Breaking His Code (Away From Keyboard Book 1)

by Patricia D. Eddy

  “I studied the layout all night. I’m good.”

  “You better be.” Inara straps her ammo pack to her left thigh. The diminutive sharpshooter carries her kills in the depths of her brown eyes. All business, her hair tightly braided under her helmet, she checks her own wrist unit. “Five minutes to drop.”

  As I stagger to the back of the plane where the bay doors reveal nothing but open sky over what feels like an endless ocean, I remember the way Cam’s fingers stroked down my chest, her arms around me as I woke in the throes of a nightmare, her laughter as we decimated a horde of foes in Gears of War.

  When I’m back, when lives don’t depend on my every move, we’ll finish that fight, and then I’ll walk away. My heart seizes as I imagine life without her. Focus, Sampson. Put it away. She doesn’t want you. I squeeze my eyes shut as I picture the drop zone. The plane banks, and when I pull down my goggles and let myself see once more, she’s gone, only the mission in front of me.

  CAM

  Crumbs from the world’s worst brownie litter my desk. You’d think after West slammed the door last night, I’d have abandoned my obsession with the damn recipe and gone after him. You’d be wrong.

  Shame—at losing my shit, at failing Lucas, at driving away three people in less than a week—kept me frozen for too long, and then I slipped on the puddle of egg and went down hard. My right butt cheek is four shades of purple now, and I broke down and took a rare morning Vicodin. Sitting in my chair is pure torture, but what choice do I have?

  “You’re here early.”

  Royce’s deep voice startles me, and I drop the dusty, chocolate brick, sending more detritus onto my desk. “Dammit.” As I turn the keyboard upside down and shake it, Royce heads for the coffee machine.

  “You’re not actually drinking office coffee, are you?” He holds the half-full pot aloft. I meet his gaze, and his eyes widen. “What happened?”

  Great. So I do look as terrible as I feel. “You mean besides Lucas quitting and something fucking up the code so we almost lose the Coana job? Isn’t that enough for one week?” I clench my hands into fists as the tension holding my head in a vise squeezes harder. “I’ve got to check every one of the subroutines to make sure whatever happened didn’t cause any other issues, and Oversight is still crashing every time I try to load the biometric module.”

  Royce takes a step back in surrender. “Orion will be here in an hour. Put him to work.”

  I shove an unruly curl behind my ear. “He’s never touched Oversight’s code, and he’s not certified in Python yet. He can analyze the performance monitors, but the rest? It’s all on me. The success of this whole damn project, of everything I’ve worked for this past year, it’s all my responsibility. You want to help me? Leave me the hell alone.” Because you’re so damn good at it remains unsaid.

  We stare at one another until he sighs and returns his focus to his coffee, and suddenly I’m back in the hospital, my leg immobilized with rods and pins sticking out at all angles, two surgeries in, with another six ahead of me. Stop. Don’t go, my wounded soul screams. But the only words I can force out barely make any sense. “Can you even see me?”

  His shoulders hike up to his ears as he sets the sugar container back on the counter and then takes a long time stirring his coffee. When he sets the spoon aside, a weariness stiffens his movements.

  “I see you.” Royce brings me a fresh cup of coffee as a peace offering. “I’m trying to help you.” When he rests a hand on my shoulder, I’m tempted to lean in, but my anger flares.

  “‘Help me’? You’re working so damn hard because you can’t stand to look at me. To see what happened to me and deal with it. I got hurt, Royce. No one’s to blame, but I still spent a year in the hospital and rehab, and another nine months before I could do much more than stand up without assistance. I don’t need your help. I got by without it when things were a hell of a lot harder than they are right now. So go hide in your office and continue to ignore me. It’s what you’re best at, after all.”

  When did I start crying? The air conditioner cools the wet tracks on my cheeks, and I swipe at the offending tears with as much anger as I can muster. Until Royce flees to his office. The door slams, and I’m back in my kitchen as West walked out on me.

  With no one around, I let myself break. The sobs start as I sink into my chair, then turn to hiccups after the fourth tissue. I sound like someone’s strangling a frog, and the thought helps me claw my way up from the pit of overwhelming emotion I’ve fallen into.

