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No NO NO NOOO!
The explosion blooms outward: all heat, all fury. It’s absolutely horrific. It’s gruesomely beautiful.
NOOOOOOOOO—
The soccer ball in my hands explodes with a loud POP as the concussion hits me full force, blasting me into the wall. My helmet flips off as I’m catapulted backwards. Through the violent storm of debris and hot wind, it slashes me in the face before I even hit the ground.
I fight to stay conscious, but I’m too far gone, too concussed. My brain is fried and spinning. My mind completely scrambled, as the flaming remnants of the quonset hut rain down all over me.
I’m burned and blasted. Bleeding from a hundred tiny scratches and cuts.
But nothing hurts more than my heart.
Twenty-Seven
QUINN
The story ended, with Joshua’s last words trailing off into the dead stillness of the night. He looked drained now. Emotionally and mentally depleted.
“Hey…”
I choked back my tears, trying to maintain control. I knew if I started, I’d never be able to stop.
“This right here,” I whispered, reaching out to touch the battered piece of leather that dangled around his neck. I recognized it now. A dark pentagon, charred and blasted, curled against his chest. “It’s a piece of the soccer ball, isn’t it?”
I touched the object reverently. After his story, it felt like an artifact.
Joshua said nothing at first. Eventually he nodded.
“Because even though it hurts, you want to keep it with you,” I said softly. “Because you never want to forget.”
He finally turned to face me. When he did, his expression was filled with a deep, undying respect.
“You understand.”
“I do,” I nodded, hugging him close.
My heart felt like it would swell out of my chest! I wanted to hold him there forever. To rock him back and forth until he was all better. Until he finally forgot.
But my heart also knew in a hundred thousand years, he’d never forget.
“Eight KIA,” he murmured mechanically. “Seventeen wounded. All because I—”
“Don’t say it,” I shushed him.
“Don’t say what?” Joshua asked. “The truth?”
“Your truth and the actual truth are two different—”
“But I could’ve prevented it, Quinn!” he pleaded. “I could’ve stopped him. Caught up with him…”
“You weren’t catching him,” I shook my head. “You said it yourself.”
“Maybe,” he allowed. “But the kid wasn’t ready. He didn’t want to go...” He swallowed hard, trying to get past the giant lump in his throat. In his mind’s eye — and possibly his heart — he was still back in that tortured place. “I could’ve talked him out of doing it in the first place. If only I had paid more attention. If only I hadn’t let my guard down…”
I squeezed his hard, magnificent body. It was like hugging a statue.
“You did everything you possibly could,” I assured him. “Some very evil people got to that child way before you did. He knew what he was going to do, long before he got—”
