Chapter 1
CHAPTER
ONE
JESSICA
Operating base in Iraq.
The desert wind howls through the triage tent’s fraying seams, rattling the canvas like distant gunfire. Sweat trickles down my spine as I press the gauze onto the deep wound in a soldier’s thigh. Blood and antiseptic hang thick in the air—metallic, pungent, real.
Outside, mortars boom, close enough to tremble beneath my boots, but far enough away to not cause any mishaps.
“Pressure,” I whisper. “You still with me, Private?” I ask louder.
“Yes, ma’am.”
The tent flap snaps open with a jolt.
“Take a seat,” I call over my shoulder, still focusing on the bleeding.
“I’m not here for me. I came to check on my soldier,” said a voice so deep and husky. Like gravel wrapped in velvet.
A chill prickles down my spine. I don’t look up.
“He’ll be fine,” I reply curtly. “Once I stop the bleeding.”
Private Torres gives a weak thumbs-up. “All good, Captain.”
I work in silence and stitch him up. When I finish I hand him five days worth of antibiotics, instructions, and crutches to help him keep the weight off that leg for at least a week.
Once I finish with Torres, I finally glance at the man still standing near the entrance, kevlar tucked under his arm. I see a thin gash slicing near his temple.
“Sit,” I order.
“I’m good.”
“It wasn’t a request.”
He drops into the chair with a sigh, posture still radiating command.
“Name?”
“Captain Noah Reyes.”
His accent sounds like he’s from Brooklyn with all its bite. The voice, again, electric in ways I’d rather ignore.
I stand over him. “Well Captain, tell me what happened?”
“Bit of shrapnel. Nothing surgical.” His smirk hints at something like deflection maybe.
“That’s not your call to make.” I part his black hair and dab antiseptic over the wound. “Being tough doesn’t mean being reckless.”
“I’m not reckless. I am tough.”
“Hmm.”
The cut is shallow. I use glue, cover it, and step back.
“You’ll live,” I mutter.
“Told you,” he says, that smirk still lingering.
As he stands to leave, I clock the limp.
“What’s wrong with your leg?”
“Terrain was rough. Slipped a few times. It’ll pass, ma’am.”
I let it go, but it sits heavy in my chest. Soldiers rarely acknowledge pain unless it’s life-threatening. And sometimes, not even then.
When the tent clears, I scrub everything down and start writing my notes, trying to banish lingering impressions of Captain Reyes, especially his eyes, dark and haunted.
The flap peels open again. Captain Rachel Kim steps in, cradling two steaming cups.
“You look like hell,” she says sweetly.
“Feel like it too.”
She hands me one of the cups. It smells like regret and half-roasted beans, but caffeine is caffeine.
“We’ve got maybe five minutes of quiet before all hell breaks loose again,” she says.
I take a sip. “Might be the worst coffee I’ve ever had.”
She grins. “Probably, but at least it’s something.”
Rachel and I go back nearly two decades, since Austin middle school and shared bike rides. Her parents and mine were practically the same story—patriotism and duty stitched into everything.
Both of our fathers served, mine was the Marine Corp and hers was the Army. Our mothers were nurses together at the same hospital and became best friends.
She and I joined the Army together after college, and became combat medics. I lost my brother to an IED convoy strike two months before enlistment.
When the Chaplain and Casualty Officer showed up at the house, I was hit with grief and guilt, knowing I could have probably saved him had I been there. It was then I had made up my mind to enlist and save as many soldiers as I could.
Rachel joined without blinking. Whether it was for me or something else, she won’t say. But she’s stuck beside me ever since, keeping me grounded, making me laugh when I forget how.
I stare into the swill in my cup and try not to think about Reyes.
Rachel doesn’t help. “So...did you see that hunk of a Captain?”
I nearly snort coffee through my nose.
“What is wrong with you?” I cough.
“Oh, so you did notice him,” she teases. “I’ve been talking to you for ten minutes and only now get a reaction when I said ‘Captain.’”
“I noticed his head wound. I treated it. That’s all.”
“Mmhmm.” She grins. “Bet he noticed you too.”
I roll my eyes and mumble, “Doubtful.”