That seemed fair enough, even if it was still weeks away. However, it only made me more determined.
“In the meantime, there’s a new initiative—Spines for Soldiers. Has Lee mentioned it to you?” he asked, referring to Natalie. Though more often than not, we just called her Lee.
I shook my head.Spines for Soldiers?Was this some sort of back injury program? If so, why was he talking to me? I’d injured my knee, not my spine.
“Igloo Books has a new goal to bring quality reading material to the men and women who serve our country.” It sounded like he was reading from a script, and I couldn’t help but laugh. It wassonot Mark.
“You okay there, Twilight? You sound more like a robot than a vampire.”
“You won’t be laughing in a minute,” Liam said. “Nat nominated you.”
I glanced between them, wondering if they were shitting me. But Mark continued talking. “You’ll receive a book every other week, and you’ll be partnered with a fellow reader to compare notes via email.”
I lifted a shoulder. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not interested in some pen pal, buddy reading program.”
Mark leaned back in his chair, crossing his ankle at the knee. “We’re not asking. We’re telling.”
I stood, grimacing when my knee protested the sudden movement. “This is bullshit. I’m fine,” I ground out. Mark gave my bum knee a pointed glance. “I will be. As soon as this heals.”
“You want back in the field? Complete this program. In the meantime, think of this as mental training. A chance to read on company time. But make no mistake about it—this is mandatory.”
I blew out a breath but held my tongue.Thiswas fucking bullshit. Mark had gone soft—must have been the effect of marrying Charlie and becoming a father. Liam too. I shook my head, full of disappointment.
“Unless you’d prefer to attend counseling.” Mark stood, holding my stare from across the desk, but I didn’t waver.
I finally shook my head, knowing better than to protest. I wasn’t going to win any awards by arguing with my boss. And after what had happened with Aaron’s severe case of PTSD, I knew these guys didn’t mess around. “No, sir.”
“Great. Here’s the first book on the list.” He slid it across the desk.
“Great,” I deadpanned.
“You’ll receive an email with the program guidelines as well as tips to maximize your experience.”
I nearly barked out a laugh. Ha. Like I was going to enjoy this “experience.”
Mark returned his attention to his computer, ignoring me when I tucked the book under my arm and readjusted my cane. Liam crossed his arms over his chest, a stern expression on his face. Apparently, the conversation was over, and there was no use protesting.
I hobbled over to the door, irritated by my pain. By my stupid fucking leg. By the fact that I was now required to participate in this dumb-ass virtual book club, when I’d rather be studying intel or training with the guys. Not lounging by the pool reading a book.
In the hall, I leaned against the wall, grateful for the pretext to stop and rest. I glanced both ways, making sure no one was around before wiping my forehead with the hem of my shirt. The pain was making me sweat, and I didn’t want to let on how bad it was. I glanced at the book—something about Alaska and love and loss. I frowned down at it. The only things I’d read in the past decade were tech manuals or ops specs, not…whatever the hell this was.
How was this supposed to help with my mental state? So far, it had only made me more agitated. I was tempted to throw it in the trash can on the way to the break room but thought better of it. I wouldn’t be doing myself any favors by dissing this program. For whatever reason, it was important to Mark, which meant it was important to my career.
If I could learn to hold my breath for two minutes and forty-nine seconds, to effectively drown-proof myself, I could sure as hell do this—asinine as the request was. Besides, I didn’t actually have to read the book, did I? I could just log on, chat with the book nerd partner, and then log off. I straightened, feeling better already as I headed into the break room.
“Cujo,” Heath beckoned me from across the room.
My call sign was Cujo. It was a sort of play on my first and last name—Connor James—as well as a nod to the Stephen King novel of the same name. The guys liked to joke that I was relentless—with studying, with missions, anything. It wasn’t terrible as far as call signs went, at least if you didn’t mind being compared to a rabid St. Bernard. I’d certainly heard worse. Muff or Muffin, Twilight, Dreamboat. I shook my head. No fucking way.
I grabbed my lunch out of the fridge and had just placed it in the microwave to heat when Katie walked in.
“Hey, Connor.” She smiled at me. “How are you today?”
I lifted a shoulder. “Been better.”
She leaned in, lowering her voice. “Leg still bothering you?”
I didn’t respond other than to grunt.
