Chapter Eighteen

Briggs

Soft, muffled cries fill my ears, and it takes me a moment to remember where I am, but the smells of urine and death are a swift reminder. The bunker.

I try to lift my head—to open my eyes—but my body won’t cooperate. The pain is unbearable. Scottie’s crying. She’s crying for me, and there isn’t a damned thing I can do to comfort her.

She’s slumped against the wall, face bloodied and eyes closed. She’s lucid as she calls for me, and I’m physically unable to do a thing to let her know that I’m alive. I listen to this go on for hours until I finally pass out.

A stream of sunlight lights our cave. It’s morning. Another morning in hell, but the pain that I feel in every cell of my being lets me know that I am still very much alive.

Peering across the room, I find Scottie asleep in a familiar position, her head resting on bent knees. Even in sleep, her body shakes with her cries.

I can’t take it anymore. I know that she needs sleep, but I can’t let her believe that she’s alone another minute. “Scottie,” I croak. It’s weak, and she doesn’t budge. “Scott!” I manage to whisper-shout, and it fucking hurts. Everything is on fire.

Her head jerks up, and she squints to adjust her eyes to the dim morning light. “Briggs?”

I clear my throat. It feels like sandpaper. “Scottie…” I hardly recognize my own voice. It’s weak and filled with emotion that I’m not accustomed to.

Her face contorts from confusion to a relief that takes what breath I have away. Tears stream down her blood-covered cheeks as I fight like hell not to look away from her. She’s hardly recognizable. I can’t imagine I look much better.

I wince as I try in vain to move toward her. “I’m here.”

Relief rolls down her cheeks, and everything I felt being drug up that ladder comes back full force—respect, awe, admiration, and something I have no right to feel but can’t fight for a second longer. I’ve been fighting it since the first night I laid eyes on her. Right or wrong, I feel it, and something in her expression tells me she does too. Right or wrong, something is shifting or has shifted, and I don’t want to lie to myself anymore. That fight is gone.

“I thought you were…I thought you were g-gone. Fuck.” She shakes her head as she laughs without any humor. “I wanted to die. I asked to die. I didn’t want to be here without you. It’s wrong, isn’t it? I wasn’t thinking of anyone but you.”

Tears prick the backs of my eyes. “Katy…” I swallow back more emotion than I thought I was capable of. “You did good, Soldier.”

Her blonde head moves side to side, doubting. “You’re really here?”

“I’m here, Scottie. I’m really here.” I have this overwhelming urge to wrap her up in my arms. To press my lips to hers. To feel the warmth of her body against mine. The fact that I can’t—that even if we weren’t in these chains, I still couldn’t—it’s a pain far worse than anything I’m physically experiencing. I’ve gone and fallen for this woman. She’s married, with a child, and we are facing almost certain death.

Life really is a motherfucker.

“You…” She swallows, allowing her every emotion through for the first time since we’ve been in the bunker. Eyes locked, she conveys more in those seconds than I could hope for. I pray for the first time since we’ve been captured that I’m not imagining any part of our time here.

She sniffs and shakes her head as she breaks contact and then looks back over to me, her silence deafening.

“I know,” I whisper softly. “I hear you.”

If my calculations are anywhere close in range, it’s the week of Thanksgiving. And I know with certainty, despite the pain, despite the setting, I’ll have a prayer ready if we make it through one more day. My prayer will be selfish—sinful even—and I know it will go unanswered, but I’ll pray for it anyway. I’ll pray for my own glimpse of heaven. I’ll pray for her.