The pop and crack of gunfire jerks me awake. I bolt upright and robotically grab for my gun. A cold sweat covers my body, and my fingers curl around the grip, trigger ready.
I search the area for the threat, and after a moment of confusion, I realize I’m in my bedroom, not back in the fucking desert.
Shit.
My body vibrates, and I drop my right hand, still holding the gun, to the bed. A glance to my left tells me all I need to know—Skye is sleeping peacefully.
She’s safe. I’m safe. Everything is fine.
The words do nothing to calm my erratic heart or shattered nerves.
I haven’t had a nightmare like that in months. The first time I take Skye in my own bed, they immediately return. Christ, the Doc will have a field day with this one.
The swirling sands and blazing sun beating down on me in that desert won’t leave my head. Neither will the blood. This time, it was Mosul, 2007.
I was set up on the roof of a two-story building with Brody, my spotter, providing overwatch for the platoon as they raided an adjacent compound known to house a high value target.
It wasn’t the ideal location for me to set up, but I worked with what I could out there. Our guys weren’t even in there two minutes before the four enemy combatants started approaching the objective. Two moved up onto the roof across the street while the rest crept around the building.
But instead of taking out the enemy sniper and his spotter like I know I actually did, I watch him drop my guys as they exit the compound. They fall to the ground—one by one. Blood pools under their bodies, turning the light sand dark.
And instead of killing the other two who were firing on me, their bullets tear through me, one after another, knocking me back and bringing Brody down too.
Instead of walking away with the guys unscathed and receiving another medal, I hover above my own body, watching the blood pool under my still form.
Fuckfuckfuckfuck
I can’t catch my breath and tremors rock my entire body.
It’s still dark in the room, and the clock says it’s only 4:12, but I know there’s no way I’m falling back asleep.
With shaking hands, I return my gun to its place behind the headboard and slip out of bed, trying not to wake Skye. She doesn’t budge, and a sigh of relief slips from my lips.
Thank God…she can’t see me like this.
I pull on a pair of boxers and stumble to the bathroom, feeling the true weight of all the fucked up shit running through my brain and going on in my life on my shoulders. A splash of cold water on my face doesn’t make me feel any better. I inspect my shaking hands in the light of the bathroom and squeeze them into tight fists, trying to force the involuntary action to stop.
My mind and body tell me one thing.
Cigarette.
Now.
My pack and lighter are still in my jeans on the floor in the bedroom where I dropped them when I went to bed the first time last night. I remove them as quietly as possible, taking a moment to drink in Skye’s sleeping form before I escape to the living room.
I shouldn’t smoke in here.
Savage will fucking kill me for that alone. I won’t be able to hide it from him, either. He’ll smell it as soon as he enters my condo, and I’ll never hear the end of it. Maybe I can soften the blow about Skye by letting him ream me out about smoking first?
Shit.
I hope he didn’t see Skye come in here last night. I won’t have my balls for much longer if he did.
I better enjoy what might be my final smoke.
The wall of glass draws me to it, and I settle into the chair next to the windows. Random points of light break up the blanket of darkness that is the city at this time of the morning, and beyond that, the blackness of the water.
Sometimes, I wish I could just hop on a boat and float out to sea, leaving the world and all its fucked up stuff behind me. But, with my luck, instead of landing on some remote, unpopulated island, I’d probably drift to North Korea.
The trees near the water sway violently in the wind.
A storm is coming, and I don’t just mean the hurricane brewing in the Atlantic.
Tension and energy permeate the air—inside my condo and outside. Things will come to a head soon. I can’t ignore that any more than I can ignore the trembling of my hands.
I flip open my lighter, taking a moment to caress the star engraving before I light up.
The first drag is like a hug from an old friend.
Why did I ever quit this?
I have to keep reminding myself it’s a filthy, dirty habit that’s just killing me slowly. But for now, I’ll pretend that isn’t true and just enjoy the buzz of the nicotine and the calming view.
I watch him from the hallway. He doesn’t see me and guilt creeps in at the way I’m intruding. But there’s something going on with him—something more than just worrying about how Savage will react when he finds out about us.
Gabe has always been a rock—for everyone. What he has done for Savage goes above and beyond best friend status. And he’s become another son to Mom and an additional brother to the rest of the Hawkes. I understand his concern over how Savage will react, but that shouldn’t be breaking him, and right now, he’s broken.
The cigarette is a dead giveaway. He hasn’t lit up in months.
Kinda creepy that I know that.
