The entire cabin is filled with the aroma of caribou stew, but I still carry a bowl into the room for good measure. Razor wordlessly lifts an eyebrow as I place it on the nightstand beside our unexpected guest. I stand over her, unmoving, and wait. I’m not sure for what. I guess I had this weird idea that if I brought the food in here, it would rouse her from her sleep. Like some kind of smelling salts or something. I mean, she must be hungry, right? Or is that how that works? I don’t know much about this stuff.

She doesn’t magically stretch her arms over her head and flutter her eyelashes open. There’s no smile that crests her lips as she realizes that there’s a hot meal waiting for her to dig into. None of that. The woman whose name I’m dying to know just lies there. Unchanged. My heart sinks. Every single hour that goes by makes me worry that this will become her permanent state.

I notice some of her long, dark hair is swept over her cheek and without thinking I lean over her and brush it off gingerly with the back of my fingers. I hover there for a moment, watching her closely, the way her eyelashes rest in a long, thick line over the rounds of her cheeks. The way her lips almost look puckered they’re so full and pink. She’s the one who’s sleeping, but I can’t help but wonder if I’m the one dreaming.

Finally, my gaze drifts down to her shoulders and I notice for the first time that she’s in pajamas. I stand tall and turn on my heel. “You changed her clothes?” I don’t mean for it to come out so gruff. I’m not sure why this protective feeling is surging inside me. Razor is the best damned guy I know, there’s nothing in a single cell of my body that questions that, not even for a second. So why am I growling at him?

“I had to check her over for breaks and cuts, and her clothes were full of blood, so I put her in something clean and comfortable.”

“Full of blood?” I whirl back around and search her for signs of an injury I missed. Panic swells up inside me. Why didn’t he tell me she was hurt? Well, more hurt than I already knew.

“Yep, just some minor scrapes. I cleaned them out and bandaged her up. It’s all surface stuff, nothing to worry about,” he reassures me.

Of course, it isn’t serious. That’s exactly why he didn’t come rushing out to report on it. Razor is a professional medic; a few scratches wouldn’t bother him in the least.

“There’s some stew out in the kitchen. I can take over here while you eat,” I offer.

He stands up from the wooden chair he set beside the bed and arches his back as he eases his stiff muscles. “Are you sure? Did you eat already?”

“Nah, I’ll just eat now. That’s for me,” I lie, nodding at the bowl of stew I set down on the table. I don’t need to share that I had some kind of cartoony idea that I would wake this woman with the intoxicating scent of my caribou dinner.

“All right.” He shuffles toward the door. I’ll grab some grub and get cleaned up a bit and then relieve you for the first night shift.” He looks over his shoulder at me and I give a curt nod of understanding.

“Roger,” I agree.

Razor disappears into the kitchen and I ease down into the seat he freed up, grabbing the bowl. Even though I’m sure she can’t hear me, I’m more careful than usual not to slurp at the broth or chew with my mouth open. When it’s just me, Razor, and the dog, manners aren’t a high priority. It’s funny how just the presence of a woman in your space instantly makes you act more civilized. Without them, we’d still be cavemen running around clubbing each other and grunting our conversations.

“I don’t think I’ve introduced myself,” I casually chat to her. Just sitting here eating and staring in silence feels creepy. I want to break the ice and, if there is a slight chance she can hear me, I’m sure she’d feel a lot better knowing whose house she’s in.

“I’m Ace, well, that’s not my birth name or anything.” I chuckle.

Silence.

Even though it doesn’t exactly feel natural to talk to someone who’s unconscious, I can’t stand the quiet. It’s a roaring reminder that this woman might not be okay, and that’s not something I want to think about right now.

“I got the nickname when I joined the SEALs. Everyone has a hard time with training, it’s designed that way for a reason. They want to weed out the weak, until only the best remains. I’m telling you, I struggled harder than just about anyone they’d ever seen. But I never gave up. Not my style. And I sure as shit never complained. Sorry.” I look down at her apologetically for cursing.

Of course, she doesn’t flinch at my blue language. Nothing registers on her face at all and it makes me feel squirmy inside. Will she ever wake up?

I push the thought away and clear my throat. “Anyway, I might have needed to work harder than a lot of the guys to keep up, but I did it. I ran until my lungs burned so bad I thought they might pop, I studied twice as long than the guys for every written test and I beat the crap out of the water when it was time to swim. I still never did great. I always just barely passed, and then something inside me clicked. All of a sudden, I’m leading the pack in the morning run. I’m swimming in full gear like an Olympian. You know, if an Olympic swimmer wore combat boots and fatigues. I even did better on the written stuff. So, they started calling me Ace. ’Cause I was acing everything all of a sudden. But my real ace in the hole was not ever giving myself the option of giving up. That literally never crossed my mind.”

