Chapter 32 #2
My heart broke at the sheer panic shining in Marc’s eyes, and it took absolutely every ounce of training I’d ever had in my life not to rush to him.
I took a ragged breath and slowly stepped toward him, leaving the bedding behind.
As for the water and towel, I’d come back for them once I knew he was okay.
Right now my priority was making sure Marc didn’t hurt himself.
“Marc, do you know where you are?” I asked softly, inching closer.
His gaze darted to me, but all he did was shake his head.
“That’s okay. I want you to know you’re safe.”
He shook his head more emphatically and shrank against the wall. To my dismay, there was a loud noise outside, and he jolted as if shocked, his gaze swinging to the window in alarm. I took the opportunity to get a little closer, then, to my surprise, he spoke in a hushed voice.
“They took the others. I don’t know where. But… but I can hear them scream.” The light from the kitchen caught on a tear as it tracked down his face. He swallowed and glanced at me as I got close enough to reach out and touch him if I really tried. “They scream so loud.”
“You’re safe now,” I repeated.”
He looked away. “They want me to believe that. I know they’re lying. Just like I know Wendy was lying when she said this wasn’t my fault. That was before they took her. I don’t think she’s coming back.”
Private First Class Wendy Everett. We’d only been able to identify her because of what remained of her uniform.
She was one I hadn’t saved. I swallowed past the lump in my throat.
“Specialist Weathers, do you mind if I sit here?” I gestured to the spot on the floor a couple of feet in front of him.
He studied me for a moment before nodding and looking away.
“I’m going to die here. We’re all going to die here, and it’s my fault. I’m not even supposed to be here. I’m supposed to be in Alabama taking care of my aunt. Instead, she’s going to die all alone, and so are we, all thanks to me.” He buried his head in his arms and sobbed softly.
Oh God, he’d been carrying this guilt around all this time?
Why hadn’t his CO made him undergo counseling?
That shit was supposed to be mandatory. It sure as fuck had been when my unit had gotten blown to hell.
I sighed as I realized the answer was the same as it always was: he probably had gone to the requisite sessions, said whatever he needed to in order to get through them, and because the government didn’t actually give a damn about the mental health of its cannon fodder, they happily signed off and sent him right back out again.
After all, wasn’t that exactly what I’d done?
“Marc—”
He looked at me sharply. “How do you know my name?”
I chanced a soft smile. “Because I came here for you.”
“You did?”
“Sure did. Your name is Marc Weathers. You’re an incredibly gifted florist, and you do not die in a cave in the middle of a desert.”
“I don’t?” He uncurled slightly.
I shook my head. “No, baby boy. You come out the other side with most of your team, you finish your contract, then return to Fairhope.”
He perked up. “My great aunt?”
“Aunt Petunia is healthy as a horse and still causing all kinds of trouble,” I added with a grin. He noticeably relaxed. “Do you feel safe enough to come out of the corner?” I held out my hand tentatively.
He tilted his head as he looked at it. “Freckles. So many freckles.” His gaze darted to my face. “I remember you. Sergeant James Daniel Gallagher.” His brow furrowed in confusion. “You… you came for me.”
“I did. Please come out of the corner, Marc.”
Slowly, his gaze darting around as if he expected a trap, he peeled himself away from the wall and shuffled closer. He stopped less than a foot away and stared at my face. “I wouldn’t let anyone come near me, but… I trusted you. You got me out. You saved me.”
Not trusting myself to speak, I nodded. As if this was the signal he’d been waiting for, he closed the distance, crawling into my lap and wrapping his arms around my neck much like he had when I’d first pulled him out of that god-awful place.
I cautiously wrapped my arms around him, relieved to find that he was no longer shaking and that his breathing had returned to normal.
He burrowed his face into the side of my neck and sighed, “I miss home.”
I held him tighter. “You are home, baby boy.” Tears pricked the back of my eyes, and I fought to keep them from falling.
In a stroke of inspiration, I fished my phone out of my pocket and looked up “bayou sounds” in my music app.
Once I found a decent playlist, I adjusted the volume up so that it was just loud enough to be heard without being intrusive, set it aside, and resumed holding Marc with both arms.
Gradually, the dulcet sounds of nature—of home—that we’d been appreciating not two hours ago worked their magic, and his body relaxed.
Relieved beyond words that he’d fallen asleep, I began the arduous task of getting him into bed.
Several times, I worried I’d bungled the whole endeavor and should have sucked it up and stayed on the floor, but eventually I got him there.
I replaced the pillows and comforter, then tucked him in after carefully removing his shoes and jeans.
I also set the water on his nightstand within easy reach, in case he woke up thirsty, and opted to leave my phone playing bayou sounds.
But once everything was sorted, I couldn’t bring myself to leave, not yet.
I brushed the hair back from his face, which was now the smooth of peaceful slumber. Then, unable to help myself, I leaned down to place a kiss on his forehead and rubbed my thumb over it. “Sleep well, baby boy.”
“Mm,” he mumbled, shifting in his sleep. I froze, worried that after everything, this small move was the thing to wake him up. Instead, he rolled over onto his side, curling around a pillow. “G’night, James.” He took a deep breath as he settled into place and let out on a sigh, “My hero.”