18. Macs #2
“Mom!” she screams. “Are you okay? I’m fine. I’m fine,” she says, responding to her mother’s harried shouts.
I stand by the glass and try to tune out Teala’s voice because hearing the pain that resides there makes me feel sick. I can’t do anything about it, and I surely can’t fix it. My hand automatically slides down to caress my weapon. Yes. There’s one thing I can do about this situation.
I stretch my arms over my head as I eye everything taking place in the parking lot.
The lights flicker again and then go out completely.
Teala’s apartment won’t be safe. Not in the city, that high up, with a parking garage.
That won’t do. My house is in a neighborhood that’s too clustered.
Maybe her mom’s place out of the city would be the best place to stash her while I’m gone.
I pull another cell phone from my back pocket.
It’s slow, but I’m able to stay abreast on the attacks as they’re reported.
By this time, the news is about an hour behind.
I see every gruesome target before anyone else knows, and I’m helpless.
“It’s not even over yet,” I whisper. “How in the fuck did we not know?”
“What did they say at work, Macs? Are you leaving?” Teala asks, the phone pressed to her ear, but eyes trained on me .
I nod. “I’ll have to go. The primary focus will be securing the US, but I’m not sure where they’ll send me first.”
I skip the logistics part because she doesn’t want to know what I’ll be doing.
No one does until it’s finished and over.
Then the news eats it up for breakfast and misrepresents everything.
People will write books about this, and they won’t have to make up any details because this is larger than life all by itself.
With my thumb, I wipe at a tear on her cheek, right on top of her beauty mark.
“You should go to your mom’s. I’ll drive you.”
“I need to get my stuff,” she says.
Shaking my head, I squash that thought before it goes any further.
“Mom, I’ll see you soon. Please stay safe,” Teala says. “I love you, too. I love you,” she says, but she’s looking directly into my eyes.
It’s too much. I look away.
“I don’t have anything with me,” she says.
She trusts me so implicitly she doesn’t ask questions.
Maybe she doesn’t want to know, but she doesn’t strike me as a woman who wants to live in the dark for the sake of her feelings.
She’s the type of woman who wants to know everything and stand among the devastation proudly.
I nod to the rack of clothing she has for sale on the wall.
Without another thought, she pulls all of it off and shoves it into a tote bag with her studio logo on it. She goes under her desk and hunts out the zippered cash envelope. “What else?” she asks, meeting my eyes.
“The computer,” I reply, glancing around. My gaze lands on her plants. “And anything you don’t want to die.”
She looks at me. “Then you’re going to stay at my mom’s, too? You’re the one thing I want to keep breathing.” Her eyes turn down in the corner, and it breaks my heart into a million pieces—a feat I would have laughed at if you’d told me it would happen only several months ago.
“I’m too stubborn to die,” I reply, trying to keep my tone light. Death isn’t something anyone wants to talk about, but in my line of work, it’s a reality, and with what’s happening right outside this door, I don’t see a need to beat around the bush. “I’m always safe. Okay?”
She frowns, nods, and throws herself into my arms. It forces me to take a step backward. “My car is fine here?”
She can’t see my face because she’s wrapped around my body, which is good. “Take whatever you want out of it.”
She inhales deeply, and my eyes flutter closed at the intense longing I feel at the simple gesture.
I want to fuck her until there’s no doubt in her mind that I’m coming back for her.
She’s mine. Nothing is taking her from me.
Not my own ego, or what my brothers think of my reformed ways, and definitely not some fucking terrorists who want to steal everything.
No one is touching her. The first thing I thought of when I watched a split screen of the conferences confirming this nightmare was her. I realize what that means.
I swallow down my flailing emotions and whisper, “Let’s go.”
Directing her to stand behind me feels odd. I’m in uniform, which usually gains respect, but right now it puts a target on our backs. As we exit her studio, a woman runs directly into me in a blind frenzy of tears and screams.
“They killed him!” she says, her eyes red-rimmed and wide. “They killed him!” the woman repeats and then runs off.
Teala clutches my back, and I’m made aware she’s sobbing. I can’t afford to comfort her right now. I may never be able to comfort her properly, but I’ll keep her alive.
She told me before we locked the door she didn’t have anything in her car she wanted.
Teala is holding two bags with everything she collected from inside.
I open the passenger side of my car and push her inside a little more roughly than I mean to.
Teala doesn’t say anything else, but she does whimper before I shut the door.
My phone rings when I take my seat behind the wheel. The doors are locked and we’re safely stowed away, so I’m confident enough to answer the call from my friend. “I have her,” I tell Tahoe before he can ask.
Teala peers at me with an indiscernible look of frantic love.
It hits me so hard I take her hand in mine and rub my fingers over her knuckles.
She soothes under my touch, and her bravado returns.
I hand her a water bottle from the back seat and return my hand to hers.
I reply to Tahoe at the appropriate times and try not to belie my true feelings.
This is worse than anyone thought. I end the call.
This is WWIII.
I untangle my hand from hers and drive toward the freeway and try to remember the directions Teala gave me only moments before.
She silences the static-filled radio and looks out the window as we go.
She asks me questions as I drive. Not about anything she knows I can’t answer.
Simple things. Like where will she get food and clean water and what about electricity and normal living things and her bank and money and her apartment.
I make up responses the best I can. She believes every single one, even though they were only things said to placate her.