The room is hushed. The eerie lack of noise overwhelms the room. I’m grateful when I hear Razor out in the kitchen preparing some food for Gunnar. I smile as I listen to our massive pup prancing around excitedly for his evening meal. Most nights we just feed him whatever we’re eating, and I know he’s gonna love chomping down on this stew.

“And you shouldn’t give up either,” I continue, my tone softer. I lean toward her, like I’m telling her a secret. “I know I don’t know your story, but you gotta fight to come back. We’ll help you through the hard times, you can trust me on that. It’s kinda what we’re good at.”

I smile and my eyes glaze over with memories from my youth. Making the best of things is how Razor and I roll. Lord knows, we’ve been dealt more than our fair share of hardship. Still, we always manage to overcome. We always find our way. I lean back in my chair and eat a bit more of my supper as I let my mind travel back to a time so long ago it almost feels like a dream.

“So, my real name isn’t Ace. It’s Adam. Back when Razor and I met, we didn’t go by our nicknames. But, after years in the SEALs, we got more used to the names we earned in BUD/s than the ones we were born with. Way back when, I was just Adam. And Razor went by Derek. We were both a couple of lost boys who managed to make the best out of a bad situation. We were in the same foster care home. I grew up with him. I still remember when he showed up there. I was a little punk kid, bitter about my grandfather dying, and when he came to the house I sized him up pretty quick. He had this bear he carried around everywhere with him and, now I’m not proud of this mind you, but, well, I stole it.”

My thoughts swirl back to that time. Back when a kid with a bear was something worth envying. I didn’t have any toys. All I had was the clothes on my back, and half the time they didn’t even fit right. I don’t know what it was. If it was the clear comfort the bear brought him, or just jealousy over a new boy being in my space, but the first chance I saw that the bear was unguarded, I swiped it.

“Razor made a big fuss over it, of course, and the people caring for us, and I use that term loosely, knew I took it. They were gonna beat my ass pretty good, but he stopped them. Told them he thought he left it at school and had made a mistake about it being missing. That stopped them from tanning my hide, and I remember when they cleared out and left us to go to sleep, I started crying.”

My throat feels dry and I swallow the scratchy feeling down with the last mouthful of stew.

“He asked me what I was crying about and I pulled out his bear, I said sorry for stealing it. But the thing was, and this is the thing about Razor to this day, he gave me a smile and told me he knew I took it and he didn’t mind. He made me hang onto it for the night ’cause he thought I needed it more than him that day. He was right.”

I fight the lump in my throat. I’ve never really opened up about this stuff with anyone. Even when the military forced me to see a shrink after what happened on our last deployment, I refused to get into this shit. Of course, Razor knows all about it. He lived those days with me. But we’ve never just sat and reminisced about those times. I think once we escaped foster care, neither of us wanted to look back.

“Anyway, after that night we took turns sleeping with the bear. If I had a bad day, Razor handed him off to me. And when he was overwhelmed, the bear was his. It was a good system. Probably helped us through things more than we’d like to admit.” I smile.

A memory bubbles up to the surface of my brain and pops, releasing the vibrant details behind my eyes and making me laugh.

“Although, let me tell you, the time that Razor and I decided we’d had enough of our paper route and we ditched about three hundred papers behind an old abandoned house, that bear didn’t do nothing to help us then.” I shake my head. “We got our asses beat raw for that one, but at least we got rid of the stupid job. Our foster parents forced us to hand over the measly pay we earned to them anyway, so it just kinda fucked them over.” I smirk, still sort of proud of the small rebellion we led.

“Yeah, that was our biggest badass move back then, huh?” Razor’s voice cuts through the darkness and my head snaps up. He stands in the doorway with his arms folded over his chest and his head cocked to the side. Even through the shadows, I can see he shares the same smile.

“I think the writing was on the wall then, you know, about how we’d turn out.” I laugh dryly.

“I think you’re right,” he agrees and walks into the room. “Hey, so I can take the first night shift if you want to catch some shut-eye,” he offers.

I didn’t expect myself to feel reluctant to go. I guess just talking to this woman made me feel close to her. Connected. I know it’s stupid, she can’t even hear me. Still, I drag my feet as I make my way out of the room.

“Sure, well, holler if you need me. Otherwise, I’ll come in to take over in three hours.” I glance back into the room, longing to sit in the seat next to the bed.

“You got it.” Razor settles in and I sigh. Just like when we were kids and he let me borrow his bear, he knows what’s best for me. I shuffle into my room and plop down onto the bed face first, the exhaustion hits me like a ton of bricks. He always knows. My thoughts wander and mix up in my head. Fragments of my life play out like a movie in my mind, my breathing deepens and I fall into a dreamless sleep.