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It was pure agony. Much worse than waiting weeks, or months or even a year.
In those cases, you prepped yourself ahead of time. You knew your partner was coming home, that they were only on assignment. That even though the assignment might be dangerous, the separation was temporary.
But this…
This wasn’t just an assignment, it was a full-scale assault. An all or nothing gambit that would result in a win or a loss… but nothing in between.
Kyle and I sat in one of the command tents, listening to the radio. Trying to make sense of what was going on, even through the crackle of nothing but static.
“The target installation was abandoned in the 90’s,” said the man seated on our right. Two gut-churning cups of coffee ago I’d learned he was Patrick Harewood, Di Spatia’s second in command.
“How many are we dealing with again?” asked Kyle.
“Not too many,” replied Harewood. “But definitely more than a handful. Problem is they’re dug in. There’s a nexus of tunnels running beneath the structure, although some of those caved in during—”
“What time should we expect them back,” Kyle interrupted. He was obviously on edge, and not the least bit interested in a history lesson. Luckily, Harewood let him cut through the bullshit.
“Ninety minutes to two hours,” he said. “Either way, we’re committed.”
Two. Hours.
I was pacing back and forth, glancing now and then at the long table spread out with numerous maps. They weren’t at all like the construction blueprints I’d grown familiar with. Other than the way they were sized and folded.
Home. It wasn’t something I’d thought about at all, but now suddenly I found myself wondering. How was Sarge? Cindy? My businesses? What the hell was going on on the other side of the world?
It seemed trivial, to think of these things. Yet standing there, listening to the static, watching Kyle’s eyes sweep the tent for the hundredth time? Thinking about all that stuff was a welcome distraction.
Time dragged on, and soldiers began milling in and out of the command tent. Other men in fatigues, other members of Di Spatia. I wondered why they hadn’t gone. Why there hadn’t been more room on the chopper. Why there hadn’t been two choppers, or three, or—
CRACKKKKK!
A short burst of static erupted from the bigger of three radios. It was followed by voices. Shouting. A pair of reverberating booms came through, one after the other. They were sounds that could’ve been explosions, but just as easily could’ve been something else.
Then… static.
“W—What was all that?”
Patrick Harewood didn’t move. Kyle remained utterly motionless, his gaze fixed on the screen of what looked to be a thick, portable laptop.
I might just as well be speaking to the deaf.
I thought about how crazy it all was; how just a few short years ago I’d been happy and carefree — thrilled at meeting some handsome, sexy soldier at what I thought was a random bar.
And then my whole world changed in the blink of an eye.
My life, my loves, my career… everything in my life got caught in the same crazy whirlwind. The same whirlwind that landed me where I was now, clear on the other side of the planet, in love with four incredible men who wanted to spend the rest of their lives with me.
If only they came back…
Another static burst, another explosion. Then, suddenly we heard it: the barking, unmistakably staccato sound of rapid gunfire.
I glanced up at Kyle, terrified. Lights flashed across his face — reflections of the screen he and Harewood and four other members of Di Spatia were hunched over. I began hurrying over, dying to see. Needing to see…
“Sammara,” he said sternly. The way he said my name stopped me dead in my tracks. His eyes were cold. “Don’t.”
I wanted to obey. I also wanted to tell him to screw off. I wanted to grab the laptop or the screen or whatever the fuck it was and yank it out of their hands, just pull it as hard as I could and flip it toward me and—
I can’t! I just can’t!
