“God, please. Not Jake,” someone whimpers, but there’s no one next to me, and I realise the prayer has come from me.
Ryan steps off behind them, his hands crusted with dried blood, his expression hollow. He takes Wood’s position on the patient board and nudges my friend towards me.
“Jamie.” Wood’s mouth is moving as he gets closer, but I don’t hear it. I take a step back as he comes forward.
I shake my head violently. “No.”
“Jamie.”
“Wood, no,” I croak.
He grabs me when I jerk away. I need to get to Jake. I need to— Wood’s arms fold me up tight, an iron band that locks me to his body. My face is mashed against his chest, and I can’t see. I turn my head as they move Jake past me. His eyes are closed, his face pale and void of expression. A bullet wound punctures his neck.
I want to scream at them to get him to the ER, but the rational voice in my head knows why they’re moving so slowly.
The wound isn’t bleeding.
His heart isn’t beating anymore.
Jake is gone.
The whirring blades of the chopper start to slow as a loud keening wail rips from my throat. I feel my legs give out, and my body sags against my best friend.
“Jamie, I’m so sorry,” Wood mutters thickly, his arms the only thing keeping me upright. A shuddering breath rips out of him. “I’m so sorry.”
“Noooooo!” I cry out, pushing against him, trying to escape this insidious ache inside. “Wood, no.”
He only holds me tighter, his hand rubbing the back of my head. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
I grab at his shirt, squeezing the fabric in my fists as a sob rises up inside me. It rises up so hard and so fast it hurts. I choke it back, my body shaking with so much effort it almost crumples me. His hold tightens, curling around me as if he could protect me from the pain. “They c-c-can’t take him, Wood. They can’t.”
Heartache fills his voice. “Oh, Jamie.”
“Fuck this p-place.” I shove against him, pushing myself free. “Fuck this place!” I scream, my heart pounding so hard in my chest it hurts. I am done. I am so done with being here. I’m done with this war. With this whole goddamn life. “It takes from you. And it takes. And it fucking takes!” My chest heaves, and I wipe at my eyes with the heel of my hands. Wood stands there, arms hanging by his sides, a helpless expression on his face. “Soon enough they’ll take all the good,” I croak, my voice a hoarse, broken sound, “and there’ll be nothing left.”
I turn, starting for the hospital entrance.
“Jamie, wait!”
Wood grabs my arm from behind and I shrug him off, my steps hurried. I burst back through the doors and come to a halt. My throat aches as I stand there, unable to breathe as I take in the room.
Ryan is in the ER station, his face dirty and eyes red. He sinks into a seat and holds his head in his hands, fingers trembling against his dark hair. A nurse is taking Kyle into a treatment room, and the rest of Jake’s team—Galloway, their sniper, Tex, their patrol signaller, and Monty, their troop commander—mill around, lost and a little broken, as if their minds are somewhere else.
“Jamie.” Wood catches up with me.
I turn. “I need to see Jake.”
His bottom lip wobbles, and it takes him a moment to speak. “They’ll be taking him to the morgue, Jamie.”
I nod, my vision starting to blur. “I know, but I need to see him. I need to make sure he’s okay.”
“Oh, Jamie.” He drops his head, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Give it a minute. They still have to …”
Wood keeps talking, but I tune him out as I start down the hall. My ears ring and my legs falter the closer I get. It’s like an IED has gone off at my feet. I pass Kyle in the treatment room. He’s sitting on an ER bed, hands fisted in his lap as a nurse inspects his injury. He looks up when I walk past, grief dark in his eyes.
I look away, forcing myself to keep moving until I reach the room where Jake is being held. Dr. Irvine is leaving as I step inside. “Private Murphy?” I see his lips move as he comes towards me, but I don’t hear. “Jamie?”
He lays a hand on my shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. “Did you know this soldier?”
My eyes shift to the prone figure on the portable bed and then away, blinking. “Jake,” I croak. “His name is Jake.”
