Just Like Love (Just Like This Book 2)

by Rebecca Gallo

  Just Like Love

  Rebecca Gallo

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Rebecca Gallo

  Just Like Love

  Copyright © 2018 Rebecca Gallo

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.

  Just Like Love is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Amy Queau, Q Design

  Editing by Laura Hull, Red Pen Princess

  Proofreading by Jenny Sims, Editing 4 Indies

  Interior Formatting by T.E. Black Designs; www.teblackdesigns.com

  To Chuck, my tuxedo cat –

  Thank you for being my constant writing companion. Except for all of those times when the front door is open.

  Chapter One

  Garrett

  The room was dimly lit and smelled horrible – like body odor, piss, and desperation. Every inch of my body screamed in pain, but after a mental evaluation, I knew I wasn’t seriously injured. Just battered and bruised. I shifted on the ground and immediately winced. Maybe there were some broken ribs.

  Stay safe. Cami’s words echoed in my thoughts until they started to run together. Stay safe stay safe staysafestaysafestaysafestaysafe.

  Even though the convoy ambush wasn’t my fault, I felt like a complete failure. I’d broken my promise to Cami. The one thing she asked me to do, and I’d failed. I groaned as I leaned to one side and placed all my weight on one arm before struggling to my feet. My head spun from the effort, and I took a few deep breaths before examining my surroundings. Two windows high up let sunlight and stale air into the small cell. The ancient looking door on the far wall was undoubtedly locked, but that didn’t stop me from shuffling across the room and checking.

  Raised, angry voices permeated the thin walls. So I’m not the only one being held captive. I tried to block out the yelling and the pleading, but it didn’t work. I didn’t have to understand the language to know someone was begging for his life. His pleading didn’t work because, seconds later, the unmistakable bang, bang, bang of gunshots echoed into my cell. Fuck. I scrambled back to the corner and cowered there. Stay safe, I reminded myself.

  My reaction shocked me. After twelve years in the Army, I was mostly numb to the sound of gunfire, but too much was at stake now. I sat quietly, waiting for the commotion to settle and the voices to fade away. For hours, I waited until the sun started to fade from the room, leaving it a dull gray in the moonlight. The door eventually opened wide enough for a hand to shove a metal tray of food quickly inside before it closed and was locked. I wasn’t sure what was on the tray, but the groaning of my stomach didn’t leave me much choice. To stay alive, I had to eat. I crawled across the floor and started to pick at what was offered. It was nothing more than rice cooked in a salty broth and a bottle of water, which I gulped down.

  While I waited for the door to open and the empty tray to be removed, I reminded myself of what was expected of me as a prisoner: give them my name, rank, service number, and date of birth. That is, if they even bothered to talk to me, I mentally added while taking note of the fact that no one had questioned me. I was supposed to attempt escape or at least be aware of my surroundings. The windows were too high for anything other than light and air, and shamefully, I wasn’t about to risk my own life. I wanted to stay alive as long as possible, so escape wasn’t an option. Yet.

  My mind started to calm, and my eyes grew heavy. I leaned against the cement block wall and waited for someone to pick up my food tray. I closed my eyes for what felt like the briefest of seconds. When I opened them back up, sunlight was starting to stream into my cell.

  Every day that passed, I watched and waited for the door to open and the food tray to be placed just inside. I ate and drank whatever was offered while mentally preparing myself to strike. Although there were always whispered voices in the hallway, there hadn’t been anymore arguing since that first day. I tried to make sense of what they were saying, but my understanding of the language was rudimentary.

  When the door opened on what I presumed was day three, I pounced, grabbing the hand that had just set down my meal. I gripped it tightly and forced the door open, revealing a thin, dirty man with a thick mustache. He was dripping in sweat and shaking with fear. He flicked his gaze to the side, and I followed. Two armed guards stood feet away, their guns aimed right at me. I dropped the man’s hand and retreated back into my cell. The next time food was delivered, the door opened wide as one man kept a gun trained on me while a different man set the tray down.

  My captivity was nothing short of strange. From the murmured voices and occasional moans, I knew I wasn’t the only prisoner. Still, no one bothered to question me, not even after my brief attempt at escape. Nothing. Until day five.

  Hands grabbed me and shook me awake. Disoriented, I started to grab at the hands gripping my T-shirt. They slapped my face until I was fully awake. Two guards stood at the far end of my cell closest to the door. The sweaty man who held me had dark skin and eyes. His face was covered in a thick beard, and he smelled of onions and body odor.

  “Who are you?” he demanded in heavily accented English.

  “Sgt. First Class Garrett Hammond,” I answered automatically.

