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And then George hadn’t made it when another of the guys in their unit, Evan Burrell, had triggered a forty-pound IED during a patrol. Kenna had been walking on the other side of George, the force of the blast enough to throw Kenna up in the air, spinning her body like a helicopter blade. She’d been close enough that the explosion had ripped skin and muscle off her arm, and the way she’d landed had done the rest of the job of destroying the arm she eventually lost, despite multiple surgeons’ efforts to save it.
One of the doctors had said that Georgia being there had probably saved Kenna’s life and, after he’d left the room, she’d vomited despite having nothing in her belly. Somedays, knowing she was alive because someone else had died was more guilt than she could bear. Especially when that someone had been her best friend.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, Si, okay?” Kenna said.
“No you won’t,” Sierra said with absolutely no judgment. “But I’ll talk to you soon.”
After driving around for another hour, Kenna finally returned to the small studio apartment she’d managed to find when she’d been discharged. She’d been living off of her savings, her disability, and the honoraria she received from her speaking engagements, so the five-hundred-square-foot place was the most she could afford. Sierra had wanted her to bunk in her guest room, but no way had Kenna wanted to force her less-than-cheerful self on her sister’s little family.
She was so used to removing her prosthesis that the process barely took thought anymore. She released the suction, removed the limb and plugged it in to charge, and rolled off the protective sleeve and cleaned it for the next day’s use. And then she climbed into bed.
Hours later, she remained wide awake, her eyes glued to the dark ceiling overhead, ghosts of every kind making it impossible to fall asleep.
Tonight, the phantom pain was the worst of those ghosts. The pain made her arm and wrist ache despite the fact that she didn’t still have those parts. It was an ache that felt like, if she could just massage the muscles and joints, it would feel better. It was a pain that sometimes felt like an itch she could never scratch, or pins and needles that would never go away.
But there were other ghosts, too. “Quit yer bitchin’.” Georgia’s voice. One of her favorite sayings when anyone uttered a gripe about anything. Kenna supposed that imagining her bestie wanting to kick her ass over the poor-me routine was better than remembering the sound of her screams when that IED had detonated.
On a sigh, Kenna sat up and turned on the light. Her gaze went right to her prosthesis, laying on her night stand and plugged into the charging unit. She had to find a way to become more than what’d happened to her, more than what she’d lost. If she could just get out of her head, maybe she could get free of the pain, of the grief, of the guilt.
Get out of your head, Kenna. Stop thinking. Just feel what I’m doing to you.
Kenna gasped.
Where had that voice and those words come from? Heat ran over her skin, a phantom sensation of another kind. A sensation from a distant, lust-drenched moment, and caused by a man to whom she hadn’t spoken in years.
Griffin Hudson.
Her lover. Her Dominant. But never her Master. He hadn’t wanted to claim her for keeps.
She’d fallen in love with Griffin, and when she’d finally told him, they’d ended up in what turned out to be the most awkward conversation ever, which had essentially boiled down to him not being interested in a committed relationship. He hadn’t been unkind about it, just honest, but it had still left Kenna reevaluating everything. Because things with Griffin hadn’t worked out, and working as a paralegal had left her absolutely certain she didn’t want to go to law school, as her parents had badly wanted her to do.
She’d needed something more meaningful, something deeper, something real. She’d needed a change.
A change that had led her to a calling she hadn’t realized she’d had until she’d made the commitment and become a Marine. Kenna hadn’t told Griffin. She hadn’t seen the point. She’d just enlisted. And she’d never regretted it for a moment—and still didn’t. Being a Marine could be grueling and exhausting, but the comradery, mission, and service had resonated deep inside her in a way she never would’ve predicted. For a long time, she’d still grieved the loss of Griffin, but the Marines had been like someone turning the lightbulb on over her whole life.