Dr. Irvine nods. “I’ll give you a minute,” he says and leaves.
My heart hammers in my chest as I make my way towards him. He’s been placed in the corner, beside a medical supply cabinet, and I shift across until I’m standing beside him, the wall at my back.
I’m not ready to look at his face, so I focus on his hand, gathering it up in mine. His palm is dry and unbearably lifeless, and it flashes me back to meeting him at the bar all those years ago, when I held his hand for the first time, his touch so warm and vital.
“I’m Jake. Jake Tanner,” he said, offering his hand. I took it in mine and his fingers wrapped around it, firm, warm, rough.
Now those fingers will never touch me again. They’ll never brush a wayward strand of hair from my face, trace a thumb across my bottom lip, or curl around my upper thigh in a cheeky caress beneath the dining table.
Silent tears slip free as I set his hand gently back on the bed and reach across, brushing shaky fingers over the bloodied hem of his shirt. My thumb skims across the thick cotton where it’s frayed a little at the corner. I move my gaze down his legs to his worn, muddy boots. I don’t know what it is about seeing those laces tied so neatly, but suddenly my chest aches, and I can’t breathe. When he woke this morning and put those boots on his feet, it was the last time he ever would, and the thought absolutely breaks me.
“You have a tough veneer, Jamie, but it’s not tougher than me.”
A great big hulking sob steals my breath. And another. Painful. Clawing. Heavy. My body can’t hold the weight of it, and my back slides down the wall, knees pressing to my chest. My head tilts back as the tears pour out, gushing as if a dam has burst.
“You’re a virgin?”
“Only in the physical sense.”
Jake was my first. Deep down inside I was starting to think that maybe he was it for me. The one. I wanted him to be my last. I wanted it so much.
“You are going down, Tanner.”
“If you play your cards right, Murphy, you can bet your sweet ass I’ll be going down.”
Jake pushing inside me for the first time. “Relax, Jamie.”
“Oh my god. That’s easy for you to say.”
“Should I stop?”
“Hell no. We’re doing this.”
And I never regretted a moment of it. I relived that night over and over in my head like I was watching my favourite movie on repeat.
“You totally like me.”
How could I not? He made it impossible not to.
“If I don’t catch you before I ship out—”
“Then I’ll see you on the other side.”
He winked at me and something beautiful sparked big and bright inside my heart. “Roger that, army girl.”
The sobs come harder. Someone collects me from the floor and rises, cradling me gently against their body. I don’t care who it is. Or that I’m on duty. I can’t be a soldier anymore today. There’s no strength left inside to care about rules and regiment and war, when the result of it all is lying cold and lifeless beside me.
I grasp the shirt of the man who holds me and burrow in. “I c-can’t.”
The voice is gruff and belongs to Kyle. “Can’t what?”
“S-s-say goodbye.” I’m not ready for Jake to leave.
“You don’t have to say goodbye now. You can do it later.”
I nod, a rough jerky movement against his chest. Later.
Kyle sets me down, steadying me with gentle hands as I set my feet on the floor. I straighten my spine, gathering up all the grief, and I hold it all in so hard my eyes burn with effort and my muscles shake, because that’s w
hat I was taught. You have to train your mind to be stronger than your emotions or else you’ll lose every time.
But it’s too late, isn’t it? I’ve already lost.
We all have.
Kyle lost his brother today.
So did Ryan.
And Finlay.
The entire world has lost today. Something beautiful. Something incredibly vital. Something we’ll never get back.
17
KYLE BROOKS
We step outside the room, and I shut the door, my jaw tight and body throbbing with pain. I’m not sure which hurts worse, the wound on my hip or the ache in my chest. My brother is lying in that room because my cover fire wasn’t enough. He was the best member of our team, the glue that held us all together, and I let him down. I let him down so fucking hard.
Jamie’s brows knit together as she glances down, pulling her uniform away from her side with her fingers. “What the …”
It’s covered in blood. My blood.
