“Tequila shots, maybe.”
“Yes.” Avery had pointed her beer at Dani. “Tequila shots and maybe a man dressed in an Elvis costume, officiating. And my mother, sobbing in the corner because she finally has proof that I’m not Catholic.”
“Just don’t make me wear yellow,” Dani had demanded. “On second thought, I’ll do the Elvis thing.”
They’d laughed their way back to the dance floor, arms wrapped around one another’s backs.
While the memory simmered in Avery’s mind, two eggs sizzled in a lightweight pan, whites oozing around the edges like spilled paint. As breakfast cooked, high-quality coffee beans filled Avery’s kitchen with the bittersweet smell of oak and butter. If she was honest, it was kind of nice to have a man upstairs, waiting on breakfast. It felt good to have a chance to share her house with someone other than the cast of Grey’s Anatomy on Thursday nights. She could get used to this new arrangement.
Just then, the dark-haired man from her bed snuck up behind her and cupped his hands over her hips. Turning, Avery admired Josh’s eyes, deep brown, like the earth. And his hands, so warm against her skin.
“I should go,” he said.
“What do you mean? I’m making breakfast.” She pointed at the eggs with her spatula.
He yawned and raised his arms up over his head, revealing a thick torso rippled with muscles.
“Stay,” Avery ordered, reaching for his pants seductively. “And that’s an order.”
The heel of his hand rubbed against one eye, as if he had a migraine. “Avery, I don’t get you. It’s yes, it’s no. It’s ‘Don’t drive to my house,’ then ‘Who cares about the neighbors.’ I never know which version of you I’m going to wake up with.”
He stared into Avery’s eyes so unflinchingly that she burst into a nervous laugh. “Come on, Josh,” she said. “You know we have to be careful. That’s not fair.”
“Yeah? Well, now you know how I feel.”
“So go,” she snapped. “Leave then.”
“I can’t.”
Avery stared at him and he stared back in silence. The eggs hissed and whined in the pan, turning brown and then black at the edges.
“I need a ride back to my car,” he finally explained. “You drove last night, remember?”
In one motion, Avery grabbed the skillet handle and slammed the eggs into the sink. As she climbed the stairs to change and get her keys, yellow trails of yolk inched toward the drain.
THE DRIVE BACK to the bar where they’d met up the night before only took them a few miles off post. They didn’t speak, and soon Fort Bragg’s gate filled the rearview mirror. The silence was a horrible sound. Avery knew that if Dani were here, she’d know exactly what to say—a joke to throw out and defuse the ticking time bomb. But anger had momentarily paralyzed Avery’s vocal cords.
When she pulled her car into the bar’s gravel parking lot, Josh coughed, as if he too needed to shake an emotion out of his throat.
Avery fully expected him to apologize for staying so late and violating the one boundary they’d established for their pseudo-relationship. She thought he’d kiss her and get out of the car, and they’d be back to their odd version of normal. Instead, he turned toward her and took in a breath.
“Can I say something?” he asked.
“I think you have that ability, yes.”
“What is this?”
“This is me, dropping you at your car.”
“No. I mean, this.” Josh swung his hand back and forth between them. “Us.”
Avery rolled her eyes. “You can’t be serious.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
She tugged on her blond ponytail. “What? We’re screwing around. Being kids. Is that what you want me to say?”
Josh shook his head. His voice barely exceeded a whisper. “You’re incredible. Really, fucking incredible. You do whatever the hell you want, whenever you want. No matter who gets hurt—”
“Hurt?” Avery reared her head back in anger. Her voice was low and mean.
“I should have known—”
“I put my entire career on the line—”
“Your career?” he laughed. “You truly think you’re the only one in this equation, don’t you? It’s the Avery Adams Show, twenty-four-fucking-seven.”
“Get out of my car.”
“Gladly.” Josh opened his door and climbed out, then looked back at her again. “Do yourself a favor, Avery. Stop fucking around with people that love you.”
With that, he slammed the door and walked toward his truck, a silver Toyota Tacoma—the only vehicle left in the parking lot. Avery stepped on the gas, spewing rocks and dust into the air behind her.
