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“Nice, man,” he deadpanned, ever the great actor. “When do you start school?”
“Two weeks.”
“Did you get PI?”
“Yep.” Which meant I’d also get to do my eleven weeks of drill instructor school here, so I wouldn’t have to leave for training like I’d first thought.
His lips twitched ever-so-slightly, but once again all he did was nod. Then he stepped closer, and his friendlier voice broke through in a low tone. “Awesome, congrats. I hope our cycles can link up some day. I’d love to work with you.”
“Same here, man. Hang on,” I replied as he stepped back. I’d caught sight of one of my guys holding his rifle a little off his mark, so I held up a finger to Grant and stepped over to help him adjust it. “Hey, you need to loosen your grip here, and put this hand over here. Good. Okay, fire when ready.”
The recruit did as I’d asked, then whooped when he saw he’d hit his target dead-on. But before I could get a word out to congratulate him, a loud boom rang out, and something wet hit my face.
Every muscle in my body went rigid as I took in the recruit's ashen complexion, all of the blood having drained from his face. It was at that moment that I noticed the crimson stain on his shoulder, and I looked down at my own chest to see if the bullet had gone through him and hit me, but I just hadn’t felt it yet.
Seeing nothing there, I whirled around to see if anyone behind me had been shot, but thankfully, no. Then I turned back and caught the recruit in front of me right before he fell. As I steadied him and called for help, I looked over his shoulder that was now soaked with blood.
The recruit I’d literally just yelled at the day before for not flagging the line stood there with the same horrified expression I knew I wore, only his was edged with guilt. The smoking muzzle of his M16 still shook as he held it.
When on the range, you couldn’t aim your weapon all willy-nilly. These are loaded M16s, for crying out loud. They were to be pointed down range or at the ground at all times. Turning toward your brothers who stood on our end of the line without adjusting your weapon was something that could get you banned from the range altogether. Kicked out of boot camp, even, and forced to start over.
But I’d given him another chance, and he’d done it again the very next day.
He’d done it again, and it resulted in someone getting shot.
Someone who was now passing out in my arms while I continued to scream for help, panic rising up within me and threatening to swallow me up belly-first.
All around me there was movement. Grant stripped the offender of his weapon and practically threw him to the ground with his words alone. Medics rushed over, recruits formed a tight circle around us to see if their brother was okay. And the shallow, desperate breaths that raged out of me in tight bursts as I cradled this eighteen-year-old kid in my arms.
* * *
Two hours later, I paced outside the hospital on base with so much lead in my gut I was sure it would soon tear open and fall to the ground beneath my boots. What had I done? Why hadn’t I booted that recruit the first time he’d flagged the line?
Guilt and fury poured over me in tsunami-sized waves as I scrubbed my hands over my face, the smell of sweat and blood and dirt filling my nostrils. When I looked up and my vision cleared, my breath caught at the sight of Lyndi running toward me from the parking lot.
She threw herself into my arms, and I stumbled back, using all my remaining strength not to tumble backward onto the pavement. I wrapped my arms around her and breathed her in, conscious of how nasty I was compared to how clean and fresh she smelled, but unable to pull away to save her from being sullied. I needed her. I needed this like I needed air.
“How did you get on base?” I choked out, still holding her tightly against my chest.
“Layla brought me,” she replied into my cammies, making no effort to move. “Is he okay?”
“He’s still in surgery.”
“Areyouokay?”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you.” It came out with a breathy laugh, bringing us both back to that day outside another hospital in what felt like another lifetime.
But I pushed it away, eyes focused on a random car over her head. “I’m not the one who got shot.”
“I know, Beau.” She pulled back, leaving me feeling empty even though she didn’t let go all the way. Then she jerked her chin toward the hospital behind me. “Have you been inside?”
I tensed, then shook my head. “No, but they’ll come out and get me.”
“It’s okay for you to sit in the waiting room with everyone else. You can handle it.”
My breath snagged on something inside my chest, and I waited a beat so I could speak without breaking. “I’m better out here.”
