by Cat Johnson
Gone were the pictures of them together too. There used to be half a dozen framed photographs on the mantle, a big eight by ten of their wedding picture among them.
There’d also been one of him and her together in front of their first home after they were married. It had been base housing. That was long before they’d moved and gotten a house out in town.
Now on the mantle stood a bunch of candles instead, surrounding two framed photos that Silas recognized. One was of Jonas laughing as he jumped into a pile of leaves in the yard. The other was of him in front of the Christmas tree surrounded by mounds of gifts and torn wrapping paper.
Silas’s heart clenched. Some strange, detached part of his psyche made the comparison and determined that, amazingly, his heartache was more painful than his backache.
“It should be right in here,” Maggie said.
She was unaware of his inner turmoil as she continued on to the hall closet by the front door while he still hovered in the living room doorway.
Breaking himself away from the painful memories, he followed her to the closet. As she bent to search, he peered past her to see a cardboard box on the floor beneath the jackets hanging on the wooden rod.
She straightened and turned. In her hand was the big rubber band he’d been looking for. Amazingly, she’d found it.
Maggie handed it to him and then folded her arms. “Is that what you needed?”
“Yeah. That’s it. Thanks.”
He could see there was something written on the side of the box. He couldn’t read what it said. The open flap was in the way.
Curious, he leaned down and felt the stabbing pain in his back. Straightening slowly, if not completely, he switched up his plan.
With one hand braced against the wall for balance, since even that had been affected by his injury, he lifted the cardboard flap with his toe.
Where he expected to see something like Trash or Donations, instead he saw his own name written in black marker.
At least she wasn’t just tossing his shit in the dumpster. That made him feel moderately better.
“Did you want me to take that? The box?” he asked.
Maggie lifted a shoulder. “You don’t have to right now unless you want to. You can wait until I’m done organizing. I was going to just keep throwing anything I found in there as I cleaned.”
So she wasn’t done with her purge yet. There was still more erasing of their history together to be done. Lovely.
“Quite the cleaning spree you’re on. You never did this whole house binge cleaning when we were together,” he said, feeling mean.
She shrugged again. “I read that book that came out a couple of years ago. It was about how organization can give you peace and joy, so I thought I’d give it a try.”
She kept her eyes averted as she made the explanation sound casual. But what she said, rather than how she said it, captured his attention. She was organizing in an attempt to find joy. Meaning she was unhappy?
Interesting that she wasn’t happy either. That made two of them.
“Hmm. Maybe I should read it,” he said, attempting to make a bad joke because there was no way in hell organizing his stuff was going to fix what ailed him.
Besides, he had so few things and lived in such a small space now, everything was about as organized as it could get. Short of arranging his underwear by color, there wasn’t much more he could do.
She laughed at his suggestion. “Don’t read it. You’d hate this book.”
Her smile, her laugh, they captured him just as it always had.
How long had it been since he’d seen her smile? Or heard her laugh? He knew the answer to that. Since before they’d lost Jonas.
He wanted to see her smile again. Hear her laugh again. He wanted to be the one to put that expression of joy on her face.
To extend the topic of conversation that amused her, he said, “Eh, I don’t know. I like organizing things. I seem to remember you mocking me for separating my screws and nails by size in bins out in the garage. Why do you think I’d hate the book?”
“Because the author talks about how you should fold your socks instead of roll them so that they can relax while they’re in the drawer. She says it’s their time to rest when they’re not on your feet.”
“So she’s saying my socks need a vacation?” He grinned, enjoying the first light hearted conversation they’d had in years. “I’d think she’d want me to put them someplace nicer than in the drawer then, if she’s so worried about their time off. Send them to Hawaii maybe . . .”
Maggie laughed. “See. I told you that you would hate the book.”
Her laugh had him smiling, even as he shook his head. “Nah. I might not take it seriously, or do what she suggests, but I couldn’t hate something that silly.”
The small talk about the sock drawer book having run its course, the smiles and the conversation both died.
She glanced at the thick black rubber band in his hand. “So what inspired you to suddenly want to work out with the resistance band?”
“Is that what it’s called?” He glanced down at it. “And here I’ve been calling it that big rubber band all this time.”
She treated him to the lift of one corner of her mouth. Not quite a smile but better than nothing.
“Anyway,” Silas continued. “I thought I might do some light exercise in my barracks room instead of having to hit the gym all the time.”
Because in his room he could work his injured back in private . . . and cry if the pain got too bad.
Silas had no doubt that with how bad he was feeling right now he wouldn’t be able to do anything he used to. He’d have to modify his work out, at best.
Someone at the gym was going to notice and realize how much he hurt. He definitely needed to get himself back up to speed before he went back to working out with the team.
Maggie nodded. “I’m glad you can finally get some use out of it.”