LOVE, AVERY THOUGHT with a laugh as she pulled back into her driveway. That was a joke. They’d only known each other a few months. When they’d met, she was recovering from a year of involuntary chastity at West Point, and Josh had the body of an English soccer player. The sex was good. Hell, at times it was great. But if this guy thought he was in love, well then Avery had fooled him. And she didn’t feel bad about it either. If she felt bad about anything at all, it was being a hypocrite. She’d told Private Bradley to be careful on Friday, just to return to her own reckless life on Saturday.
Avery was glad Josh had ended it. As with so many other relationships, she was convinced that this one should have never even started.
ON MONDAY, AVERY arrived at work before the sun came up and completed a freezing-cold PT run with her platoon, finishing the two-mile course in 12:07. Not her best time by any means, but she crossed the finish line a full minute before anyone else. She’d seen it time and time again: once her soldiers tasted her dust on a PT run, their skepticism softened into respect. She would have hated their conditional admiration if she didn’t savor it so much. But she often wondered if without her physical edge, she would have remained invisible. What if she was slower? Would such weakness merit scorn? These were the questions that rolled in her mind while she savored her post run endorphins.
After a shower and a microwaved bowl of oatmeal at her desk, Avery noticed an e-mail in her inbox from her boss’s boss, Major Philip Gaines.
“LT Adams, please report to my office this morning. I need to see you as soon as possible.”
Avery’s blue eyes scanned the screen again, while her heart raced in her chest. It was unusual for someone to jump the chain of command—up or down—but even more disconcerting, Gaines had carbon-copied her direct superior, Captain Morris. The subtext screamed that something was wrong. He’d sent the e-mail Sunday afternoon, meaning he’d heard something during off hours that he wanted to discuss. Did he know about Josh? Had someone, somehow, turned her in?
Erik fucking Jenkins, Avery swore internally. She closed her eyes and tried to remember her neighbor’s porch, Sunday morning when she and Josh had rushed out in anger. Erik’s wife—Melinda? Melissa?—whatever her name was, Avery distinctly recalled her red hair piled in a messy bun as she stared out the window onto the street, a hand resting on her hip. Shit, Avery thought. We should have been more careful.
The Army, at times, infuriated Avery. All of its rules. Its demands. Its ladders of authority. The Army was a lot like her dad, actually—constantly providing new bars to reach, moving each bar higher every time Avery got close. It wasn’t that she needed to be coddled, but to hear that she was doing a good job every once in a while wouldn’t have hurt. She could handle being read the riot act for leaving a job unfinished or not meeting the standards. But was she really about to be counseled about who she dated on the weekends?
She always chose the wrong people to date on the weekends.
As Avery took a deep breath, her eyes veered to the framed photo on her desk, and she felt longing mixed with regret. It wasn’t like she wanted to go back to her dysfunctional family in Pittsburgh, or to West Point—her friends had left that place behind, too. And yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that she wanted to go home. But where would that be?
&
nbsp; How could she be homesick for a place that didn’t exist?
In the photo, she and Dani stood on either side of Hannah, their smiling faces surrounded by the madness of Times Square. The photo sent a kaleidoscope of memories spinning through Avery’s mind. Hannah’s short red dress, stretching as she pulled it down her thighs in the firefighters’ limousine. Dani’s commanding moves, dominating dance floors. The limousine’s tinted windows, distorting city lights into a blur. A firefighter’s callused hands rubbing Avery’s lower back. Avery had been so committed to staying out all night—so convinced that it was their only chance to be young and free.
In some ways she was right. Only a few weeks later, she’d been blindsided. Knocked out cold. Avery would never forget walking into her dorm room and seeing photos of her own nakedness splayed out in Dani’s shaking hands. Nausea had swelled into her throat, like the earth was falling out from beneath her. She’d collapsed into Hannah’s arms, overcome with anger, sadness, and shame.
Wiping her eyes, Avery forced the memory back into the recesses of her heart where it belonged, like a collection of junk stuffed into a dark basement. There was no reason to unpack that box. It was in the past. Dealt with. Over. And reliving that time—that trauma—wouldn’t help her now.
