Page 100 of Keeping a Warrior

Next to them, Matt wandered almost dazedly around from the passenger side, covered head to toe in Shane’s blood. Devon pointed Rhys toward him, and immediately Rhys gripped the pull handle on the back of Matt’s kit and half carried, half dragged him toward the medical hooch.

Once inside, Matt stood unresisting, his eyes blank, while Devon got his tactical vest off and Rhys took care of his weapons. He was shaking by the time Devon removed his helmet, his teeth chattering in delayed reaction.

As Rhys slipped outside to guard the door, Matt’s knees buckled, and Devon pulled him into her arms and let him cry.

They sat up with him all night.

Sometime in the early morning hours, the SF medic knocked on the door. “Dude’s gonna make it,” he said without preamble. “Hairline skull fracture and critical blood loss, but he’s gonna be all right. They’re flying him to Landstuhl tonight.”

Between Devon and Rhys on the carpeted floor, Matt slowly deflated, his head dropping to his upraised knees. “Thank Christ.”

Rhys gripped his shoulder as Devon rubbed his back.

“So you’ll see him in a few days when we get to Germany ourselves,” Devon said encouragingly. “He’s going to be okay, Matt.”

Matt struggled to his feet. “I need to go call his sister.”

After he’d trudged from the hooch, Rhys slipped his arm around Devon. “How’re you holding up?”

Now that she didn’t have Matt to take care of, the shock and horror she’d managed to shove away came roaring back to the surface.

“Barely,” she quavered. “Oh, my God, Rhys.”

He laid his cheek on top of her head and held her tightly. “Don’t try to suppress it, Devon. Let it out now. Talk about it.”

Clinging to him, she did, about the sheer helplessness of being shot at, the sight of Shane bleeding out while Matt had no choice but to keep driving.

Rhys just listened, his thumb rubbing her upper arm.

“There was so much of it, everywhere,” she whispered. “It smelled so awful, so metallic and rusty.” Devon held her trembling hands out, still crusted with Shane’s blood. With a soft exclamation, Rhys leapt up to rummage in a nearby cabinet.

“Here.”

He dropped to sit cross-legged in front of her, their knees touching, his touch achingly gentle as he cleaned each of Devon’s fingers with an antiseptic wipe.

She stared at his bent head through tear-blurred eyes. I love you so fucking much.

When he was finished, he cupped her cheeks in his hands and gave her the softest of kisses. “Better?”

She smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “You always make it better.”

He kissed her again before helping her to her feet. “Let’s go check on Matt, and then we have a lot to get done today.”

Devon gasped at the sight of their Humvee—pocked with shrapnel, glass cracked, tires half-flattened. The others weren’t much better but it was clear theirs had taken the brunt of the assault.

Matt was standing next to the driver’s side, lips tight. When he saw Rhys and Devon, he pointed to the bullet-ridden door. The armor plating had stopped them, but if they’d punched through...

He pulled a Sharpie from his pocket and circled one perfectly round hole, then wrote, MISSED ME, BITCH next to it. “Now I feel better.”

The next few days were spent inventorying supplies and starting to pack up. The platoon relieving them had sent an advance team, so Bradley and Rhys were busy as they got their replacements up to speed.

“Bradley asked the new El-Tee if he had a CST attached,” Matt told her. “When the guy goes, ‘What’s a CST?’ Bradley said, ‘Pity.’”

Devon thought of the women who’d opened up to her, the children who’d clung to her, and said, “It is a pity.”

When it was finally time to leave the outpost, and the Chinook carrying them rose into the sky, Rhys touched her shoulder. “You okay?”

Devon could only shake her head. “I’m leaving a huge chunk of my heart here, Rhys.”