Chapter 18 #3
She was right—again. I know they would. Shit, they’ve all had their own struggles with PTSD, whether it’s themselves, or the person they love.
Eden struggled with flashbacks for months after her attacker was caught.
Noelle went to counseling after she was kidnapped by that sick fuck.
And Indy and Tyler… of course they’d get it.
It’s never been because I didn’t think my friends would understand. I kept my shit a secret because I was ashamed. Because, in my screwed up head, I thought I was a failure.
But how can I tell Yara she’s not a failure for leaving the Army when I don’t give myself the same grace?
Maybe I’ll tell my team about it when we get back. Ask for advice. Let them know that sometimes I struggle with anxiety, but it doesn’t mean I still can’t do my job.
I can already imagine the reactions I’d get.
Indy would punch me with his prosthetic and tell me I’m being ridiculous, that of course I can do my job.
Tyler would suggest alternative treatments like yoga and meditation.
Rafe would get all intense and tell me he has my six, anytime I need.
And Webb would ask if I want to play World of Warcraft with him, since it helped him when he was dealing with his own shit.
Yes, I decide. I should tell them. It’s been long enough.
“Five heat signatures,” Tyler announces. “One moving, four stationary.”
“That’s good,” Indy says. “Assuming one of them is Malik, that’s only four to our seven.”
“We should be able to have them neutralized in under a minute,” Trigger adds. “Two, if we’re slow. Then we’ll grab Malik and get the fuck out of there.”
“How far to the Armenian border?” Grover asks. That’s where we’re headed after rescuing Malik, and from there, the nearest airport to fly back to the States. Assuming Malik doesn’t need emergency medical care, in which case, we’ll find a local doctor we can pay off to provide services.
“About fifteen hours,” Tyler replies. It’s a long drive, but trying to coordinate air transport would be far too risky. Not when there might be people on the lookout for Malik, determined to get him back.
That leads to the question, why did they fake Malik’s death to start with?
Did they think they could get confidential intel out of him, like they tried to do with Yara?
Were they afraid the Army would send in a team to rescue him, and they didn’t want to take the chance?
Or did they just do it because they could?
Maybe Malik can tell us. Or maybe we’ll never know. At the end of the day, the most important part is getting Yara and Saint’s teammate back home.
Rafe touches his earpiece. “Saint. You good? We’re about to move.”
A second later, Saint replies, “Good here. Everything’s quiet.” He pauses. “Be careful in there.”
Tyler puts the thermal camera away and reaches for his weapon. But midway there, he stops. Then he turns to Yara. He touches her arm. “Tink.”
She turns to him. “What?”
He hesitates. “I just wanted to say… thanks.”
“Thanks?”
He bends down to rap on his prosthetic leg. “For my new leg. Before, I would have been scared to come on an op like this. I would have been worried that I’d slow down the team. But now…” He gives her a quick, one-armed hug. “I feel more like my old self again.”
Because that was Yara’s secret project, the one she’s been working on for over a year.
She made a new, super-high-tech prosthetic for Tyler that’s better than anything else on the market—waterproof to seventeen meters, reinforced titanium, enhanced nerve stimulation, hidden storage for a custom blade, and a host of other features I can’t even remember.
“It looks like something Ironman would use,” Indy commented admiringly the first time he saw it. “Really badass. Nice job, Tink.”
“I know you didn’t ask me to make it,” Yara explained to Tyler. “I hope you aren’t upset that I did. I just thought… I could make something special for you.”
At first, I wasn’t sure if Tyler was upset by it.
He just kept staring at the prosthetic, sitting there in the large box Yara stored it in.
Almost a minute passed before he looked back up, and when he did, there were tears in his eyes.
“It’s amazing,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I love it.”
Seven days later, he’s wearing his new prosthetic, looking more confident than I’ve seen him in years. And I’m so fucking proud of Yara for making him such an incredible gift.
She’s fucking incredible.
“I’m so glad you like it,” Yara replies quietly, her voice drawing me back to the present.
Though we’re in the thick of danger, about to storm a house guarded by armed men in hopes of rescuing our brother in arms, we all fall still and silent for a moment, just appreciating what we have.
Friendship. Family. Loyalty. Love.
“Okay.” Rafe breaks the silence. His voice comes in stereo, through our comms and in person. “Let’s go.”
We all nod.
Muscles tense.
Yara’s finger brushes mine.
And shit, do I hope it’s not the last time.
“On my signal,” Rafe says.
His hand rises.
My pulse jumps.
It’s time.
Time to rescue Malik. Time to bring Yara’s brother home. And once we do, I’m not fucking around anymore. I’m telling her I love her.