Chapter Two

Katy

BAGHDAD

We arrive at our base in the middle of the night. It’s eerily quiet, apart from the rumbling of the generators, and a bit cooler than I’d expected. As soon as my boots hit the sand, my pulse begins to race, and a chill ripples through my body. I’m not sure whether it’s due to the breeze or the anxiety of being here. I rub at my nose, the scent of gunpowder heavy in the air.

“Can’t believe we’re finally here,” Mullins says, hopping down beside me, her landing causing the sand to fly up and into my eyes.

“Thirty seconds on the ground and I already hate the fucking sand,” I gripe, rubbing the debris away with my fists.

“Sorry, Scott. Wasn’t thinking.”

Shrugging, I motion with my head for her to follow. We’re shown to our living quarters, which are no more than a tent filled with cots. We’ll be sharing the space with a few other female soldiers. Despite the late hour, the beds are scarcely filled.

The other women who arrived with us are opting for shut-eye, but Mullins and I are way too amped to sleep. We’d spent the weeks since leaving our families preparing equipment and processing paperwork at the holding station. It started to feel like we’d never leave that chicken coop, and the last thing either of us feels like doing, now that we’re here, is sleeping.

After unpacking my duffel, I sit on the edge of my cot to unlace my boots, freeing my aching, sweat-soaked feet from the confines of the leather prison they’ve been trapped in for the last God-knows-how-many hours. I peel my socks off and stretch my legs out, wiggling my toes up and down. They crack in a sigh of relief. It feels so good that a moan escapes before I can stop it.

How embarrassing.

I glance around to be sure that no one heard me, but there’s only Mullins and me on this side of the tent, and she’s busy unpacking her own bag. I wouldn’t have given two shits if she’d been the one to hear me, anyway. Since the day we met at boot camp, bonding over our shared Texas pride, we’ve been inseparable. She is my one comfort when it comes to being deployed. If this ever-present pinch in my chest is any indication, I’m going to need all the comfort I can get.

After stripping out of my desert ACUs, I slip into my PT uniform and tennis shoes, which make me feel a little more civilian. Since leaving the States, I’ve been a bit reluctant to embrace my role as a soldier. I know the switch is coming, but I’ve been delaying it for as long as I could. Out of habit, I rub the pad of my thumb over the inside of my ring finger, where my wedding band usually resides. I feel naked without it, but I didn’t want anything to happen to it, so I opted to leave it at home. The sinking feeling in my chest is making me regret that decision. It’s going to be a long twelve months. Digging my hands into my hair as I stroll across the tent to meet Mullins, I shake out the curls that have been flattened beneath my hat.

We decide on taking a walk over to the clinic where we’ll be working, just to check things out. Mullins has always dreamed of becoming a doctor, but her parents didn’t have the money for medical school. After she served her first stint, I expected her to head to school, but when I went to re-enlist, she was right there beside me. She loves being a soldier. We have that in common.

After a few minutes scouring the base, we spot the clinic, which is a beige trailer not much bigger than our tent. Like everything else here, it’s designed to blend with the sand. There are lights on inside, but at Mullins’s suggestion, we decide to wait until the morning to be introduced to the rest of our team. My guess is she’s just as hesitant to switch roles as I am. It’s not easy giving up twelve months of your life to live in hostile territory. And it’s our first time being deployed. But if she’s nervous, it isn’t showing.

Just when we turn to leave, the front doors swing open, and three soldiers file out.

They’re so busy talking among themselves that they haven’t seen us standing here yet. Thank God. Maybe we can sneak out unnoticed.

Mullins elbows me—hard—and winks before cupping both hands around her mouth. Oh no.

“Hey!” She waves. I want to tit-punch her.

Mullins is habitually single and has already let me know in very clear terms that she couldn’t wait to get out here and stuff herself on the buffet of saluting soldiers. Her words, not mine. I just wish she’d leave me out of her shenanigans.

Their chatter stops, and all three heads whirl in our direction. Great.

“Evenin’, ladies. What can we do for ya?” the taller one asks. He then places his hands on the railing between us and jumps over, touching down right in front of me. Isn’t it my lucky night?

Lifting my head, I prepare to hand him his ass for kicking sand up into my eyes, but his beauty is distracting. His skin is a light toffee color and his hair a sandy brown that grows lighter at the tips. His eyes are the color of honey, and when he smiles down at me, a dimple appears on his right cheek. Lord help me, he is stunningly good-looking, and the smitten look on Mullins’s face tells me that she’s definitely noticed too.

