Page 29 of Keeping a Warrior

“It wasn’t your fault.”

In fact, Rhys had called Mullet out on the spreading of gossip, and he’d even tried to comfort her after, but in her deep and utter humiliation she’d slammed the door right in his face.

“Really, I’m okay, man,” she said. “Thanks.”

They shared a smile.

A few minutes later she let out a whoop as the airfield came into view.

“Now let’s go jump out of some perfectly good airplanes!”

“Aww, dude, what the fuck?”

As the grumbling got louder, the lead instructor put his hands up. “Let me show you something.”

He pointed a small remote at the whiteboard mounted on the wall. When a full color picture appeared on it, the room suddenly went quiet.

“This guy didn’t think he needed refresher training, either. He had hundreds, if not thousands, of jumps under his belt. What exactly went wrong this time? We don’t know. What we do know is he fought that thing all the way down.”

Devon stared at the picture of a still figure on the rocky ground, covered by the American flag, his boots the only part of him visible. A parachute was crumpled up next to him.

“Today we’re gonna go over body mechanics, emergency procedures, packing gear and packing chutes. If we have time, we’ll do a couple of dopes on a rope. Anyone got a problem with that?” The instructor’s voice was hard, and a few people muttered, “No, Senior Chief,” from around the room.

“Okay. Let’s get to it.”

It was a tired and somber group that trudged toward the vans just after dusk. The work had been tedious, but necessary. It turned out several of the guys had let their jump quals lapse, or couldn’t properly list out the steps for recovering from an uncontrolled spin.

The picture of the dead SEAL had been a wake-up call for all of them, especially at the end when the instructor revealed he’d been DEVGRU—a member of the elite SEAL Team Six.

“That ‘special’ in special operator doesn’t mean you’re immune to the forces of gravity, people. Parachutes don’t open, or open incorrectly, you die.”

When they got back to the transient barracks, the guys scattered, most disappearing into their rooms. Devon wasn’t hungry, and she didn’t want to be cooped up, so after changing into her running clothes, she headed back out to the parking lot.

Rhys was already there, with apparently the same idea.

“Want to run together?” he asked.

Devon gave a bitter snort. “Are you sure you can trust to be alone with me?” She moved off a little ways to start stretching.

A few beats of silence, and then she felt Rhys’s warmth next to her. “I think it’s a lot more about you trusting me,” he said quietly.

She looked up at him, at the solemnness of his face, the steadiness of his gaze. Could she trust him? With all of her heart, Devon felt that she could.

But...

She’d trusted them, too. For months they’d lived, breathed, worked together, and she’d come to trust them with her life. Her brothers-in-arms. Her friends.

Devon felt the weight of the knife in her sports bra pressing against her skin. Her gut was telling her Rhys was safe, and even if the last thing she trusted was herself anymore, she had to start somewhere.

“Let’s go.”

They were quiet as they ran, the pace slow and easy, their feet crunching on the hard-packed dirt. Planes loomed around them on all sides, the tail fins silhouetted against the night sky. Some of them were jagged, broken, reminding Devon of serrated knife blades.

“Race the last hundred yards?” Rhys turned around and jogged backward, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “I’ll give you a head start.”

“Aww, fuck that. Go!”

She took off, laughing at his surprised look. She was fast, but it was only a few seconds until he thundered past her. By the time she caught up with him, he had his fingers linked behind his head as he walked in circles, cooling down.