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Prologue
Nathan
My head tips side to side against the cold metal interior of the cargo plane. The rattling from all of our equipment pierces a spot in my brain, making my head pound. I keep my eyes closed, trying to drown out the noise around me, hoping for a small moment of peace.
Unfortunately, it’s not long before I hear the grunt of someone plopping down in the seat beside me, and more so sense their stare. I crack one eye open, questioning whether I should play dead or not.
Seeing that it’s Sergeant Thompson, our second in command and one of the veterans on the team, I hardly contain my sigh. He’s a good guy, and a great leader, but tends to play big brother even when nobody asks.
“Why so quiet, Nate man?” He asks, slapping my knee. The nickname makes me roll my eyes. He’s the only one who would dare call me that.
“Didn’t sleep much last night.” My answer is short, my tone clipped. Nothing unusual for me, I’m not much of a talker. Everyone on the team knows that. Except, Thompson refuses to ever leave me alone, and my best friend on the team, Jesse, ignores my attempts to cut conversations short, accustomed to my budding personality since we were in Special Ops training together.
“Too busy with your girlfriend?” He laughs, not taking the hint that I don’t want to chat.
“No, I broke up with Sierra a couple of weeks ago.” I shrug. “She got mad when we got called out for the last mission. Told me to pick her or the team… You can guess how that went.”
Thompson laughs, understanding exactly what I mean. He’s married, been married for a long time to a great girl. He’s made sure we all know it, but he knows how turbulent military relationships can be. He’s tried to play couples counselor to plenty of the other guys on the team over the years.
“Well, then what’s keepin’ you up at night?” He probes, not letting me steer away from the conversation. I consider lying, making up some bullshit excuse, but there’s no point. He’d know I was lying, and then I’d feel like shit anyway. He’s a good guy to have in your corner, and I consider him a friend even though I’m far from friendly most of the time.
“Old ghosts,” I tell him reluctantly, not wanting to share more. He looks like he wants to ask more, but he doesn’t need to. He’s lived this life long enough to know exactly how the darkness lingers. How each mission could potentially end your career or your life. How every close call slowly chips away at your resolve.
Jesse and I joined this team right after Thompson’s buddy died on one of their classified operations in Afghanistan. From the pieces I’ve gathered, political tension is so high between the countries that his friend’s dead body had to be flown back to the States discreetly, without proper honors or protocol. The rest of the team didn’t return in time for the funeral, so the last glimpse he had of his friend was with half his head blown off in the field. Thompson mentioned that they were still in a hot zone, enemy territory. He had to drag his lifeless body 100 yards and leave it until it was safe enough to come back for extraction.
He told me that part after witnessing one of my nightmares for the first time. I woke up in a cold sweat one night when we were all piled into a studio apartment in some run-down city in the Middle East. I barely made it to the bathroom before I hurled.
“It takes time to fight your demons but they’ll eventually go away.” He offered me some whiskey when I finally stopped hugging the toilet.
I saw the vacant look in his eyes that night, and I should’ve known he was trying to convince himself as much as he wanted to convince me. I wasn’t brave enough then to tell him what triggered my nightmare, or how close to home his story hit me. I’m not sure I’m brave enough now either.
Before I can further consider telling him which ghost was keeping me up last night, the intercom goes off over our heads, signaling we’re making the descent for landing.
He gives me one final hard look, like he’s staring straight into the darkest part of my soul, before slapping me on the shoulder, his way of telling me he’s here for me. We busy ourselves gathering our gear, silently trying our best to mentally prepare for whatever is waiting on us once we step off this plane.
I didn’t know that would be the last real conversation I’d ever have with Thompson. He was killed in action the next day. A road bomb blew up a truck right next to us while out on patrol. The momentum of the blast forced his body through the air, only stopping once it met the resisting force of the closest mud brick building. My ears were ringing from the explosion, but that doesn’t stop my nightmares from replaying the sickening crunch of his bones breaking from the impact.
We took him home in a wooden box with an American flag draped over it. Something I’ve long become accustomed to. His widow met us on the tarmac, her rounded belly a brutal reminder of how devastating this job can be.
Sometimes, I can still hear her gut-wrenching sobs when I close my eyes at night, another one of those moments I wish I could erase. Instead, I’m stuck tucking it into the dark recess of my mind, along with the other things that haunt me.
I’m not sure how long I have before the darkest parts are too much to repress. Until I’m consumed by the memories that have turned me cold and detached, just so I can survive.
Chapter One
Callie
Commercial… Commercial… Static… Jingle Bells… Ick. I am in no mood for Christmas music, especially since Halloween was just last week. Ugh. At least this overcast weather fits my sour mood. Maybe if these mountains weren’t cutting off all of my phone service, I could listen to something other than the car radio.
I hit the power button with a little too much aggression, silencing the holiday cheer that was pouring out of the speakers. There is nothing to occupy my mind, no music, no cars, just me alone on this empty, winding highway. At least the view is nice. I’ve always enjoyed driving through this part of the state, being surrounded by thick forest only to catch a quick peek at the mountain tops when you round a bend, or the thick fog lingering in the valleys.
It’s not enough to keep my thoughts totally at bay though. I keep circling back to the mess that my life has become. This road trip is an advanced version of the walk of shame. With my tail tucked between my legs, my car is loaded with all my stuff and I’m heading back home to my parents. I only left a few months ago, hardly enough time to pretend it wasn’t all a big mistake on my part. Broke the lease to my apartment and everything, just to move to a new state with a boyfriend I hardly even liked.
Mark was nice, at least at the beginning. We were friends, and we had some things in common, but we were both ready to move away from our hometowns. He got a job offer, so I followed. Offered to split his rent and everything. I thought it would be safe. Moving in with someone you know so you don’t have to jump feet first all alone seems like a smart idea. How naïve of me.
It started with a few fights about little stuff, splitting household chores, and bills. Basics every couple who moves in together goes through. Then he started accusing me of cheating on him while he was at work, never mind the fact that I was working full-time.
As an online data analyst for a travel agency, I handle my entire job remotely. So even though I’m home, I’m working. He continuously accused me of having people over during the day, no matter how many times I denied it. I was in a completely new state. He was the only person I knew or even spoke to. I hadn’t even attempted to make any friends yet.
