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The other guys are asleep in their seats, blankets wedged between backrests and lower backs to ease the discomfort of such accommodations. Some are gazing at their phones. Others are working on their laptops, their faces lit up by their monitors. Tired, grizzly faces ready to go home.
I reach into my backpack and pull out my laptop, plug it into the socket next to me and power it up. I might as well start writing my reports while everything’s fresh in my mind. That way I can sleep like the dead after we land in Norfolk.
My own place, my own shower, my own bed.
No dust. No heat. No memories.
No more proving I’m as good as, if not better than the man I was before the accident. Of course, those things won’t make it into my report. I’m sticking to the facts for Mark Dixon who co-owns Cole Security Forces, the man who hired me despite my record for being stubborn as a mule.
Or an ass, whichever Quinn picks out.
But no one can ever doubt I’m a team guy. It’s all I know. On my own, though, it’s another story. I’m just another dickhead with nothing left to lose.
“I want to thank you for what you did back there, man,” Quinn says, wiping the sleep from his eyes as I slide my earplugs out so I can better hear him.
“You’d have done the same.”
He laughs. “Are you kidding me? I’m not the one who speaks six languages, including four dialects in Arabic… one that happened to save all our asses back there.” He pauses, his brow furrowing. “How’d you even know they were—”
“I got lucky,” I say, chuckling wryly as I cock my head toward my laptop screen. I don’t want to bring up how close we were to getting discovered or worse, killed. He already knows that. “He spoke one of the dialects I knew. But isn’t that why you recommended me to the company?”
I don’t normally like discussing missions out in the open, but Quinn’s the only person I make an exception for. Besides being one of my good friends, the guy saved my ass more than a year and a half ago, pulling me from the wreckage that killed fellow SEAL, King Marshall.
Even after he left the team, Quinn was there for me, visiting me at the hospital and later, the skilled nursing facility when I had no one else but him and the guys. He’s also the one who got me hired by Cole Security Forces.
Six languages, four dialects in Arabic. Had to come in handy outside of the Teams.
“If not for you, we’d all have been in deep shit,” Quinn says quietly. “You and Ryan, man. Do you ever have to decide on which language to use when you bump into each other?”
“Nah, English works best.” A former SEAL, Ryan Stevens also works for Cole Security and it’s not unusual for both of us to work on the same missions, comparing notes when we need to.
“Honestly, I wasn’t so sure how you’d do being out there again after the accident, but it was like you never left,” Quinn continues. “You’re a natural out there.”
I shrug. “Maybe I miss it. Maybe I don’t, although right now, all I want is to be back in my own place again.” I take a whiff of my shirt. “I also need a fucking shower.”
He laughs. “Are you kidding? We all do.”
“Alright, got to finish this report so I can head straight home the moment we land. I intend to sleep for the next four days.”
And with that, I turn my attention to the report on my laptop as Quinn rises from his seat to join three members of the team chatting a few feet away.
Quinn and I have known each other since I was assigned with SEAL Team Four six years ago. I was one of the youngest SEALs then, cocky as hell but with a ton of lessons yet to learn, many of them humbling. But none as humbling as the day he found me drunk out of my mind on the floor of my trashed apartment six months after the accident. I can never forget how Quinn helped me off the floor that day, dragged me to the bathroom so I’d get cleaned up before driving me to a treatment center where I could get my shit together.
And that’s exactly what I did. I quit drinking and resolved to be as good as, if not better than the man I was before the accident.
But that’s the brotherhood for you. They’re there for you, through thick and thin, through sickness and in health. Hell, even death.
* * *
As soon as we land in Norfolk, my first stop is the grocery store so I can stock up on food for the next five days. After that, my plan is to shower, crawl under my covers, and sleep for days.
It never used to be that way. Before the accident, I’d usually be out partying with the guys, at least the ones who didn’t have girlfriends or wives waiting for them. One day to rest up and we’d hit the bars as soon as we could. Or I’d get on my motorcycle and just ride. It was better than coming home to an empty apartment.
But everything changes. Nothing ever stays the same.
I park my truck next to my motorcycle half an hour later. As I sling my backpack over my shoulder and pick up a bag of groceries from the back seat, I’m even more exhausted than when the guys and I landed an hour ago.
I step inside the elevator and press the button for the fourth floor. As the doors start to close, I lean against the back wall and close my eyes. A few more minutes and I’ll be home.