  “No. Who are you?” His emphasis on the word “who” confused me. Did he think I was someone special?

  “Sgt. First Class Garrett Hammond,” I repeated.

  He released his hold on me, and I stumbled back against the wall. Shit. He started yelling at someone at an incomprehensible speed. Finally, he turned his attention back on me. With narrowed eyes, he asked me slowly, “You are no one important?”

  “No, sir.”

  He spit on the ground right by my boots, and yelled, “Bullshit!” Then he signaled to the guards, and they left.

  This scenario repeated itself every day for a week. I felt like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day except nothing changed. My answers were never going to change. He kept asking me if I was someone important, but I wasn’t.

  Finally, I had the courage to ask, “How long have I been here?”

  “Almost three weeks,” he replied, holding up three dirty fingers to emphasize his surprising answer.

  Three weeks. Where were the goddamn SEALs? Or the Rangers? How could I have been left in here for three goddamn weeks?

  “Maybe you are not so important after all,” my captor said with
a smirk.

  “That’s what I keep telling you.”

  There was no language barrier to disguise my sarcasm. He drew his fist back and let fly a forceful blow to my jaw, knocking me down and out.

  I came to with the brightest of lights swirling around my darkened cell. Boots planted inches from my face and I heard the whispered sound of voices. American voices.

  “Fuck,” one whispered. “He’s awake. Hammond is awake.”

  “Good,” said a familiar voice. “I want this son of a bitch to remember who rescued him.”

  Jesus. Not him. Anyone but him.

  Hands started grabbing at me, and I managed to sit up before coming face to face with Anderson fucking Clark. He was smiling so broadly his perfect white teeth could have lit up the entire room.

  “Well, well, well. It looks like I’m saving your ass again, Hammond,” Clark gloated. God, I wanted to punch him in his flawless cleft chin.

  “If I’d known you were going to be a part of the rescue squad, I would have begged to be shot,” I snapped back.

  Anderson chuckled. He was a Navy SEAL, and he was the cockiest asshole I knew, but he was damn good at his job. “Let’s get him out of here before this place gets hot,” he commanded.

  Two other SEALs helped me to my feet and practically carried me out of the cell. I could hear the thunderous roar of a helicopter waiting, and we rushed toward it. I quickly crawled inside its waiting belly while the other SEALs scrambled in behind me. Anderson was the last one inside and gave the signal to leave.

  “Clark,” I yelled out once we were up in the air. He acknowledged me with his eyes, and I continued, “What took you so long?”

  “Too busy fucking your girl,” he answered with a smirk.

  “Asshole,” I moaned as the helicopter turned away from the area and toward safety.

  As soon as we made it to a secure location and landed, I was ushered from the belly of the helicopter to a nondescript building. Medical personnel examined me briefly before I was escorted to what was essentially an interrogation room. Only a metal table and a few chairs sat inside the windowless room. I knew what was expected of me; intelligence officers were going to pump me for information.

  Two stern looking officers entered moments later followed by Anderson. Jesus, couldn’t this guy just take his win and gloat somewhere else?

  “What are you doing here?” I grumbled.

  “Relax, Hammond, I’m here to provide some extra information,” Anderson replied.

  “Sgt. Hammond, can you tell us what happened in the moments leading up to your capture?” the first intelligence officer asked.

  Slowly, I replayed the events as I could remember them. My memories were jumbled, and I had trouble recalling certain parts. I told them about the convoy stopping and about the explosion at the front. And then about our Humvee exploding.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” I stammered. “I’m trying. I just can’t remember.”

  “Don’t worry, Hammond,” the first officer said. “We have a pretty clear picture, and what you’ve said corroborates everything we’ve heard so far.”

  “Now tell us about where you were imprisoned,” the second officer said. “Anything you can remember.”

  Those details were a little easier to recall. I told them about hearing the prisoner shot on what I assumed was my first day. I described how I had no visual contact with anyone until I grabbed the person who brought me food and saw the two men with guns.

  “It was odd,” I commented. “It was like they didn’t even really want me.”

  “They didn’t,” Anderson interjected. “They saw you as a moneymaking opportunity. They weren’t even supposed to take you, but your convoy encountered some opportunistic rebels.”

  I narrowed my eyes in his direction. “How do you know all of that?”

  “I understand the language,” he replied with a smirk.

  “Smug asshole,” I muttered under my breath. I turned my attention back to the intelligence officers. “They finally did start to question me and seemed upset that I wasn’t someone more valuable. So I guess Clark is correct.”

  The second agent made some notations before closing a folder. They looked at each other before standing. “Thank you so much, Sgt. Hammond. You’ll be transported to Camp Arifjan’s medical facility in Kuwait.”

