Chapter 21 #2
His jaw flexed, his hands tight fists. All of him focused on me. My skin erupted in goosebumps at the attention.
“I want to, but I don’t.” Blazing emerald eyes met mine. “I can’t.”
He opened his mouth, but I found myself cutting him off. “Above”—my throat tightened; Tristian held my gaze like a lifeline—“at night, I—”
“You were looking for warmth,” Hayes assured me, but he hesitated, his hand on the door handle. I swallowed the word I had almost said, another confession I had almost set free.
“Right,” I lied.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I didn’t stop him as he disappeared into the tunnel beyond. I stared after him, thoughts swirling at what I’d given away, but also what I knew needed to be done.
I fell into bed sometime later, my mind too full. I prayed the nightmares stayed away. I was tired. I was tired of being haunted.
The dead couldn’t help me anymore. The living were waiting.
I needed to visit Levi.
I slept. For the first time since Levi’s injury, I felt the fog that had settled heavily over me lift. The nightmares stayed away.
At Formation, Rumi stood in Levi’s usual spot as second-in-command.
I found the appointment entirely earned.
The others shifted, filling in Rumi’s normal spot, leaving Jaxon, the lowest, to my left.
He had approached Unit Seven with his old unit in tow.
They had scurried off after one look from Tristian.
Burdon debriefed the Force and discussed upcoming missions, reporting the increase in civil unrest and a possible impending storm. She gave out assignments. A smirk twisted her pretty features as she watched Jaxon lean into me.
“It’ll be hard to run away from me now, Death’s Angel,” Jaxon drawled. He spoke quietly enough so that only I could hear. My spine was so straight it ached, my shoulders thrust back as my hands shook. “I love it when I make you shake, partner,” Jaxon noted.
I bit down hard. I knew what he was doing. I wouldn’t give in and cause more issues for Tristian. Burdon mentioned something about the Ward, but I never heard the extent of it.
“I’ll do my best to fill in for your partner, Death’s Angel,” Jaxon said, his voice sickly smug. “I won’t miss a single place he filled for you. That’s why you ran off, right? Thought you found better in Williams?”
I counted my exhales.
“I guess I should thank Williams for getting injured, giving me an opportunity to run up and save you guys,” Jaxon continued. Something snapped in me.
“DISMISSED,” Burdon called out.
The Gym broke out in movement. I whirled on the pompous ass I had once wasted my time with. Five fucking moons. I raised my fist, but Damien was there. His arms wrapped around my waist as he pulled me away.
“He isn’t worth it, Sasha,” Damien told me. The rest of the unit converged on the scuffle.
“You didn’t save shit,” I spat at Jaxon.
“I pulled the tarp of deadweight. I came above and helped you,” Jaxon retorted.
Damien’s grip on my arms loosened.
“You came above to play the fucking hero,” I snapped, something murderous raging in my veins.
Jaxon smiled. “Just trying to be what you’re into these days.”
I lunged forward. Isla grabbed on to me, tugging me away. Patrick seized the back of Damien’s shirt.
“Range,” Tristian said, thundering toward Jaxon until his body blocked mine. “Move, Taylor.”
Isla and Patrick released us. The unit moved away as I hung back with Damien.
“You good?” Damien asked, lingering close enough to grab me.
“Did you hear him?” I seethed.
“Hard to ignore, but he’s Jaxhole,” Damien said.
I forced my blood to cool. “Why did Patrick grab you?”
“I told you last night I’ve got your back. If I can’t stop you, I’m joining you. Come on,” Damien said, following after the rest of the unit. Surprise ran through my veins.
He slowed when we passed Unit Twelve. A man with pale blond hair and ice-blue eyes dragged his gaze over Damien. I assumed the iceberg of a man had to be Henderson.
“Cruz,” Henderson said, mid-conversation.
“Henderson.” Damien fell back in line with me again as we passed the mats like nothing had happened.
“You shouldn’t have stopped me,” I bit out.
“And let Burdon get sick pleasure from punishing Hayes? Honestly, I should have stopped you moons ago.”
“You wouldn’t have been able to,” I admitted. It wasn’t pride that laced my tone. It was stickier, harder to swallow.
“Probably not. Still, I should have tried. Friends don’t let friends sleep with assholes,” Damien said.
I fell silent at his statement. “Look, Rums was right. I thanked you for my ankle, but I didn’t thank you for Levi.
” I glanced his way to find his gaze waiting for me.
“So, thank you. We are lucky to have you.”
