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Chapter One
Trevor
“Hey, Horseman, wait up!”
I turn my head just as Quinn Miller bounds up the ramp of the transport plane. Thick dark hair with denim blue eyes, he lives up to his call sign although nowadays he goes home to only one woman.
“What’s up, Loverboy?” I nod at the personnel welcoming us on board and keep going as Quinn walks alongside me.
“How are you holding up?”
“As happy as a tick on a big, fat dog about to go home to his own bed,” I reply gruffly as we find our seats. We just completed a mission, and even though we didn’t find our target, we’re one step closer to doing so. It could mean one more trip back to the sandbox but that’s the last thing I want to think about right now. We’ve got another team in place, picking up where we left off. “Why? You worried about me like everyone else is?”
“Me worried? Nah.”
Too bad I know Quinn more than he thinks I do. He is worried, and he’s got every reason to be. It’s my first trip back to the sandbox since the accident and he’s right. I overdid it. I pushed myself too hard even though nothing bad happened. Except for a few sores, nothing a few days off my feet won’t cure. I’m sure my doctors won’t be happy when they see what I’ve done this time, but it is what it is. Nothing can stop the Horseman from doing the one thing he’s good at.
Or was.
As we sit down, I position my backpack in front of me, resting my right leg on top of it.
I exhale. Seventeen hours of travel time will surely be fun.
Not.
I pull out my earplugs. What a step up from active duty. No First Class here, even if it’s a significant bump in pay. Except for the occasional trips on the company plane, travel accommodations are about the same all the way to the stifling heat of the sandbox, the smells of everyone jammed into one place as we hump it from one point to the next, the possibility of a shower merely a dream.
But isn’t that why I wanted to travel with the team even after Mark told me I didn’t have to? I could have done everything from the comfort of the Virginia Beach office. But, no. I’m too stubborn for my own good. No way was I going to let the desert defeat me and have me running like a dog with its tail between its legs. If the team needed me, then I was there.
And I did it. I performed the job and now I’m heading home.
Beside me, Quinn is restless, his brow furrowing as he studies me. “How’s your leg?”
The inevitable question I knew was coming.Did he see me wince?“It’s good.”
“You twisted it the other day, didn’t you?”
“Nothing a few adjustments couldn’t fix. I’m just happy to be heading home.”
“No injuries? No cuts?” Quinn prods.
“If I did, I’d have gone straight to Medical, but I don’t, so I’m here with your nosy ass,” I say, chuckling. “But thanks for the concern, man.”
“That’s only because I know how you are,” he says. “Stubborn as a donkey’s ass.”
“A donkey is an ass.Equus africanus asinus, to be exact.”
Quinn shakes his head, chuckling. “You just proved me right. Smart ass.”
“Admit it. You missed my pretty mug.” I stick earplugs in my ears before he can say anything else. I lean back and close my eyes, the roar of the engines now a faint hum, the door to any more questions or conversation now shut.
How I’d longed for those seven-month deployments I can’t imagine now. The heat, the smells, the adrenaline rush that just kept coming, always keeping me on the edge even as I knew my days were numbered. The brotherhood, the camaraderie. As miserable as some missions were, I lived for those moments.
But that was before the accident, before someone swapped the rule book for another. With my first outing back to the sandbox in the books, five weeks seems pretty much my limit these days. And as I settle into my seat, finding the best comfortable position, I can’t wait to be home.
Hours later, I wake up, my muscles sore and stiff. I stretch my neck and look around, my hand absently rubbing my right knee. I’m glad I had the foresight to schedule appointments with my doctors because I need to have my leg looked at. I can feel the discomfort growing with every passing hour, the air pressure only making it worse.
A few more hours and you’ll be off your feet…