  The adrenaline in my body was starting to fade, and I knew the crash was coming. The intelligence officers left, leaving me alone with Anderson.

  “Listen, Garrett,” Anderson said after clearing his throat. “I’ve been on these rescues before. They’re usually pretty bad. You’re lucky.”

  “I know that, Anderson,” I said quietly. He stood, but I grabbed his arm and tugged. “Wait. Do you have a phone I can use?”

  Anderson’s eyes shifted around the room before he thrust a hand into his pocket and pulled out a phone. He held it out to me, but I stared at it like it was an unknown object. My hands flexed with the desire to take it from him and dial the numbers I had purposely memorized. Cami. I wanted to hear her voice so badly, but there were too many demons in my head fighting for attention. I was too fucked up to call her.

  “You gonna take the phone or what, Hammond?”

  “No, man. Thanks.”

  Chapter Two

  Cami

  “What the hell were you thinking?” Valerie’s voice was muffled, but her tone was unmistakable. She was pissed.

  I was barely awake and had three sets of angry eyes staring down at me. Valerie. Palmer. My mother? What was she doing here? Those questions would have to be answered later because my throat was burning and raw, and I was desperately in need of water.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” Valerie demanded again.

  Slowly, I turned my attention to her. Her eyes were red, and her cheeks were stained with tears. “I’m sorry,” I croaked painfully. Each word felt like fire as I forced them from my throat.

  “That’s not good enough, Cami. I can’t lose you too,” Valerie cried before she turned toward my mother who enveloped her in a hug. My mother looked down at me with sad eyes while she soothed Valerie with comforting strokes to her back.

  My head was fuzzy, and I felt confused but slowly, an ugly truth became clear: they thought I’d tried to kill myself.

  “I didn’t …” I started to say before the raw dryness of my throat stifled my words, and I started to cough. Palmer rushed forward and grabbed the pitcher of water next to my bed. He poured some into a cup and held it out to me with a thin smile. I accepted it from him with unsteady hands and took a small, tentative sip.

  “He’s not worth it.” Valerie turned back toward me, swiping at the tears under her eyes and continuing with her admonishment. I met her gaze, and instead of anger burning there, I saw sadness. She was hurt, and I understood why, but she was wrong. Garrett was worth everything, which only brought on a fresh wave of tears.

  “I’m sorry,” I sobbed, covering my face. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

  Palmer placed a hand on my shoulder and started rubbing light circles. “It’s okay,” he soothed. “We’re just happy you’re okay.”

  “I wasn’t trying to …” The words refused to come out of my mouth. How could I explain to them that my hallucinations of Garrett stopped, and the ache in my chest grew inexplicably out of control? All I wanted was for the hurt to stop.

  Valerie’s expression seemed to soften, and she almost looked relieved. A nurse came in a few seconds later and provided us all with a few moments of distraction.

  “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake,” she said with an encouraging pat to my hand. When she left, everyone stood around and let an awkward tension fill my room while we waited for the doctor.

  “Good morning, Camille,” the doctor said as he strode into my room with a cheerful smile. “How are you feeling?”

  “Tired,” I answered quietly. “My throat hurts.”

  “It will for a few days. Do you remember what happened?
”

  “Not exactly. I mean, I was having trouble sleeping so I took something my doctor gave me.”

  “Well, you took more than he or she prescribed.”

  I shook the fogginess from my brain. “Really? I thought I only took two.”

  “Still,” the doctor said with a tight smile. “I’d like you to talk to someone.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with me,” I insisted. “Things have been … rough, but I wasn’t trying to hurt myself.”

  “There is nothing wrong with getting help, Cami,” my mother interjected softly but forcefully. I scowled at her, but she held her firm gaze steady and didn’t turn away.

  “Absolutely. It doesn’t hurt to talk about what you’ve been through,” the doctor agreed. “In the meantime, we’ll keep you here a little longer so you can get some rest.”

  There was no further discussion, just a patronizing smile from the doctor before he left.

  “We should probably go,” Palmer said cautiously, looking back and forth between my mother and Valerie. They nodded in agreement, and one by one, they leaned over to place chaste kisses on my cheek.

  “Think about what the doctor said,” Valerie murmured. The pained look in her eyes spoke volumes, and I knew I would do it for her. I would do anything to fix the hurt I’d caused.

  “I’ll come back in the morning and check on you,” Palmer offered.

  “Maybe when she’s released, she should stay with you for a little while,” my mother suggested with a nod toward Palmer before looking back at me. “Too many memories keeping you awake.”