  The brownie is now a salty mess, tears turning the chocolate into—well, something that resembles a kid’s mud pie. The scent of Aqua Velva from my first ever boyfriend wraps around me, and I’m sitting at the counter in my parents’ kitchen with Mama’s arm around me, my teenage sobs ruining another brownie—this one made with love and care.

  “Stop it.” I pinch my arm as hard as I can, using the pain to focus until my breathing returns to normal. Luckily, no one else chose to show up early today so I can take a few minutes to compose myself. My little makeup bag saves me, and soon, other than my red-rimmed and puffy eyes, you’d never know anything was wrong.

  Bringing up Oversight’s control panel, I give the computer my sternest glare. “You are going to behave, or I’ll dismantle you line by line until you’re begging for mercy.”

  By the end of the day, I’m ready to throw my computer off a tall building and move to a tropical island with no internet access. I could work as a bartender at a cushy resort. Somewhere no one knows my history, and I can start over. Somewhere I’ll never see Lucas, Royce, or West again.

  At least Oversight appears stable. I haven’t found a single bug in the past four hours, and when I sent Orion over to the Coana Hotel to upload her new code, the system hummed along perfectly.

  As I sweep my sandwich wrapper and soda cup into the trash, my eyes start to water again. My silent phone taunts me. A dozen times today, I tried to find the words to reach out to West, but how do you apologize for completely irrational behavior? I couldn’t even manage to give him a coherent answer to why making those brownies was so damn important.

  Royce’s door bangs open, and he fills the narrow space as he scans the office. I’m the only one left, and I know for damn sure he doesn’t want to talk to me. The feeling’s mutual.

  “Have you moved at all today?” His weary voice startles me, and I choke on my seven hundredth cup of coffee. “I didn’t think so. Come on.”

  As I get to my feet, the bruise from last night’s fall sends an intense wave of pain down my leg. Royce stops a few steps away, concern furrowing his brow until I wave him off. “I’m fine. Where are we—?”

  With a quick flash of his palm, he shows me the pack of cigarettes, then leads me out into the alley. There’s nowhere to sit here, so I lean against the brick wall of the building while he lights up. The rich scent of cloves and tobacco stirs the memory of my grandfather’s favorite brand. Not exactly the same, but close enough.

  When he offers me a puff, I can’t help myself. I haven’t smoked since I got out of the army, and I take a long, slow pull, rolling the smoke around on my tongue. Out here in the fresh air, I can pretend no time has passed, and we’re at the PX stocking up on gum and caffeine pills.

  Wispy clouds paint the sky with practiced strokes, and when I glance back to find him watching me, I’m surprised at the sorrow I find in his eyes.

  “About earlier…”

  “Oversight is stable. Orion’s hanging out at Coana for the next few hours to keep an eye on the performance monitors. We’ll be fine.”

  “I didn’t doubt you.” He takes a drag on his cigarette and then exhales with a heavy sigh. “What happened between us?”

  The question throws me, and I stammer a few unintelligible half-words before I manage to put a coherent thought together. “I got blown up, and you disappeared.”

  He frowns and starts to reply, but this might be my only chance to say all the things I’ve wanted to say for ten y
ears.

  “I needed you, Royce. Do you have any idea what it was like to wake up in a hospital bed alone with three broken ribs, a punctured lung, nine shattered bones in my hip, leg, and arm, burns, a concussion, and internal bleeding?” As he hangs his head, I continue. “You were the first person I asked for. I could barely speak after having a tube down my throat for two days. After a week, the nurses were sick of me. They’d bring me a meal, and they’d say, ‘No, Camilla, no one’s heard from him.’ Everyone else visited. Bonzo and Yankov took shifts by my bedside when the doctors had to put me in a medically-induced coma for a week. Bucky let me cry all over him when they warned me I might lose my leg. Where were you?”

  He drops the cigarette on the pavement and grinds the ball of his foot against the smoldering stub. “I took another commission.”

