Chapter Eleven
WE GET A late start the next day. The air feels tense. Ryder doesn’t say much, and everyone’s walking on eggshells.
When I woke up on the pull-out bed, pressed between Jake and Damian and cocooned in their warmth, Ryder was already outside, loading the cars.
Wyatt was the next one up after me. We sat at the kitchen table and drank tea while Ryder took down the trip alarms and motion detectors, double-checked the fire pit, and covered the log pile with a tarp.
We didn’t say anything, Wyatt and I, but we exchanged a meaningful look.
Ryder was clearly still wound up. Last night…
well, it didn’t seem like a topic he was ready to address.
It was past ten by the time Jake and Damian were up and dressed. We loaded the last of the perishable food into the cars, Ryder shut down the water system and the generator and did a final sweep of the property, and then we locked the cabin up.
I’m excited to get back to Redwater and to Leathernecks, as if I can simply step into my old life like nothing ever happened, but our time at the cabin has been special, too.
This has been a place of healing for me, a respite I was whisked away to straight out of hell, surrounded by all four men and the complications of that, but it’s meaningful and special, and I don’t know when or if I’ll ever see it again. Leaving is bittersweet.
“Okay.” Jake claps his hands once with all the authority of a camp counsellor. “Let’s mix up the cars. D, you take my car with Wyatt and Max.” He points at his white Civic. “Ryder and I will take your truck, since there’s only room for two.”
No one questions it. I glance at Wyatt, he just gives me a small nod toward the Civic, a silent it’s fine, go.
When we’re bouncing down the dirt track, suspension groaning, Damian explains.
“It’s just easier if Jake’s with him when he’s like this,” he says, hands loose on the wheel, eyes on the truck ahead.
“We’ve learned a lot about how to manage each other,” Wyatt adds. “Damian and Ryder can rile each other up. Jake can calm Ryder down. We’re used to this.”
“He’s being a dick,” Damian mutters.
Wyatt gives him a warning look. “Now you are.”
We bounce onto the main road and the car starts rolling smoothly. There are hours to go. I lean my head against the window, watching the trees blur past in tall copper streaks, and Damian turns on the stereo and some pop music I don’t recognize starts playing.
“Jesus,” Damian intones. “This dude has the worst taste in music.”
But he leaves it playing.
We hit the state line around three o’clock and not long afterwards, Jake and Ryder’s truck signals, taking the off ramp. We follow them to a diner parking lot.
“We should stop to eat,” Ryder says when we all get out of the vehicles.
We pile into the diner and order loads of food. Wyatt picks at his, and then I catch him grimacing, looking pained.
“What’s up?” Ryder asks him.
“It’s no big deal.” He waves it off. “Just feeling tight from sitting up.”
“You wanna lie down in the back seat?” I offer. “We can switch.”
He shakes his head. “I’m good.”
He isn’t. It’s there in the tension around the corners of his eyes and the way he holds himself too still. Ryder sees it too. Our eyes meet over the table, a side conversation in one look.
After we’ve eaten we head outside and Ryder looks up at the heavy clouds rolling in with concern.
“We should stop here,” he says. “Rest overnight and pick up again tomorrow.”
“No,” protests Wyatt. “There’s no time to stop.”
But it seems like everyone’s on the same page except Wyatt.
“Plenty of time,” says Jake. I wonder if he means it. “That’s enough driving for one day. We can arrive tomorrow at lunch if we leave early.”
He pulls out his burner phone and starts searching for local accommodation. Wyatt’s face is pale and drawn. He doesn’t protest much. While Ryder and Jake look at the phone, he goes to sit in the car.
“Is he okay?” I ask Damian.
“He’s fine.” Damian loops an arm around my shoulders, his warm, familiar weight pressing against my side. “You ever punctured a lung, Finch? It’s brutal.”
“Of course not. Why? Have you?”
“No.” His mouth quirks. “But I’ve watched enough idiots try to pretend it’s nothing.”
He lifts his arm away as Jake calls him over to look at the screen.
Ten minutes later, we pull into the Pine Crest Motor Lodge.
It’s a squat strip of rooms hugging the edge of the highway. The neon sign is half-lit, forming the words P NE REST. It’s the kind of place that just looks like it smells like cigarettes.
Jake disappears into the office, and a few minutes later he comes out dangling two diamond-shaped plastic key tags on his fingers.