I suck in my cheeks, trying not to laugh when she starts twirling the end of her long, black ponytail between her fingers. Her chest perks up and her butt pokes out. My best friend’s got it going on—average height, with a tiny waist and curvy in all the right places. She gets her large pouty lips from the Latin genes on her momma’s side. When she bats her long, thick lashes at him, I can’t contain the smirk that tugs at my lips.

She is pulling out all the big guns.

“We just arrived tonight and wanted to have a look around. Where is everyone? Our tent’s practically empty,” she asks. “You guys work in the clinic?” Mullins’s tone is embarrassingly hopeful.

“Nah, we just dropped off some supplies. You must be the new medics,” he says, rubbing his hand over the light stubble on his jaw. “I’m Sergeant Briggs. And those two”—he hikes his thumb over his shoulder—“are my buddies, Specialist Jones, and Sergeant Morrero. Your new roommates are probably hanging out in the rec-tent.”

“Corporal Mullins,” she returns, placing her hand in his. “And this is Staff Sergeant Scott.”

“Nice to meet you, Scottie,” Briggs says, reaching for my hand.

My eyes roll as I correct him. “It’s just Scott.”

The corners of his mouth curl up into another megawatt smile, and he winks. That lone dimple makes another appearance. “I heard.” His response is accompanied by a devilish smirk.

Oh Lord.

Again, I feel my eyes rolling. He’s a walking stereotype. From the stories I’ve heard back home, the feel on foreign bases is purely civilian, and the sexcapades mirror those of the Olympic Village. It’s like a desert orgy, mostly for the younger and more cavalier unattached soldiers.

I’ve been married so long that I have little tolerance for these types and their shameless flirting. There was a time that I’d have enjoyed it…before Gavin. Every girl likes her ego stroked now and then. Once Gavin and I became a thing, the guys on base all backed off, respecting our relationship. But, these three don’t have any loyalty to my husband.

Already I’m starting to feel out of place. Turning, I find Mullins has introduced herself and is deep in conversation with the other two guys. That leaves me to entertain Sergeant Flirts-a-lot.

Brilliant.

“So…what’s your MOS?” I ask, in a feeble attempt at conversation.

“Good old 11B,” he beams. He says it with such pride.

“Infantry?” Adrenaline junkie.

“I like to be the first pretty face those ugly bastards see.” The way his entire face lights up with his smile tells me that he genuinely loves what he does, and I have to respect him for that.

Maybe I judged him too soon.

This isn’t just a job, or a means to a free education for him. He’s here because he wants to be, and his excitement is infectious.

I can’t help but return his smile as I take in his smug demeanor.

“So…you’re a grunt,” I tease, crossing my arms on my chest.

Briggs laughs at my jibe.

Am I imagining the thirst in those amber eyes?

“Yeah,” he says as he slides his bottom lip through his teeth. “A grunt.”

“Hey, someone’s gotta catch those bullets,” I jest, but I cringe as soon as the words leave my mouth. I really shouldn’t be allowed out in public. A freaking war zone is not the place to make jokes about being shot. “I didn’t mean to say that. I, uh…well, I hope you don’t catch any…bullets.” My ears radiate heat, and nausea churns in my belly.

“Are you blushing? That’s adorable, Scottie.”

“It’s just Scott. No i-e.”

“So you’ve said,” he drawls, his eyes perusing me slowly. I definitely wasn’t imagining it. “And don’t worry about it. I’m gonna do my best not to catch any just so you won’t have to feel bad for that insensitive remark.” He winks one of those warm-honey eyes at me again. Those things could be considered a weapon. I am growing increasingly uncomfortable.

My face warms as I clear my throat. “I’m sorry. That was really inappropriate. I blame my lack of social skills on spending all of my free time with a six-year-old.”

There. Maybe the mention of Noah will throw him off my scent.

“You have a kid?” His mouth falls open, his eyes widening in surprise. Most people have a similar reaction. There aren’t a lot of mothers at war. The majority of us have enough sense not to re-enlist. Present company excluded, of course.

“Yeah,” I smile, wistfully. “Noah.” My heart lurches just mentioning his name.