  “No shit. Why? The army wouldn’t have forced that on you. Not right away. You could have come. Even once.” My voice cracks, and I clench my free hand, digging my nails into my palm as hard as I can. “I didn’t hear from you for almost five years. Five years! And then you show up and offer me a job? I was so fucking pissed at you, I almost slammed the door in your face. But I hoped working for you would give us a chance to rebuild our friendship. I should have known better.”

  His fingers shake as he withdraws another cigarette, and after the fourth failed attempt at working the lighter, I hold out my hand. We’re so close I can smell his aftershave, but the second I squelch the flame, he starts to pace. “I failed you, Cam. Hell, I failed the whole team. I didn’t see the debris around you. Yankov tried to warn me. He’d seen a similar setup with his last team. I ignored him. If I hadn’t, if we hadn’t all gone out drinking the night before, if Bravo team’s disposal specialist hadn’t come down with food poisoning, you’d be able to walk without that damn cane.”

  “Playing ‘what if’ won’t get you anywhere.” I pause until he meets my gaze. “I never blamed you. I chose this life, Royce. I could have gone into cyber ops, but diffusing bombs was challenging and dangerous and thrilling. I knew the risks. Eighty-six times I cheated death. Eighty-six times I had your voice in my ear keeping me calm. How could you just abandon me when I needed you most?” The dam I built over the past ten years crumbles, and the full torrent of my emotions washes over me. “You were my brother, and when you disappeared, you took away the only family I had left.”

  The crash as he kicks a dumpster sends my heart rate soaring, and I must make some sound because he whirls around. Remorse presses down on his shoulders.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His chest stutters as he draws in a breath. “I couldn’t bear to see you broken by my mistakes. I didn’t know staying away would make things worse.”

  Blinking up at the sky to try to stop my tears from spilling over, I choose my next words carefully. “I survived, Royce.”

  “Did you?” He takes my hand, his fingers warm and rough. “I’ve never seen you lose control. Ever. Not in the worst firefight. Not when we lost Tommy. The past few days…”

  Now I’m the one pulling back. “I can’t. Not…yet.”

  “Cam.”

  His “big brother” tone grates, even though it’s one of the things I’ve missed most about him. “A lot’s happened in ten years. This week—the past couple of days—life has seemed determined to kick me in the ass every chance it gets. Can we leave it at that for now?”

  I ache all over, but in my heart most of all. I want to run, but I force myself to meet his gaze. My friend, my only family, shakes his head slowly.

  “I wish we could. But Cam…I’m sick.”

  The world falls away from underneath me, but before I hit the ground, his arm wraps around my waist, and he steadies me until I find my footing again.

  His thin frame—so obvious as I lean against him—should have clued me in, but I’ve been wrapped up in my own shit for so long, I couldn’t see past the chasm between us. “Explain,” I manage as I brace hand against his chest.

  “My second commission.” He stares up at the sky, as if he’s trying to decide how much to tell me. I extricate myself from his grip, trying to give him space to tell me what he needs. He starts to pace slowly. “I refused to command another ordinance crew, and I hated myself so much, I went to my CO and demanded he find the riskiest missions he could—the ones no one else wanted.” Royce’s voice falters. “I wanted to die serving my country, not live out my days knowing I’d failed my team.”

  My cheeks are wet again, and I swipe at the offending tears. “You didn’t—“

  “Let me finish. Please.” His third cigarette seems to calm him, though he only takes three puffs before he tosses it away. “There’s no proof. But, I spent months disposing of sarin gas and depleted uranium. We took precautions—shit, more precautions than you could ever imagine. But…”

  “Royce.”

  He meets my gaze. “There’s a golf-ball-sized tumor pressing down on my brain stem. Docs aren’t sure if it’s cancer or not. With surgery, I’ve got a thirty percent chance of a normal life. Without…the doctors give me two months.”

  Our entire friendship plays on fast-forward. How intimidated I was when I met him. How I found him drunk off his ass behind the mess two weeks later, hung up on some girl back home. How he reamed me for not double-checking my suit on my first solo disposal. How wrecked I was the night I told him why my parents don’t speak to me anymore.

