Chapter Eleven

Gavin

Pulling out my drill, I check beside me for Noah before I start it up, to make sure he’s at a safe distance. He’s been hounding me all day to help, but halfway through the project, he got bored, as he often does. I spot him in the corner of the backyard, kicking around his soccer ball. After securing the last screw, I hang the chain before testing out the seat. It’s perfect, and I can’t help but feel a sense of pride in knowing that when Katy gets home, she’ll finally have her own little piece of heaven, where she’ll sip her strawberry wine and admire her garden. Katy cringed when she told me what she wanted for her birthday—said it made her feel like an old lady to want a porch swing. I spent that night reminding her that she was nowhere near old. The next morning, I ordered it online. That was two weeks before she deployed.

Months have passed since we said our goodbyes, and I can’t help my need to please her, even when she isn’t here. We have so much to look forward to. The last six years, aside from my own deployment, have been heaven on earth, but I’ve been pacing myself with her because of our age difference. Her dreams matter to me, and while I’ve had the luxury of reaching my career goals, Katy was still a grunt when we met. Now, and for the first time in our marriage, I feel like we’ve hit a sweet spot where our dreams are the same—our life together, our family, another baby.

My cell phone rattles in my pocket while I bark at Noah to get back from the part of the fence that needs repairing. He moves away without protest. Aside from a few meltdowns, he’s been nothing short of perfect since Katy left.

I glance down at the screen and my whole body tenses as I slide my finger to answer.

“Walsh.”

“Gavin, it’s Roger.”

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, halting the swing and fixing my gaze on our son. He is the spitting image of her. The most selfish of thoughts passes through my head and heart in this instant: I don’t want a living reminder of her; I want her. I can’t do this without her.

Please God, if you give a shit about me, don’t make me.

Bracing myself for the worst, I manage to mutter out the words.

“Tell me.”

“She’s missing.”

My relief is short-lived because the news isn’t much better. “How the fuck is that possible? She’s on base.”

“She went on an aid mission. They found the Humvees yesterday.”

“What’s the Humvee’s condition?”

“Blowed-up.” IED.

“Ambush?” I gather, and his silence confirms as much. “On a fucking aid mission, whose bright idea was this?”

“It was routine. Two trucks left in pairs of fours. Five bodies accounted for.”

“Who is with her?”

“You know I can’t disclose any more than I have.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Every word he speaks has me sinking deeper into my seat. Noah kicks the ball and looks up at me to make sure I’m watching—that I’m proud. Deep blue eyes search mine as he reads my expression, and I feign a smile, hoping he believes it. All I want is to tell him I’m proud, but the sight of him blurs as I clear my throat.

“They’ve got birds up.”

“Who took her?”

Silence.

“Roger,” I grit out. “Who?”

“We think it might be militant extremists because of the type of blow-up.”

“Militia?” I pace the porch and turn my back to Noah. “Jesus. Fuck!”

“We’ve got eyes everywhere. Try and sit tight, and I’ll get back to you when I know more.”

“Roger—”

“I’ll keep you updated.”

“Roger!”

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know, Gavin. I’ll keep you updated.”

The line goes silent, and I run a hand over my jaw as I try and will myself to calm down. Noah watches me silently from the grass.

“Daddy, why are you cussing?”

“Sorry about that.” Cool sweat beads at my forehead. They’ve got her. They’ve got my wife. Turning my head briefly, I suck in a breath trying to reign in my emotions before I address my son. Keep it together, Gavin. “Hey, buddy, want to go spend the night with Mikey?”

He shakes his head.

“I bet he really misses you. Let’s pack you a bag.”

Noah stomps up the steps, his big blue eyes solemn, and I can see the protest on his tongue, but it doesn’t make it past his lips. He’s intuitive and can read my every mood, which makes me both proud and fearful that I could fuck this up by being the backbreaking bastard to him that my father was to me. His ability to scope feelings will make him the best kind of human, like his mother.

Closing my eyes, I try to tamp down the reaction still threatening. She’s a fighter, and I need to believe she’s capable of surviving this. It’s the only way I’m going to make it through.