Unease dripped into my stomach, twisting it into intricate knots.
“Don’t be weird about it,” Damien groaned as we walked past the large dividers separating the rest of the Gym from the range. “You’re one of us.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that.
“Fuck, you’re going to make it weird, aren’t you,” Damien grumbled.
I huffed a breath as we took up the last two open lanes of the firing line. Tristian placed Jaxon and me at opposite ends of the range, giving him no ability to provoke me without the entire unit hearing.
The light went green and safeties went off, but I didn’t shoot right away.
Damien’s declaration of friendship and being one of them sat heavy in my chest. My eyes skated over Unit Seven as they shot, assessing their techniques as my father’s instructions echoed in the recesses of my mind. I didn’t run from it.
Rumi got her call sign for her ability to see everything and for being a good shot.
I understood immediately. She hit every target, though not as accurately as I did.
She was overcompensating for the recoil, making her shots slightly lower than dead center.
Still, out of the group, Tristian was the only one who shot as confidently as she did. Both remained relaxed.
Patrick seemed to be trying the hardest, his body rigid, his pistol held in a death grip that somehow tightened with each pull of the trigger as he held his breath.
For the first time I wondered why it was hard for him to pull the trigger.
Isla seemed utterly uncomfortable. Her aim was fine at best. Ingrid seemed distracted as she hit the targets.
Damien wasn’t tense as he shot but favored his left foot, killing his balance.
He seemed to be in his head the entire time.
No one was a lousy shot, but everyone could use improvement. It was obvious that shooting had taken a back seat to the exploratory aspect of their job. There could be war again, unrest…it needed to be a priority.
“Any day now, Sasha,” Tristian prompted into the ear protection. My eyes found Tristian for a heartbeat. The way he searched my face like he was looking for any hurt left by Jaxon made my skin feel too warm.
“Scared, Death’s Angel?” Jaxon taunted, uncertainty leaking from his words.
I pulled my gaze from Tristian, focusing solely on Jaxon.
Every one of his insults and taunts filled me—finding joy in Levi’s injury, trying to taint my respect and friendship with my real partner, and questioning Unit Seven’s commander.
I turned to the targets, clicked off the safety.
Each shot siphoned my anger until there was only one target left.
I untethered my hatred and shame for myself for ever seeking Jaxon out.
I buried a bullet in that part of me, squarely in the middle of the target.
A perfect shot. I didn’t mourn the loss.
“How, Cadell? Why can you shoot like that?” Patrick asked, awe on his face as I cleared my pistol before holstering it.
My left thumb brushed the handle of my knife, my father’s knife, the EC engraved there barely felt through my shirt.
At the targets, I saw my father running his hands over them, smiling widely at me, giving a thumbs-up.
I couldn’t tell them. I might never be able to talk about him. I did the next best thing.
“I can give lessons to whoever wants them,” I offered, dropping my hand as the image of him disappeared, but not before I swore my father’s ghost eyes crinkled.
A rumble of interest to my offer met me.
My eyes snagged on Tristian; a hint of a smile sat there.
During the remaining time in the range, I went from person to person, gifting my father’s knowledge, distributing little pieces of him.
By the end of the session, Rumi’s shots were higher as she relaxed more into the recoil.
Isla still seemed uncomfortable, but she consistently hit her shots.
Ingrid had just grunted at me; maybe Rumi’s words had wounded her too much.
Patrick was the most enthusiastic, asking endless questions.
By the time I moved on, his shoulders were still tense, but he was at least breathing and not putting the pistol in a choke hold each time he pulled the trigger.
Damien listened to everything I could correct in front of the unit, nodding and joking by the end.
I told Jaxon I had to observe him more, causing him to sweat, his aim increasingly inaccurate.
“Try not to panic,” I grunted at him. I began walking back to my stall when Tristian cleared his throat.
“What about me? Any critiques?” Tristian asked.
I didn’t look his way. “Your aim seems pretty good, Hayes,” I said as I walked on.
“Complacency breeds mediocrity,” Tristian quipped. I stopped, turning back. “I don’t aspire to be mediocre in anything. I would like your advice.”
I swallowed, coming to a stop in front of him. “Show me. Hit below the target on the left,” I instructed.
“How far down?” Tristian asked, lining up his shot.
“Three inches,” I told him, observing his hands and body. His stance and grip were solid.
“Just three?” he asked, clicking off the safety.
“Yeah, three,” I confirmed. Tristian held his breath and fired. From here, it looked almost perfect.