  “You’re having the surgery. Please tell me you’re having the surgery.” If he says no, I don’t know how I’ll stay upright.

  “In ten days.” He clears his throat, and at his sides, his fists tremble slightly. “I can’t do this without you, Pint.”

  My long-ago nickname, Pint-Sized—because despite my height, I was thin as a rail when I joined the army—sends me over the edge, and I wrap my arms around him as we cling to all we each have left. Each other.

  I can’t sleep. After spending an hour with Dr. Google researching brain stem tumors, I’m terrified for Royce. He wants me to take over the company while he recovers, but what do I know about managing people? I can’t even open up to my boyfriend—former boyfriend, I guess, as he hasn’t contacted me. I sent him an “are you there?” message, but he hasn’t responded, so I give up and pour myself a generous shot of bourbon as I log on to VetNet.

  More than once I switch over to the chat window, wishing I could talk to West, but he’s been offline for three days now. As my eyes start to burn again, I click on HuskyFan’s name.

  He read my last message as soon as I sent it, and he posted on the Vents and Rants board yesterday about his mother-in-law and how his second job presented an unexpected challenge when he had to outsmart a particularly ugly problem, but he hasn’t replied to me.

  “What the hell?” Maybe today’s my day for things to work out. After all, I managed an honest conversation with Royce, despite the pain it caused. Seems safe enough to test the waters with a guy I’ve never met in person.

  FlashPoint: Hey, HF. I haven’t heard from you in a few days. Life…hasn’t been great here. I think I broke up with my guy, and work sucks ass. One of my coworkers—a friend—quit, and I’m afraid he’ll never forgive me. My boss…well, we talked and we might be almost solid again, but he’s got some serious shit going on and I’m worried about him. I hope you’re doing better. Having fun at your side job? Is that helping things with your wife any? Check in, okay? I could really use a friend right now, and they seem to be in short supply these days.

  After I brush my teeth, I return to my laptop to see that he’s read the message, but again, hasn’t replied. Maybe my luck hasn’t changed that much after all.

  15

  CAM

  A s I’ve chipped away at Oversight’s last remaining problems the past three days, my own have percolated in the background. Coming face-to-face with my failings in the long hours I’ve spent alone in front of a computer has left me questioning everything, and I don’t like the answers I’ve found. Give me a bomb and I know what to do. Wire
s, circuits, timers, and fuel all behave in logical, predictable ways. Put me in front of a man I care deeply for—a man I might even have been able to love—and I’m paralyzed with fear.

  I’ve spent a good portion of my nights thinking about our time together. West shared his life with me. Not just the pretty parts, but the uncomfortable, messy bits that no one likes to acknowledge: his nightmares, his business troubles, his perceived failings as a SEAL team leader.

  What did I do? I pushed him away rather than admit my own shortfalls as a friend, a programmer, a partner. When I can breathe again, I’ll show up at his door and apologize in person. Even if we can’t find our way back to a relationship, he deserves that much.

  For what I hope is the final time before we turn the system on for good, I update the Oversight server. One module, two, three, four…I hold my breath as I watch the system monitor after each piece of the software comes online. No memory leaks. I shudder as a small piece of stress falls away. Finally. “You beautiful piece of ones and zeroes. I want to kiss you!” If I could dance, I’d pick up the laptop and waltz around the room. Instead, I settle for blowing a kiss at the screen with an exaggerated “mwah!”

  “Would you like to be alone?” Royce slips through the door into Coana’s server room with a cappuccino in his hand. “This is a hotel. I’m pretty sure you could rent a room and go at it with the software all night long.”

  I throw a wadded-up Post-It note at him, but my aim sucks, and the projectile bounces off the to-go cup seconds before he hands me the steaming beverage.

  “You’re a god.” The rich, caffeinated nectar revives me, and I close my eyes to enjoy the sensation.

  “How are you doing?” He’s largely left me alone this week, but the few times we’ve found ourselves in the same room, he’s been more like the old Royce, the one who knew me back when I barely knew myself. He won’t talk about his upcoming surgery—not in any detail—but his voice carries a near permanent sadness that I ache to be able to ease.