Steeling herself, Avery breathed in deeply, rolled her shoulders back, and stood from her desk. There was nothing to feel ashamed of. She hadn’t done anything to deserve what Collins had done to her, and she definitely didn’t deserve to lose her career over a momentary misstep—a relationship with Josh that no longer existed. She imagined facing Major Gaines and denying everything. After all, the Army took everything she had during the day. Couldn’t they leave her nights alone?
“YOU WANTED TO see me, sir?”
Major Gaines was in his early thirties with thinning hair and a large, mostly bald head. Turning from his computer, he gathered a few papers off his desk and tapped them into a neat stack, without looking Avery in the eye.
“Yes, take a seat. I’ve got a few things to finish up, then we can chat.”
Typing at his keyboard, he composed an e-mail, added an event to his calendar, then closed down all the tabs on his desktop. He worked quickly, Avery noticed, like a squirrel gathering nuts in the last few days before winter.
“All right,” he sighed, finally turning to look at her. “Thanks for coming to see me.”
“Of course.” Sweat seeped out of the pores in her hands, her armpits, her neck. “How can I help, sir?” She forced a smile.
“I have a job that I need to assign. It starts in a few months. It’s a big job, actually, and it’s going to require someone that can remain focused and work really fast.”
All of her pent-up anxiety deflated like a balloon. So he didn’t know about Josh. Thank God. She shifted in her seat, listening closely.
“One of the new Special Forces facilities needs wiring. Phones, Internet. The works. It all needs to be wired and encrypted. Captain Morris says you’re one of his best lieutenants. We’d like you to lead the job.”
Avery nodded with confidence, though she simply felt relieved that this meeting had nothing to do with her romantic indiscretions.
“Wow, sir. Thank you. I’d be honored to do it.”
“Those SF guys are always in and out, so the important thing is that you don’t get in their way. You’ll need a team of ten or twelve I’d say, and the same rules apply to everyone.” He stared at her intently. “You don’t talk. You don’t ask questions. You don’t make friends. You get in, keep your heads down, and get out. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. I’m honored that you’d choose me to lead the job.”
“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”
A beat passed before Avery answered, “Absolutely not, sir.”
“Good. Let’s put a few more meetings on the books. You’ve got a few months to get all of your ducks in a row, choose your team, order all your equipment. And let’s keep Captain Morris carbon-copied on all our communication on this. Keep him in the loop.”
“Yes, sir,” Avery said. It was rare for a second lieutenant to be given such a huge responsibility. Special Forces. Just wait until the Nesmiths hear about my job. Tim was hoping to join the Army’s most elite unit as soon as he got the chance. He’d be green with envy.
From: Avery Adams
Subject: Re: Re: Re: **Update
Date: August 27, 2004 12:03:15 PM GMT +01:00
To: Dani McNalley
HEY HEY HEY.
How is everyone?! Dani . . . any news on the job front? Hannah—how is Sapper School treating you? I’m dying to hear an update from the cult.
Things here are fine—nothing major to report. Although, Hannah, you’ve received about 6.5 million presents in the last few weeks. I’m probably going to start opening them and picking out the things I want to take for my cut. It’s only fair that your favorite bridesmaid get a little slush on the side.
In other news . . . I got a really crazy assignment today from my boss’s boss. It’s going to start in the spring, and I can’t really e-mail about it because it’s classified (what?! Who am I??)—but the good news is, it’s here in Fort Bragg, so I’m still not going overseas for a while.
What about you, Hannah? Have you heard anything about deployment dates for your unit?
ALL HAIL THE CULT,
Avery
12
Summer 2004 // Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri
A fist slammed into Hannah’s face, hard. An African-American soldier named Private Daniel Stanton stood in front of her, his red boxing gloves drooping at his sides. Her vision blurred and suddenly, all of the sounds in the gymnasium were submerged in water. She swayed.