All she wanted was to help wounded soldiers, to be her father’s daughter, and to set an example for our son.

Clearing my throat again, I nod toward the back door. Words escape me as he removes his grass-covered sneakers just as a cool breeze sweeps over the porch. Looking back at the swing, an eerie feeling envelops me, and for a split second the thought that she’ll never see it shakes me to my core.

“Come on buddy, let’s get you packed.”

Noah sits quietly in the back seat playing on his tablet as I drive toward his best friend’s house. It’s pouring down rain, and I’m doing everything I can to concentrate on driving and failing miserably. Thoughts racing, I’m choking on fear that refuses to let up. Extremists are ruthless, and far more radical than the Iraqi army. Katy’s never been in combat; she’s never been at the opposite end of a rifle. She served her first term stateside and got activated shortly after she re-enlisted.

She can’t handle this.

She won’t handle this.

Skidding to a stop at a sign I never miss, I check on Noah in the rearview. He glances up at me and rolls his eyes. “Careful, Captain.”

Pain radiates through my chest at the imitation of his mother’s favorite way of scolding me. Running my hands through my hair, I check the dash clock. Ten more minutes of driving and I’ll be free to react. Inside I know I should be clinging to my son for comfort, to draw strength, but the reality is, I can’t handle it myself. I’m hemorrhaging, and I don’t want him anywhere around when it breaches the surface.

Minutes later, I pull over into an abandoned church parking lot, making an excuse to Noah about a tire I need to check out.

I welcome the rain on my skin as it quickly soaks through my clothes. Air is scarce as I bend down to shield myself from innocent eyes. I’m failing him—I’m failing them both. Katy would be pissed if she knew just how much I was letting the fear win.

She is my mystery, my question, and answer, my wife, my reason for wanting a forever. From the minute she approached me at that crowded bar, I knew half of that truth.

“Excuse me. I was just wondering, on a scale from one to America, how free are you tonight?”

Stifling my grin, I take a sip of my beer and turn on my stool to face her, unprepared for what I see. She’s the quintessential American beauty: long, curly blonde hair, blue eyes, full lips, perfect tits, and subtle curves.

“Wo bist du hergekommen?” Where did you come from, beautiful?

She leans in, her face scrunched up in confusion. “I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.” She glares at the woman sitting at the cocktail table behind her, then looks back at me. “Wait, you’re bullshitting me, right?”

“Sprichst du Deutsch?” Do you speak German?

“I’m sorry, I think I had you confused with someone else.”

I nod, trying to maintain a steady face. “Have a good night, Soldier.”

Cheeks flaming, she pauses in her retreat and turns to me with a beaming smile. “Jesus, I feel like a fool.”

“With a line like that, you should.”

“Would it have killed you to be flattered?”

I shake my head, taking another sip of my beer. “Would it have killed you to use a little more imagination?”

“You’re going to make me work for it, huh?”

I swallow as she purses her beautiful lips. I have no business egging her on. This woman obviously has no clue who I am.

“Why not?” I shrug. “I’m sure you’ve done your fair share of making them sweat.”

“Wow.” She motions to the bartender, who doesn’t even have to ask her order, setting her shot and beer down in front of her. She throws back the shot and then sips from her beer before taking a deep breath and turning back toward me with a sly grin.

“Baby, if you were words on a page, you’d be what they call fine print.”

I shake my head, biting back a smile.

“Tough crowd.” She clears her throat, her eyes sliding down my frame as she speaks.

“Damn, did you sit in a pile of sugar? ’Cause you have a pretty sweet ass.”

Standing, I pull out my wallet, and she lets out a hard breath. “You’re kidding, right? You’re about to cost me a hundred bucks.”

“Sorry, I’m holding out for more.”

This time she bursts into laughter as she eyes me.

“Well, I certainly hope she has better game than me, or that you remove that stick from your ass before she approaches you.”

She lays a twenty on the bar and speaks to the bartender. “His beer is on me.”

When she moves to join her friend, I say five words that change my life. “Do you want to dance?”