Chapter 15 #2
Joy nuzzled my chest. The heat of her breath kept me anchored to the here and now.
“We knew exactly how to approach. Three of my team took out the men on the first floor. No gunshots fired. Kent and I took out the four men in the outbuildings. It was as my men were heading to the second floor that we found out there was a tunnel underneath the house, and terrorists flooded in. I could still hear the static in my comms, the way my men’s voices cut out when the shots were fired. ”
Joy’s nails dug into my chest, and she whimpered.
When I looked down, I saw two tears sliding down her cheeks, but when I looked into her eyes, I didn’t see pity; instead, there was actual pain for what I’d been through.
She wasn’t trying to tell me everything was going to be okay or some such shit. She just held me tighter.
I continued.
“I heard each of my men die. The man with me was named Kent. He was a sniper. As the terrorists left the house, Kent and I did our best to kill each and every one of them, and we succeeded. As we went into the house to see if our men had survived, Kent was shot by one of the terrorists who was still alive. I still remember the coppery smell of blood in the dirt, the way Kent gasped when the bullet hit him. At the same time, I shot the fucker who’d shot Kent. ”
“Kent was the only one who survived. The rest of my team and the hostage were dead.”
“I had to get Kent to the extraction point as soon as possible. I got one of their vehicles running and was able to meet the helicopter on time.”
“Do you talk to him anymore?”
“Kent? Not since he got out of rehab,” I admitted.
“Does he hold you accountable for what happened?”
“I never asked.”
“But if you had to guess,” Joy persisted. “Does Kent hold you responsible for how the mission went down?”
“No,” I whispered. “He blamed it on the bad intel.”
“So why are you still blaming yourself?”
I didn’t answer.
“Graham, I’ve never been in your situation. I can’t even come close to imagining the horror. But there is one thing I can tell you. Do you feel like listening?”
“You’re kind of on my lap. Do I have a choice?”
She giggled softly. The sound fluttered over my tightly strung nerves.
“You do, and you don’t have to listen. Your choice.
But I’m going for it. I’ll share my story on another day.
But I had to go to counseling to stop blaming myself for something that was totally out of my control. The self-blame was killing me.”
I stiffened and pulled her closer. “What happened?” I asked sharply.
“Today is your story day,” she quietly admonished. “This is what I learned, and I just want you to think about it, okay?”
“Is it going to be psycho-mumbo-jumbo?”
“Absolutely,” she giggled.
“Fine. Spit it out.”
“I found out that I desperately needed to blame myself for what happened in London, even though it wasn't really my fault.”
“Why would you need to do that?”
“Because…” She was quiet for a long moment, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest. “Because if it was my fault, that meant I could have stopped it. And if I could have stopped it, then I could make sure nothing like that ever happened to me again.”
Something shifted in my chest. “So, blaming yourself made you feel safer?”
“Exactly. It was like… if I just beat myself up enough, if I figured out exactly what I did wrong, then I'd be protected. But that's not how the world works.” Her voice got softer. “Sometimes things just happen, Graham. Random, terrible things that we can't control.”
And then it hit me.
Like a fucking avalanche.
All this time. Four years of carrying Todd, Roy, and Hamm on my shoulders, four years of replaying every second of that mission, four years of telling myself I should have known, should have seen it coming, should have saved them… all of it was because I couldn't accept that I was powerless.
That sometimes good men die and there's nothing their team leader can do about it.
That sometimes the intel is wrong, and it's nobody's fault.
That sometimes you can do everything right and still lose everything.
“Oh, fuck.” The words tore out of me like they'd been ripped from my chest. “Oh, fuck, Joy.”
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't see. Years of guilt and self-hatred came crashing down around me, and for the first time since Africa, I felt the weight of it lifting off my shoulders.
“I've been carrying them because I couldn't stand the thought that they just… died. For nothing. Randomly.” My voice broke. “But that's what happened, isn't it? They just died, and it wasn't my fault. I couldn't have saved them.”
The relief was so overwhelming I thought I might pass out.
Looking down at this woman who'd just handed me back pieces of myself I thought were lost forever, I realized Joy wasn't just beautiful or smart or sexy.
She was a fucking miracle worker.
I stood up with Joy in my arms and headed toward the sliding glass door.
“What about the dishes?” she exclaimed as she pointed to the table.
“I’m pretending they’re out of my control.”