The next thing Hannah knew, she awoke on the ground, staring at a ceiling of fluorescent light. The scent of old wrestling mats and sweat assaulted her nose, and she tasted metal in her mouth. When she touched her fingers to her nostril they were covered in blood.
Things were not going as planned.
When she’d arrived at Fort Leonard Wood for Sapper School, Hannah knew the odds would be stacked against her. In the history of the Army, only twenty-three females had ever attempted the highest training school available for combat engineers—and of those, only nine had graduated. Hannah wanted desperately to be number ten. In the past eight weeks, she’d built helipads, jumped from a moving helicopter into open water, and, just the day before, scored full points rappelling from a cliff with a 220-pound soldier strapped to her back. All of it without a single complaint. Not even a groan.
There was only one test left. If Hannah could just wrap Private Stanton’s hands behind his back—if she could just achieve the clinch—she would graduate, the tenth female Sapper in history. All she had to do was step to her six-foot-three attacker, drive her head into his neck, push his arms out to the sides, and pin his arms around his back. But so far, every time Hannah stepped closer to him, all she got was Stanton’s fists in the face.
“All right, boys, I think I found our weakest link.” A shadowy figure leaned over Hannah’s body until his face was just inches from hers. The barrel-chested NCO, Master Sergeant Moretti, had yellow teeth and breath that smelled of weak coffee. He flapped his clipboard over Hannah’s face. “Come on, get up, Nesmith.”
Stilted laughter pounded against Hannah’s ears as Moretti offered her his hand.
“I’m all right,” she said, forcing herself to stand without his help.
Moretti rolled his eyes and inspected her face. “It’s broken.”
“I’ve had a broken nose before,” Hannah said. When she was six years old, her sister, Emily, had accidentally thrown an elbow in her face while they were playing freeze tag. “I’ll be fine.”
“Stanton, hold her head still,” Moretti yelled to Hannah’s opponent.
Stanton’s palms pressed against her sweaty hair while Moretti placed both of his hands on either side of the brid
ge of her nose, like he was praying. He paused. “This is going to hurt.”
“Just get it over with,” Hannah muttered. She closed her eyes and braced for the pain.
With one swift motion, Sergeant Moretti slammed his fingers against the right side of her nose, snapping it back into alignment. A shock of blue light flashed through Hannah’s brain. An involuntary shout emerged from her lungs. Hannah chewed on her lips to keep from crying, then walked a few paces to regain her breath.
“None of us enjoy watching you get the shit beat out of you,” Moretti said. He’d followed her to the side of the gymnasium and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m thinking it may be time to call it quits. Come back next cycle. Try again.”
Hannah forced herself to breathe. She didn’t want his sympathy. She hadn’t stumbled into Sapper School by mistake. Couldn’t he check his clipboard? Wasn’t it just that morning that she’d smoked them all on the six-mile run? But there was no way around the fact that Stanton’s fists flew faster and harder than she’d expected. He was denser than she could ever be. And the way he looked at her, with some kind of perverse hunger, it was like he wanted to break not just her nose but something deeper. Hannah had been one of the highest-ranking cadets at West Point—guy or girl. Now her ovaries were a flashing neon sign to everyone in the room that she couldn’t keep up. All around, men crossed their arms over their chests, waiting. Some looked bored. Some looked concerned. Most looked amazed that Hannah was still standing.
With a fresh wave of nausea, an echo of words swirled in Hannah’s mind, a phrase she hadn’t considered in some time. It’s not a matter of capability.
What if her grandfather had been wrong? What if she really couldn’t keep up? What if he’d been right, that she shouldn’t be here?
Tim had warned her of this. That summer, after graduation and their wedding, Hannah, Tim, and a dozen other class of ’04 grads had flown to Rome and boarded a cruise ship that had transported them between six different Mediterranean cities. While their friends drank themselves silly, Tim and Hannah had secluded themselves as much as possible, knowing it was the closest thing they’d get to a honeymoon. They were lounging on the deck of a ship, a few hours before it docked in Florence, when Hannah told Tim that she’d been given a slot at Sapper School, starting in the middle of August. He’d raised his aviator sunglasses and his eyebrows.
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