so I wouldn’t have to be alone all the time. I worked in Amber’s coffee shop and kept up with my business as best I could. My friends eventually found out about the pregnancy, but I still stayed away, unable to shake the memories of my hometown. Of my mom. Of Leif.

  Leif sent me an email with photos of Dylan and I attached. I still don’t know who I have to thank for the images, but they were the perfect excuse to make an easy break. When he questioned the photos, I told him the biggest lie of my life. That I was in love with another man, my ex-husband, and never wanted to see him again. I wrote the email and nearly hyperventilated moments after I hit send. Leif never tried to contact me after that and I still feel guilty for letting him believe the absolute worst of me after everything he did for my mother.

  I lost my mom long before she was buried. I grieved the memories shared ages ago. When she passed away, it was merely the last step of saying goodbye to the vessel that used to house my mother. It was closure. In a way, it was the beginning of a completely new life.

  After the baby arrived, I moved back to Bronze Bay, mainly because I needed more space for all of the baby gear and supplies. She has taken over my world almost completely. My heart was hers from the second she blinked her bright blue eyes, the same shade as her dad. She has a darker skin tone, like me, but her hair is a light blonde to compliment her eyes. She is beautiful and healthy. Everything I never knew I needed. When I first looked at her, a desperate sadness took over—reminding me of the love lost, that I’ll never have again. It didn’t take long for me to realize how blessed I am to have living breathing proof that such a thing even exists.

  Her name is Luna Winterset, and she changed everything. It’s hard single parenting. It’s lonely. Every tear and late night is worth it. Loving her is as natural as breathing. Caring for her gives my life a new purpose.

  Shirley is cradling Luna on the sofa. I called her to come over so I can clean out my mom’s room. It’s time. Luna will need a larger room soon, and I’ve been avoiding the heartache for as long as I can. I push open the bedroom door and I’m hit with the scent of my mother. A mix of flowers and laundry soap. It’s tinged with a musty, uncleaned scent, but she’s still in here. My skin pricks. Rubbing my arms, I enter and head for her bed where a sealed, cardboard box sits unopened. A package Garden Breeze mailed after cleaning out her room. With the razor blade clutched in one hand, I slide it across the tape and open the box. Her robe is on top. I toss it and a few nightgowns into an empty laundry basket. There’s a couple vases, the photo albums I brought her, and tucked into the side, is her notebook.

  I grab that, interested in any words she might have scribbled down, bu
t not expecting much. There’s a sealed envelope, my name printed on the front in my mother’s shaky handwriting. It’s crumpled, almost as if it was thrown away on accident. I feel my heartbeat in my neck as I slide my finger under the flap to open it. My eyes blur with tears when I see a page filled with words. For me. Luna squeals a contented coo as Shirley sings a funny song. With my daughter’s voice in my ears, I read my mother’s note. It’s dated a couple weeks after she settled into Garden Breeze.

  Malena, my sweet baby love,

  Thank you for this. For this place. With the garden and the intelligent doctors who help me. They are kind. As kind as you were all of these years to care for me. Thank you for those years, baby. I don’t know how long I’ll remember this, and it gets a little spottier each time, but this time you are the only person that stands out clearly. You must miss me. You must feel so alone in this world. Malena, I must write quickly, as fast as I can, because I need you to know that you don’t have to be alone, that a man loves you so severely that hearing him speak of you gave me this flash of clarity. It stung me on a soul level, forced me to remember what true love feels like. Leif came to visit me today and although he kept saying he knew I wouldn’t remember, and I’m sure that’s why he said the things he did, and why he told me of his feelings for you. He said that when you smile, it brings meaning to his life. Leif wants to be with you forever. He said that you are the only person in the world that his heart will ever belong to. Baby, the way he spoke of you, his heart is yours. I hope that your heart is his. You’ll never be alone if you have a love like that. A partner. A lover. If I don’t remember in the morning, know this is what I want for you. I had it for a short time with your father, and you were born of that love. Had disease not addled my brain, I don’t doubt your father and I would still have it. Please, darling. You are worthy of so much more than you give yourself credit for. Leif said you opened his eyes to loving on a different level. He wants to have a family with you and take care of you and any future children. His words brought me such comfort, a relief that there is hope for humanity. I can only assume if you’ve created such an effect on his heart, that you have strong feelings for this man as well. Don’t be afraid to ask for what you want from him. Be truthful in your love. Don’t sacrifice a life for me anymore. Don’t sacrifice love for anything.