“That’s cool. Must’ve been hard to leave him,” he offers with a frown. “But I’m sure he’s really proud of his momma.”

“I don’t know about proud,” I scoff. “He’s pretty pissed right now. But I hope one day he’ll understand and yeah… maybe even be a little proud.”

“He’s proud of you, Scott,” Mullins chimes in, obviously keeping an ear on our conversation. “He’s just missing you is all.” She reaches out, giving my arm a gentle squeeze as she pulls me over to her side to introduce me to her new conquests. “This is my friend Staff Sergeant Scott,” she announces, her hand clamping down on my shoulder. “And these fine specimens here are Sergeant Morrero and Specialist Jones.”

“Nice to meet you, Scott,” Jones says, holding out his hand. “Mullins here tells me you have a son?”

I nod, swallowing a ball of emotion. “He’s six.”

“My boy’s four, and his baby sister will be one in a few weeks.” He must notice the sheen in my eyes that I’m desperately trying to hide, because he adds, “It gets easier.”

Jones is only a few inches taller than my five feet six inches. His skin is pasty white, and his hair is fireball red. He has hundreds, maybe even thousands, of light brown freckles covering every inch of his face and arms. His smile fills my heart with warmth. He understands exactly what I’m going through.

I like him.

“Welcome to the sandbox,” Morrero says with a boyish grin. He looks to be about six feet tall, standing an inch or two shorter than Briggs, both of them dwarfing poor Jones. He’s Latino, with short black hair, dark brown eyes, and ears that are a little too big for his face, yet somehow fit. “’Bout time we get something nice to look at around here.” He waggles his brows.

“That’s totally inappropriate, Soldier,” I snap. I suck my lips into my teeth and shake my head, trying not to feel annoyed as the apples of my best friend’s cheeks brighten in a blush.

Morrero homes in on my reaction, and unlike Briggs, who used it as fuel, his brows dip inward toward his nose in concern.

“It was meant as a compliment; are you always so on edge?” The question is directed to me, but it’s Mullins who answers.

“Yes, well, no,” she corrects, narrowing her eyes in my direction. “Scottie here has been married so long, she’s forgotten how to have fun is all.”

She isn’t wrong, and I feel bad for my reaction. Since when can I not take a compliment? “I’m sorry,” I say, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “I’m just trying to embrace the suck.”

His face relaxes. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay,” I assure him. “I’m just a little…”

“Uptight?” Briggs supplies with a smirk. “We aren’t stateside anymore, Scottie. Protocol has its place in the field, but this here is a different dynamic.”

I raise my brows. “Is that so?”

Briggs leans in. “It’s so. Welcome to the wild, wild East.”

“Dude, cut the shit.” Morrero shoves Briggs’s shoulder as he says it, and his chocolate brown eyes meet mine. “Sorry, Scott. This one’s a pig.”

“I noticed,” I deadpan, glaring at Briggs. The man makes my blood boil. I have a strong urge to kick him in the balls. I haven’t wanted to do something so juvenile in years.

Morrero chuckles, spouting off something in Spanish. I don’t know what he says, but apparently, Briggs does, the annoyance on his face making me like my new champion that much more.

The five of us sit on the iron benches in front of the clinic, getting to know one another. I learn that like Mullins, both Briggs and Morrero are single, with no plans to change that status any time soon. I’ve never been able to understand how people don’t get lonely living the single life. But, I’m beginning to wonder if they aren’t the smart ones. Anyone can see that Jones and I are by far the loneliest of the bunch. The two of us spend our time exchanging stories about our children while the others flirt shamelessly. I can’t help but feel a little envious.

Midway through a story involving potty training and Jones’s son peeing in one of the display toilets at Lowe’s, I get this intense feeling I’m being watched. Glancing up, my eyes connect with Briggs’s. The knowledge that he’s been watching me shouldn’t have my heart jumping like this. Almost immediately he jerks his head away, leaving me breathless, a little confused, and resentful of both.

When the sun threatens to peek over the horizon, we realize that we’ve been out here all night. Reluctantly, we say our goodbyes and haul ass back to our respective tents for a little shut-eye. On the walk back, while Mullins is gushing about how hot the guys are, I find myself thankful for our newfound friends. My shoulders feel less tense, and some of the weight has eased off my chest.

Maybe this deployment won’t be as bad as I thought.