“Yeah. And thanks . . . for finding it. And for giving it to me in the first place.”
She let out a short laugh. “Sure. No problem.”
Okay, now the conversation, or lack thereof, was starting to feel awkward.
He drew in a breath. He needed to leave before he did something foolish.
“So, you have any plans for dinner? You wanna grab something?”
Something foolish, just like that. Shit. Inviting her to dinner? What had he been thinking?
When she opened her mouth to speak, he knew what was going to come out before she said it.
He didn’t need to actually hear her say the word no. He knew he was a fool for asking just from her expression.
She cringed. “Si. I don’t think we should. It will confuse things.”
“No, yeah. You’re right. We shouldn’t confuse things. You know, with the divorce being final and all.” He took a step back from her, about to make his escape to end the embarrassment as quickly as possible.
“Hey.” She reached out for him, grabbing his hand.
“What?” His gaze moved from where their hands were joined, back up to her face as she dropped her hold on him.
His hand hung loose at his side, missing the warmth of her touch. Missing so much more than just that.
“I’m not saying it’ll be like this forever. One day maybe we can get a meal together and be just fine. I just can’t do it right now. I can’t be your friend. It hurts too much.”
So she hurt too. That was comforting, because it would really suck if he were the only one in unbearable pain over their divorce.
Fighting the emotions, he chose to leave on that high note.
He tipped his head in a nod. “Bye, Mags.”
Silas stepped around her and headed for the front door. He needed to get out of here and back to the privacy of his barracks room.
Might as well start working on his rehab now. His injury would take his mind off the pain in his heart.
Get fixed. Get back to the team. Get Maggie off his mind.
His To Do list was short but he had a bad feeling the time to complete it was going to be long.
In fact, he might never manage that last part.
CHAPTER 5
“Lieutenant Commander Branson, how are you feeling?” the doctor asked as she entered the room and sat behind her desk.
“Fine. Good. Good as new.” Lying came easy. Sitting, not so much.
Silas remained standing on the other side of the desk, feet shoulder length apart, back ramrod straight.
This was the woman who would decide if he kept his career or not. And if he was put back on active duty or was forced out on medical retirement.
He’d been back in Virginia for four months. A third of a year’s worth of painkillers, muscle relaxers, physical therapy, and being hooked to electrodes as they shocked his muscles . . .
The calendar and the budding trees and flowers showed it was spring of a new year.
Time was marching rapidly on. He should be completely better by now. Both his back and his heartache.
He estimated himself at ninety-percent healed as far as his injury and ten-percent healed on the Maggie front. Hell, he hadn’t even come up with an excuse to call or text her for the past three weeks. That was progress.
If he added the two estimates of his recovery together he was at one hundred percent. Good enough. Time to get back to the team.
Today he’d been summoned by the doctor, he assumed because she too thought he should be healed after all this time. It was why he was being evaluated, so he could go off light duty and back to the team. And dammit, he’d do anything he could to make sure that happened.
The truth was he was better than he had been. He felt good. He just wasn’t great. At least not back to normal the way he had been before Aleppo.
But he’d heal . . . in time. And when he did, he’d be good as new. He knew it. Knew his strength. Knew his body. Knew his determination would make up for any shortcomings in the rest.
The doctor however, couldn’t know any of that.
How many patients did she see in a day? Dozens? More?
To her he was just a name on a chart with a blank line waiting to be filled out with return to duty or medical retirement.
Nope. He wasn’t going to let that happen.
His last MRI had come back clean. She had no way of knowing or proving the existence of the residual aches he endured daily and he intended to keep it that way.
“Good,” she said. “No pain?”
“No,” he answered. “None.”
It was almost true.
Flat on the floor rather than the bed he could get a few hours sleep a night without pain keeping him awake.
His strength was back and he was quick and sharp—both in his mind and in his shooting. He’d tested that at the range just yesterday.
Her brow rose and he started to worry she doubted him. “Really?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s excellent. Wonderful to hear. I see no reason to not clear you to return to full duty.”
That was what was wonderful to hear.
He smiled. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Silas left the office with the golden ticket to return to his team clutched in one hand as he strode to his truck.
That was another source of contention between him and his residual backache. Driving. But he’d willingly endure it because he was about to get what he wanted.
He ignored the nagging thought at the back of his mind. The one that questioned that if his three-year old Ford with its cruise control and heated seats aggravated his injury, what the hell was a Humvee going to feel like bouncing along the blown out roads of a war zone? He supposed he was going to find out.
Making a plan in his head, Silas tucked the paperwork into the visor and climbed into the truck, happy to see the movement seemed easier each day.
Yup. He was definitely on the mend.
Happy, he went back to his plan.
First, a quick stop by the commissary to grab more ibuprofen for the ever present but dull discomfort in his back. Also, antacids for the ache that all the ibuprofen caused in his gut.
