Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
NATE
“What’s their ETA?” I glanced up from the medical journal and leaned back in my desk chair, directing my question to my intern, Royce Nuri. I appeared more casual than I felt.
“Twenty minutes, sir.”
Ethan, you son of a bitch, you made it.
It wasn’t like me to stress over missions. But his “last letter” tucked in my cabinet in my barrack had gotten to me. Ethan never did shit like that. His move spooked me.
Royce’s gaze flicked to the exit before returning to me, face devoid of emotion. He was hard to read, but he would make one hell of a surgeon someday. When he assisted in surgery, I always felt proud. He came to our unit to fill in as a translator, but I advocated for him to stay. He was placed under my direction.
The hum of the fighter jet sounded in the distance, and I breathed a little easier. Once the birds land, I’d be able to relax. This eeriness clawed its way down my spine when I woke up. I blamed Ethan and his stupid letter. The dumbass. He should’ve known better.
I pushed from the chair, ready to head out and meet my brothers. Whether or not the upper brass deemed the mission a success was irrelevant. There weren’t any wounded coming in, so the team’s effort was a success in my eyes .
“Let’s go join them.” I grabbed my doctor’s kit for a “just in case moment” and pushed past Royce.
“Go ahead, Doc. I’ll be right there.”
I glanced over my shoulder. Royce hadn’t moved. He stood ramrod straight with sweat beads pooling on his forehead. “You feeling okay?”
“I’m fine.” His mouth opened and closed before looking directly at me. “Thanks for giving me this chance.”
“You’re going to make a good doctor.” His haunted expression signaled alarm bells, but I filed them away to deal with later. I needed to review his workload and see how stressful it was. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
Little did I know what later had in store for us.
I wake with a start, my breaths a rapid succession of pants as a cold sweat breaks across my torso. The early morning sun filters through the Venetian blinds, casting shadows around the naturally bright bedroom. But pale blue walls and floral print aren’t what I visualize. No, all I see is sandy soil stained red. I squeeze my eyes shut to expel the images and shift my focus to my breathing. The thing the therapist reminded me to do in this type of situation is to get my breathing under control. Once I take charge of my breathing, then I can relax. So that’s what I do. I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling until I regain control of my body.
Shit.
The last thing I want is to become another post-traumatic stress disorder statistic. That can’t happen to me. My role is to recognize the symptoms and direct patients to a psychologist. I’m not supposed to be on the receiving end of treatment.
I force myself to sit on the edge of the bed and scrub my hand along my face.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Ethan.”
Guilt slams into me from saying his name out loud. Voicing his name makes his death more real. More final. I hate it. If I could reverse roles, I would switch in a heartbeat. It should be me left behind and Ethan here with Mackenzie and their two boys. Whoever said life isn’t fair knew what the fuck they were talking about.
I flip the bedside table lamp switch on and grab his letter off the table. Taking the palm of my hand, I iron the well-worn creases flat and proceed to read.
Nate,
Damn, this letter is harder to write than I thought. I’ve started and stopped so many times. I guess no one wants to stare death in the eyes and think about what happens after. That sort of shit thinking gets people killed. But relax and stop cursing. Trust me, I hear you. Every. Damn. Word. So don’t pretend you didn’t chastise me when you found this letter. And yeah, I know, it’s bad juju to write these stupid things. You’re probably wondering why mess with fate, then. Well, brother, I have to be honest. I don’t have a good feeling this time. I know the mission is supposed to be swift. In and out. There shouldn’t be a reason to write one damn word. And you’re right. I shouldn’t press my luck. But as you say, I’m a dumb motherfucker.
Don’t worry. I’ll leave out the mushy shit and spare you the tears. I only demand is for you to humor me and follow through with my wish. First, don’t beat yourself up. I know you tried like hell to save my sorry ass. Do not be swallowed by guilt. Shit happens on the field. It’s what I signed up for.
Now that the sentimental shit is out of the way, let’s get to the most important favor. Or should I say demand? You know how insistent I am once my mind is set. Being dead won’t change that. And since I’m dead, you’ll have to listen to me. Yes, I’m playing the dead card because you won’t like my stipulation.
You’re going to have to lie . . .
I stop reading and refold the paper before tossing it on the nightstand. I push off the bed and grab my running clothes. “I’m doing this for you, Ethan, since I owe you one. But you’re right. As soon as I’m sure she’s good, I’m out of here.”
My stomach tightens at that admission. Cue in the new wave of guilt followed by anger. But this annoyance isn’t derived from my doings for once.
The entire time I knew Ethan, he complained about being trapped. Ironically, he wasn’t talking about the army. He meant his family dynamic. After a long night of him fighting off insurgents while I treated the wounded, I asked him why he chose to be a part of the Ranger Regiment when he had a wife and two children back home. He told me he never asked for that life. Mackenzie had gotten pregnant, and he felt he had to do the right thing: marry her. But he hated that lifestyle. He made me believe she was this awful person.
The asshole.
Or should I say, dumb motherfucker?
How could he say those things about her? Or better yet, why wouldn’t he want to be with her? It makes no sense. From what little I’ve seen, Mackenzie is perfect. Not only is she knockdown gorgeous, but she has a little sass to her despite her shitty circumstances. But he got one thing right—she’s strong.
My feet pound against the pavement. I’m nothing but a hypocrite. Here I stand judging him while it’s me who took him away from her. It’s my fault I left her a widow and those kids fatherless. I need to stay the fuck away and not think about those green eyes boring into my soul. She looked at me, and I was ready to confess everything I knew. But I don’t want to leave before making sure she’s okay. Back in Afghanistan, I swore to protect her and the kids. It’s my duty. My honor. My last tribute to my fallen brother. But I have a feeling Ethan got another thing right about Mackenzie. She’ll definitely push me away if she finds out who I am.
No, there’s no point in upsetting her like that. No good can come of it. I can keep my hormones in check. It won’t be hard. She’s off-limits. I’m too old and too disciplined to fall for her. And my life is all about structure, even before the government had owned my ass.
When I come back from my morning run, I grab a shower. Mackenzie is settling well in Naperville. She has a job. Couple that with her military payoff, and her financials should be set. Overall, I’d say she’s in good shape. I’ll be able to pull out of town by evening. Better yet, by mid-afternoon, if the air conditioner part gets delivered. The mechanic should have my truck done today.
But after I get dressed, I don’t pack any of my clothes and toiletries. Instead, I find my feet stepping into Brewed Awakening. I’ll do one last check on her to test my theory that she’s okay.