She looks at me, her sad, swollen eyes dropping to my hip. “You didn’t get that seen to?” She lifts my shirt and inspects the wound. “Brooks.” Her eyes widen. “You’ve been shot.”
“It’s nothing.” The devastation on Jamie’s face was so much worse. I couldn’t sit there without making sure she was okay first. “Just a flesh wound.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Her eyes harden. I can see her medical training snapping into action. Good. It will give her something else to focus on. “Get back in the exam room.”
She follows me to the treatment room where I take my seat back on the bed, shifting backwards with a grimace. Jamie fusses with the tray on the cart beside her. Her throat muscles are working. She lets out a breath as she rolls it closer, her fingers trembling as she searches for something. She stops suddenly and turns towards me, her beautiful brown eyes searching my face.
“Did he suffer, Brooks?”
My jaw tightens and it feels as if my teeth will crack beneath the pressure. We were struck by a nest of insurgents as dawn began its approach. There were too many of them and only a handful of us. Jake was caught on the other side of the rock ledge, and we needed to retreat.
He broke cover, running for a better position to take out the PKM machine gun that was spewing heavy fire, but new shots rained down from somewhere above. The shot hit him right in the neck. His head jerked back and he spun around, eyes already glassy with shock as his hand went to the wound. He pulled it away, staring at his bloody palm.
For a moment I thought it just winged him, then blood spurted from his mouth in a cough.
“No!” I yelled, watching helplessly as the light leached slowly from his eyes and he fell to the ground. “Jesus, no!”
“Man down!” Kendall shouted hoarsely and ran over, hunched, skidding to the ground while I emptied my gun with a roar, bullets firing towards the new target as my teammate dragged him to cover.
“No,” I say in a rough voice to Jamie, swallowing the bile in my throat. “He didn’t suffer. He was gone in an instant.”
“Just like that.” Her jaw trembles with the beginnings of anger. It churns in her eyes, making them darker. “Here one moment,” she chokes out, “and gone the next.”
Like a light winking out in the dark. “Just like that.”
Jamie nods, visibly trying to compose herself. “You need to take off your shirt.”
“It’s fine.” It’s already unbuttoned, revealing the army green cotton tee shirt beneath. I lift it up at the hem. My belt is already undone, pants pushed down a little to reveal the wound where the bullet ripped through my side. It left a long laceration, like a comet skimming through my skin in a blaze of fire. “Just give me a couple of stitches so I can get out of here,” I say through gritted teeth, holding the pain at bay.
“It needs more than a couple of stitches. Lie down.”
“I’ll sit, thanks.”
“Take off your shirt and lie down,” she orders, anger rising in her tone, replacing the grief.
I shake my head and it only serves to piss her off even more. “Just fix it and let me out of here.”
Jamie curses and spins around, grabbing for the surgical scissors. With the implement in hand, she snags my shirt and cuts it in violent jerks until it hangs loose from my chest.
She slams them back on the tray and pushes my sleeves down both arms, ripping the fabric away and dumping it on the floor.
“Murphy.”
She’s snapping on surgical gloves and searching for fresh gauze packets when my hand drops on her shoulder. “Stop. Call for the nurse. She can deal with the stitches.”
Jamie shrugs me off. “I can do it.” She searches her tray. “Goddammit, where’s the freaking gauze?” Her voice rises. “Doesn’t anyone know how to pack a trauma tray in this freaking shithole?”
She finds it underneath, apparently where it doesn’t belong. After tearing it free from the packet, she presses it against my wound, and my intake of breath is sharp.
“Hold that there,” she orders and turns.
“Murphy, stop.”
“I’m trying to do my job here, okay?” She jabs a syringe into a bottle and liquid fills the little plastic tube. She turns back to me, her eyes level with my chest.
They widen as she seems to notice my tattoos for the first time. Both my arms are sleeved with dark images—and bright ones too. Ones with colour. Teal. Pink. Green. Orange. An entire life inked into the limbs. Then her eyes find the lettering across my chest, and I brace.