Then he’d head to command and tell them he’d been cleared for full duty. The team had returned from Aleppo while he’d been recuperating. His goal was to be with them the next time they were sent out again.
He slowed the truck, looking for a parking spot. He found one and parked, wishing his body felt as amazing as his mood after getting his clearance.
His mood was so high, he felt like he could sprint into command. He settled for walking instead.
“Haynes. Hey.” Silas grinned in greeting when he saw the team leader walking toward him.
“Hey, yourself. You back?” Master Chief Peter Haynes asked.
“I’m back.” Silas smiled and held up his paperwork. “At least the doc says I am. Still have to run it by command.”
“Good.” Pete nodded. “Just in time.”
“In time for what?” Silas asked.
“We got us a big, high profile training tonight.”
He resisted the urge to groan. After being sidelined for what felt like forever, a training wasn’t what he’d been hoping for. But maybe it would be good. It would ease him back into things.
“What time?” Silas asked.
“Twenty-one hundred hours.”
He had more questions but decided they could wait until he knew if he’d be there for it or not. “All right. Good to go. Let me get this to the commander. Hopefully I’ll see you there tonight.”
Pete nodded. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Pete headed out, while Silas turned to go into the commander’s office. He was one step closer to getting back to normal. He couldn’t wait.
The commander was seated at his desk when Silas arrived in the office.
“Sir.”
“Branson. How are you feeling?”
“Completely healed, sir. One hundred percent. The doctor’s cleared me.”
Commander Talley cocked one brow high and Silas began to worry. The doc might have cleared him, but it would take the commander to put him back where he wanted to be.
“Not one hundred and ten percent?” The commander asked.
Silas knew exactly what Talley was insinuating. Good wasn’t good enough in the teams. They had to excel in everything they did or it cost lives.
“It’s hard to judge while on light duty,” Silas responded with the truth.
He needed to be challenged in a real world situation to see how his back would hold up. The gym was one thing. Combat was entirely different.
“Then it’s lucky for you that we have a training exercise scheduled for tonight.”
Silas nodded. “Yes, sir. I saw the master chief in the hall.”
“You run through that exercise and prove you’re back in the shape you were before the injury and I’ll put you back on the team.
It was exactly what he’d wanted . . . so why was Silas so worried?
CHAPTER 6
Silas had run through this kind of training scenario countless times. During his training to become a SEAL. In the years since. He’d never thought twice about it.
Today, he second-guessed himself at literally every turn.
If he didn’t know that this training had already been planned before he showed up with his letter from the doctor he might suspect command had set it up just to test him, because it sure as hell was testing him. His mind, his will, and definitely his body.
But he knew it had been just a coincidence that they happened to already have a training scheduled.
He’d been working out at the gym like a madman the past three weeks, as much to prove to himself he could as to the others there alongside him. But there were differences tonight that made it painfully obvious he wasn’t completely healed.
The weight of the helmet with the night vision goggles attached seemed to increase the ache in his back. His tactical vest with the ballistic plates only added t
o the burden he carried and the strain on his back muscles and spine.
He should have considered all that long ago. He should have been running twice a day in full kit to get his body used to wearing the gear again and to strengthen his lower back muscles enough to support the added weight.
Hell, he should have hit the obstacle course and really tested his body.
The work with the barbells and gym machines had done shit.
Who cared if he was back to bench-pressing what he’d been before the injury?
It was nothing compared to what he was asking of his body now as he hung from a rope and tried to haul himself up the hull of a ship while in full gear soaking wet.
For a SEAL in full kit, what he wore and carried was already heavy on its own. But it had absorbed double its weight in water after Silas submerged underwater to swim to the side of the ship.
In this Naval Special Warfare version of war games, the high value civilian hostage was being held by the pretend kidnappers on the deck of a beast of a naval war ship.
The ship was docked in Norfolk for repairs and made the perfect site for the mock rescue. But this practice scenario could easily be reality anywhere in the world.
Before the back injury, climbing the ladder lowered to him from above wouldn’t have been a problem. He would have been able to scramble up the hull of the ship and board without a second thought. But tonight, with his injury still bothering him, it wasn’t so easy.
He felt weak. Yes, his arms were strong. No doubt about it. But he couldn’t just depend on his upper body strength during an op like this.
His core muscles, even though he worked them as hard as he dared, couldn’t make up for the fact the damage to his back hadn’t completely healed.
His range of motion was shot. Twisting and turning while hauling himself up onto the ladder and then up the side of the ship caused enough pain to have him clenching his jaw until his teeth ached.
As Silas finally made it up and over the rail through sheer force of will, he flopped onto the deck, panting, his muscles shaking.
His teammate there shot him a glance Silas saw clearly through his night vision goggles.