It’s what I do for my parents, and maybe she knows I’m doing it because she’s seen it firsthand, but she doesn’t remark.
She squeezes my hand tighter and leans her body as close as she can to mine.
Her mother’s road is bare of cars when we arrive forty minutes later. I was right in my assumption. The melee isn’t as severe out here. Or at least I tell myself this as a comfort tool. “You’ll be safe here,” I explain.
It’s not a steel ball, but at least they’ll have each other.
The neighborhood is filled with older houses.
This blessedly means residents have more property and can’t hear their neighbors fucking like animals.
She points to a tall red brick Tudor with a high, wrought iron fence surrounding it on all four sides.
The gate is locked, and there’s a box to buzz.
Viola must be watching for us because the gate opens before I lean over to punch in the code Teala rattled off.
Her shoulders relax and her breathing evens as we roll down the long, black, winding drive. Trees line it on either side, and they meet each other at the top. A tree tunnel. “I like this more and more,” I say, mostly for my own benefit .
I’m nodding when she asks, “Why?”
“There’s only one point of entry, and it’s locked.
It doesn’t mean people can’t get in, but it may deter them.
” I have no idea what to expect, and no one knows the extent of the damage still ongoing.
I pull the car behind a red sedan and throw the shifter into Park.
Sighing, I face her. “I don’t want to leave you here, and I don’t want to tell you what to do. ”
Teala is antsy. I can tell she wants to get inside to her mother. That’s what I need. “I won’t leave here. If you tell me to stay, I will.”
I glare at her. “Not like this morning?”
She looks down at her lap, a small smile playing on her lips. It vanishes quickly. “I had no clue when you told me then. Had you said the world was ending, I probably would have listened,” she explains, using her hands. “Or better yet, demanded you take me with you.”
There it is. She wants what I want. Something I can’t accomplish.
“I wish I could take you with me, Teala. The president is drafting orders as we speak. Martial law will go into effect shortly.” I explain the basics.
About how typically there will be a curfew and checkpoints on roads.
No one will be allowed out at dark, and our military will take over completely.
It’s scary for civilians. Congress has never declared martial law.
My mind whirs in a million different directions as I sort the information.
I help her out of the car and into the house.
Her mother gives her a tearful hello, hugs me, and disappears out of Teala’s room to leave us alone.
My phone rings three times while I’m in the house.
Each time it’s someone telling me more bad news.
I try to keep my composure for Teala’s benefit.
It’s business as usual. I repeat that several times. I close the door behind us.
Teala is pacing back and forth in between her bed and the window covered in white, gauzy curtains. It’s her childhood bedroom, and it looks as if it’s untouched by all the years in between eighteen and now.
“Look at me,” I say, my voice thick.
She stops pacing and spins on her heel. “How is this real life?” she asks.
“I’m practical. I’m going to do the things you told me.
I’ll be okay. I will. That doesn’t mean I can’t wonder what in the ever-loving fuck happened, Macs.
I think God is punishing the world because I’m happy.
Why am I happy right now despite the amount of death?
” She waves her arm to the window. “Don’t leave me here, Macs. Please.”
I swallow hard.
“God has nothing to do with this,” I say. “Bad guys do. Ones that I have to take care of. If I don’t, who will?”
“Someone else can. It’s selfish and rude, and I feel like a heathen even requesting it, but I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t ask. Do you understand? I want you to be with me,” Teala says. “Don’t leave me. Not like this.”
Tears are pouring down her face, and I’m more uncomfortable in this social setting than I have been in a really long time. Explaining won’t do any good when her emotions are so heightened. She wouldn’t understand, and I can’t fault her for that.
“I’m scared, Macs. Don’t leave me.”
I cross to her and take her in my arms. “You’re going to be okay,” I lie .
How can anything possibly be okay after this? Nothing will ever be the same. Catastrophes change people, which in turn shape the world. Instead of spinning in a nice round circle, it might hiccup here and there. It doesn’t go away. It’s a forever change.
“You’ll be safe here,” I amend.
I breathe in her hair. I kiss her neck, her collarbone, and the place where her ear meets her cheek.
The truth is when I leave here, I have no idea when I’ll be back.
If ever. I love my country. I agreed to die for it.
If I only get to feel this for the short time we’ve had, I’ll die a happy man.
She leans back to peer into my eyes—my soul.
Teala’s stopped crying, but her face is wet, and I lose my breath.
Her tears are for me, and that changes everything.
She strips her tank over her head and steps out of her tight pants.
I wasn’t planning on having sex with her, but she’s so sad and it might be the last time, so I don’t fault myself for the delay.
She hits her knees and unfastens my belt and unzips my pants.
“I’ve always wanted to fuck a man in uniform,” Teala says.
She’s hiding from the truth, and I won’t deny her. Hell, I wouldn’t deny her anything I could feasibly give her. It doesn’t scare me anymore.
“And I just want you. Always, only you,” I reply, cradling the sides of her face. She slides my boxer briefs down to my ankles and pushes me to awkwardly walk backward until the back of my legs hits the bed.
Teala crawls up me, her naked body a swath of warm, delicious skin, and I make a point of erasing my mind of everything but her .
It surprises me how easy it is. She is peeling off my skin, separating muscle, coiling around the untouched places reserved for darkness and depravity. Her light is inside me.
That makes her mine.