“Okay.” He points at Ryder. “You and I are in room five.” He tosses the other set of keys to Damian. “Leathernecks crew is in room six. Two of you are going to have to share a bed.”
Ryder’s shoulders stiffen, but he schools his face into indifference. Damian catches the keys and jerks his chin toward our door. We grab our bags out of the cars and head to our respective rooms.
The room smells musty, like dust overlaid with lemon cleaner. Two queen beds with aging brown quilts are pushed up against fake wood-paneled walls, leaving just enough space to walk between the foot of the beds and the door.
But there’s a big TV and a brand-new mini fridge.
We put what’s left of our food in the fridge, drop our bags, and Wyatt and Damian decide that the fairest thing is for them to share one bed and for me to have the other one to myself.
Then we laugh at how thin the walls are, how we can hear the low murmur of Ryder and Jake’s voices next door and even the groan of bed springs as someone tries out the bed.
We take turns in the shower, dress in clean sweats and t-shirts, and turn the television on to a daytime soap opera. We’re laughing at the storyline when Ryder and Jake knock once and then come in, holding up paper bags of takeout food and two bottles of whiskey.
“Hellbent Night!” Damian exclaims enthusiastically, volunteering to go get ice for the whiskey, even though he doesn’t drink.
Between the two rooms we manage to find enough plastic cups for everyone, and Damian comes back with a bucket of ice and a large bottle of ginger ale for himself.
We sit on the two beds facing each other—me, Wyatt, and Damian on one, Jake and Ryder on the other.
We share out the Chinese food and Ryder pours out whiskey for four of us, then we all raise our glasses.
“To Hellbent,” he says. “To the best crew I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with—and living with.
May we make it a whole year this time without any of us nearly dying.
And to Max, who went and made herself our fifth, even if it’s turned everything complicated as hell.
” His eyes flick to mine, burning with warmth, and he adds, “and who belongs with us, without question.”
The way he says I belong, the intensity in his eyes when he looks at me, makes a tender ache pull in my chest. It’s the first time he’s clearly said that I’m not just a problem they’re trying to solve.
We raise our glasses. “All grit, no quit,” the others reply in rough unison, and then we knock our drinks back.
The heat of the whiskey floods through me, blooming out through my chest and cheeks.
I twirl noodles around my chopsticks. I’m not really hungry after our late lunch, but they taste good, and I realize how much I just love this—the five of us eating together, the light chit-chat, just getting to have everyday moments with these men.
By the time our cartons are half-empty and Ryder’s refilling cups, everyone—even Ryder—seems to be in a cheerful, gregarious mood.
“When did you decide to make Hellbent Night an annual celebration?” I ask, holding my cup out for a refill as Ryder passes the bottle around.
“A year after our first mission,” Jake answers, a warm smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “At a bar in Cartagena.” I can see nostalgia pull his gaze somewhere back in time.
Damian huffs a laugh. “Ryder hated the idea—of course.”
Ryder smiles and shakes his head like he’s not going to dignify that.
“I mean, Wyatt thought it was dumb too, to be honest,” Jake says. “In fact, I also had my doubts…”
They all laugh, loose and familiar, remembering specifics only they can see.
“It was the first anniversary of our first night together as a unit,” Jake continues, turning back to me. “The night with the snakes?”
I nod.
“So a year later we were in Cartagena, still in theatre, but on the Colombia hub, living in shitty transit housing near the port. We get a night off, hit this bar just off base, and Damian realizes it’s been exactly one year since the jungle.”
Damian picks up the story. “I said I thought it mattered,” he says with a shrug.
“That night changed everything. We’d trained together for months, but it wasn’t until we were actually thrown into the jungle that we found out what we were willing to do for each other.
How much we could trust each other. It started out as a cheers, and then a suggestion that we remember this night every year, and then—”
“It devolved into a night of risk-taking debauchery,” Wyatt finishes for him. Everyone laughs while I look on in confusion.
“Part of the tradition now is we do dares,” Damian explains.
“So dumb,” says Ryder, shaking his head. But he’s smiling.
“It’s about facing something that scares you, and not backing down.”
“All grit, no quit,” Jake supplements.
“You won’t believe some of the shit these idiots have gotten into,” Wyatt says, pointing his thumb at Jake and Damian. They laugh.
“Well, yeah,” Jake admits. “Wyatt’s had his share of dares. Ryder, too. But Damian and I have definitely done the dumbest shit.”
“Like fucking Lima,” Ryder says, rolling his eyes.