I know the typewriter font is more familiar to her than her own face because she’s not breathing right now.
The tattoo matches her necklace. An exact replica.
LITTLE WARRIOR.
The syringe in her hand clatters to the floor.
Her eyes shoot up, looking at me as if she’s seeing me for the first time. I stare back, wordless, swallowing around the lump in my throat.
Jamie’s hand trembles as she reaches for her ever-present necklace, grasping it tight in her fist. “Bear?” she croaks, saying it as if she’s willing it not to be true.
My nostrils flare. Hearing the name on her lips fills me with an ache that stabs at my heart. “I’m sorry.”
Her brows snap together, and she takes a step back. “I don’t understand.” She looks me over as if she’s fifteen again and peering through the fence, searching for the boy inside the man. “Is it really you? All this time?”
Fuck. I have no idea what to say or how to make this right.
“You knew,” she says, realisation in her expression. “You knew it was me. But when Jake introduced us, you acted as if you had no clue who I was. Why? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Jamie.” I swallow, unable to bear the hurt in her eyes and the ache in her voice. I blink, my gaze shifting over her shoulder at the wall like a damn coward. “Maybe we can talk about this later.”
“Later? Later?” Her hands fist, her fury palpable. “You left me!” The words hit like a slap. “You were my best friend. You made me need you, and then you left as if I didn’t matter at all, leaving me with nothing but a note!”
I reach for her, and she physically recoils. “Don’t touch me.”
“Jamie.” I reach for her again, feeling like the biggest piece of shit alive. “Please. Let me explain later, okay?”
“I said don’t touch me!” she yells and shoves at the cart beside her. It slams into the cupboard behind it and tips over, its contents smashing across the floor, rolling in every direction.
“God.” I rise from the bed with a wince, holding the gauze to my side. “Don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying!” Jamie swipes at her face with the sleeve of her shirt, and it comes away wet. “All this time.” She backs away from me. “You knew who I was and didn’t say a word. God, you are such a bastard, Kyle Brooks,” she spits. “I fucking hate you.”
“Jamie.” I grab for her hands, but she knocks me away.
“I waited for you. Every day I sat by
that stupid fence and I waited like a sad, pathetic idiot, but you never showed.”
My eyes burn at the image. At what I did to her. “Let me explain.”
Jamie takes a deep breath and lifts her chin. I can physically see her tucking away the anger and the hurt, and I’m so fucking proud of her strength, but the expression she leaves behind is one of indifference, as if the bond of friendship we once had meant nothing, when it was the one thing that got me through the death of my mother. The only thing.
“I don’t want your lousy explanation,” she says in a hollow tone. “Save it for someone who gives a shit.” I flinch as if the words are pointed darts that jab at my skin. “Just stay away from me.”
Wood comes in, the best friend that I once used to be before I threw it away. She brushes past him. “Stitch Brooks up, would you? I can’t bring myself to touch him.”
She walks out of the room, her stride determined, and yet she glances behind her, just once as she meets my eyes before turning away. It’s enough for me to know I can’t ship home without trying to fix this.
“Jamie?” I knock on the door of her room the next afternoon. I know I should be giving her time, but we fly out tomorrow. Time is something I don’t have right now.
I knock again, banging my fist a little harder. I know she’s in there. I saw her go in. “Jamie? Can we talk? Please?”
Nothing.
It feels like I’m seventeen all over again and the fence a barrier between us. The only thing that got her talking all those years ago was a taunt. “Are you going to hide from me in your room all night? I never figured you for a timid mouse.”
Nothing.
“The Jamie I knew would never back down from a fight.”
The door opens so hard it almost rips from its hinges. She stands before me, expression blazing, but it doesn’t detract from the dark, puffy circles beneath her eyes from a sleepless night and hair dirty from an obvious lack of washing. She needs a damn shower. She’s still wearing yesterday’s uniform, for fuck’s sake. I know because it’s stained with my blood.
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