His right knee bobs up and down frantically, and he takes another drag, never taking his eyes off the view out the windows.
Pain stabs my chest as my heart breaks, and I don’t know why. I’m here…with him. It’s all I’ve ever wanted and yet, I can’t fully enjoy it, not with him like this.
He reaches over to the side table next to his chair and snuffs out his cigarette in the bottom of an empty tumbler. It joins the small pile of other butts already there.
How long has he been awake?
I tug the sheet more tightly around me and approach him cautiously. His shoulders stiffen. He knows I’m closing in on him, but he never takes his eyes off the window.
A glint of metal on the side table catches my eye, and I pause beside it. My breath catches.
Oh, my God.
Star.
My knees quiver, and my chest tightens. I reach out and grasp it before I take the final step and drop to my knees in front of Gabe.
He finally turns his head, and his sad, defeated eyes meet mine. I offer him a half-hearted smile and hold up the lighter. “I thought you quit and put this thing away.”
A weak grin ticks up the corner of his mouth. “I did.”
“What made you bring it out?”
It’s just one more reminder of everything we’ve lost, and I’m surprised he would want to see it every day. This lighter went through five tours with him. I can’t even imagine the things he must have seen and done with it in his pocket.
I was with Star when she bought it for him. We wanted to give him something for his nineteenth birthday—his first since enlisting, and the first one he would be spending without our family since he was six years old. I thought it was stupid to give him a lighter and encourage a bad habit, but Star insisted. Instead of giving a joint gift, I opted to get him something I thought was much more practical for his next deployment—a one-year subscription to Hustler’s online porn website.
Just thinking about the look on his face when he opened the card and read the note from me makes me smile despite the way my heart is aching holding Star’s gift to him in my palm.
It doesn’t escape me that he hasn’t answered my question about why he has it out again.
His eyes have returned to the view. I don’t think I’m going to get an answer. He pushes his left hand back through his hair and sighs. “Fuck, Skye…I don’t know what the fuck I am doing.”
I set the lighter back on the table before placing my hands on his knees. “None of us do, Gabe.”
He shakes his head and returns his eyes to me. “I’m a mess, Skye. I almost shot you last night and this morning…”
This morning?
“What about this morning?”
His whole body goes rigid and he scrubs his hands over his face. “Shit, I didn’t think it would be this hard.”
The internal war he’s waging shows in every movement he makes, but I encourage him to continue, knowing if he doesn’t talk about it, he’ll just bury himself into a deeper, darker hole. “Just tell me.”
He pauses for a moment and takes a deep breath. “I had a nightmare…about being over there…”
I wait for him to continue, but he just bites his lip and shakes his head with his eyes squeezed shut and then drops it in his hands. He was different when he came home after his final deployment four years ago, but I never suspected anything was seriously wrong.
“Gabe—”
“I could have killed you.”
“You keep saying that, but I’m right here, and I’m fine.”
His head snaps up and the eyes that meet mine are not the warm, deep pools they normally are, they are ice cold. “You won’t be fine, Skye. Not if we’re together. Savage should be the least of your concerns. I could seriously hurt you.”
I can’t believe I’m going to ask this, but I know the answer, and he needs to hear himself say it to know it’s true.
“Have you ever hurt any other girl who spent the night here?”
He growls at me and fists his hands. “Don’t compare yourself to them, Skye, they were nothing, and I never let anyone spend the night when I was still having these dreams. I thought they were done and over with.”
I don’t need to hear the words to know what he’s not saying. The dreams are back because of me. He’s so fucking stressed out and worried about what will happen with Savage, he’s actually driving himself crazy.
Jesus.
“Gabe, you need to take a step back. Breathe and relax. Everything is fine. You’re fine. I’m fine. And Savage will be fine when he finds out about us. He has Dani and the baby to worry about.”
He lets out a mirthless laugh. “I wish I could believe that.”
It’s abundantly clear I’m not getting through to him. There’s only one thing I can think of that will rescue him from the dark hole he’s fallen down.
I urge his knees apart and lean into him, pressing my lips to his even as he eyes me warily. He doesn’t resist me, but he doesn’t respond either. At least, not verbally.
His cock is hard to miss, straining against my stomach.
I slip my hand into his boxers and grasp him firmly.
He does nothing to stop me, just watches me with a mix of trepidation and longing. Not exactly what a girl wants to see, but I know he needs this as much as I want to give it to him. He needs to get out of his head, and I can do that for him.