by Lizzy Ford
It’s the fact we can’t interact without something hanging between us. Anger, tension, frustration … I can’t name what it is, but it taints every conversation we have. We aren’t on the same page.
We aren’t even in the same fucking library. I’m at a loss as to how to bridge that gap, though, which is something that never happens to me. I can learn to work with anyone – but her.
It’s nine o’clock, and I’m in front of the barracks. The kids are in bed at eight like I predicted, completely zonked after their long day. I’m not sure where Katya is, another of my issues with her. She can’t seem to understand the point of teamwork and communication. At all. How hard is it to tell me she’s stepping out for ten minutes?
Right now, it’s a good thing she’s not around.
I try to tell myself she’s got a merit or two. The kids love her, and she’s great with them. She’s as warm as I’m cold. They obey me and flock to her. With them, there’s none of the tension or snarkiness she displays with me. The food she planned leaves me wishing for more, but is at least healthy and her intentions good. At the very least, she’s not cooking.
But I can’t recall ever working with someone this stubborn and oblivious.
I sit on the stairs of the barracks, comfortable with the warm evening air. Our team is the only one racked out, while lights glow in the windows of the other barracks.
“How’s it going?” It’s Riley, approaching from the direction of his assigned quarters.
“Definitely not boring,” I reply.
He sits beside me. He’s the muscle on the team with a Hollywood smile and the ability to charm any woman he crosses. While all the guys are strong, Riley is a bear.
“That’s the way we like it,” he says with one of his trademark grins. He’s looking at the open door to his barracks. Light pours out of the front door and windows, and I can see kids dancing and milling around.
“You having issues getting them to sleep?” I ask.
“Nah. They’ll wear themselves out.” He’s quiet for a minute. “Hopefully. I didn’t realize kids had this much energy.”
I laugh.
“Got two of my own. No fucking clue,” he quips.
With a nod, I don’t pry. Riley had a problem keeping his dick in his pants the first few years in the military. I know his history only because I had to look over his admin paperwork a time or two. Two kids, two different mothers, neither of which he’s married to. A diehard bachelor, he’s learned a thing or two about not sleeping around as much, though I’m pretty sure the kids and child support aren’t a total deterrent.
“You figure out why your partner wants to kill mine every time they cross paths?” he asks. “She won’t say.”
“I can’t even begin to guess,” I reply. “I have never met anyone so stubborn.”
“Hey, at least she ain’t hitting on you all day,” Riley said ruefully. “I love a pretty girl, but Brianna … pretty sure Petr’s got his eye on her. He lost his leg to save my ass. Not gonna take his girl.”
“Pretty sure you can handle flirting.”
“It’s better than people shooting at you.”
“I wish I could say the same about his sister.”
Riley laughs.
“Great team we have here.” Katya’s cold voice comes from behind me.
Goddamn it. I checked our room and the bathroom before coming out. Assuming she’d gone wherever she fucking wanted, I didn’t bother looking for her anywhere else. I can’t say anything right around her.
“It’s almost a compliment,” Riley says, not missing a beat. “Captain Mathis loves a firefight.”
We both twist to look at her. Standing in the doorway, she’s glaring at me, dressed in shorts and a long sleeve t-shirt, her arms crossed.
“It was an inappropriate thing for me to say.” No part of me wants to apologize, but I remind myself that I’m dealing with a civilian.
“You’re welcome to find yourself a new team,” she says. Stepping inside, she closes the door quietly.
I hear it lock and curse under my breath. I really didn’t think today could get any worse.
Riley laughs.
“That woman …” I stand and pace. I grit my teeth to keep from saying more, in case she’s standing at the door, listening. “Fucking A!”
“Never seen anyone get the drop on you, Captain Mathis.” Riley stands and claps a hand on my shoulder. “Fuck her or leave her. Otherwise, she will drive you mental before this is over. I’ve got a lock pick set. Wait here.” Grinning, he heads back to his barracks leaving me fuming in front of mine.
Fuck her or leave her. I honestly don’t know which I’d prefer. Something tells me all this shit would be worth it for a night in her bed, if only for the sense of satisfaction in seeing her melt beneath me, but fuck. I’m not looking to get laid and especially not from a woman trying to make my world hell. It’d be easier to walk away. For good.
Except that Petr wants me to work with her. I don’t fully understand why, unless he’s hoping I can change her attitude enough that she no longer drives him crazy.
Don’t think that’s possible. I take a few deep breaths and do a couple mental relaxation exercises, like counting to ten and reciting the Marine Corps honor code. By the time I’ve regained my calm, Riley is on his way back.
He passes off his lock pick set. I use it to get in the front door then hand it back.
“Good luck,” he whispers.
“You, too.” I reply and motion to the two preteen boys that are darting out of his barracks and racing around the square.
Riley grimaces and starts towards them.
I close the door and wait a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark. The whir of the air conditioners keeps any of the noise from outside from disturbing the sleeping kids. Walking quietly through the bunks, I approach the door to the room I share with Katya. The edges are outlined by the light from inside.
One day down. If I can handle back-to-back tours in Iraq, I can survive a week with her.
I open the door and walk in.
Katya drops something and whirls, staring at me. She’s in shorts and a tank top for once, and if I’m not mistaken, she’s not wearing a bra.
Not that I’m looking. She’s got nice breasts, and it doesn’t take a genius to notice.
“Figures,” she snaps. “Couldn’t knock?”
“It’s my room,” I reply calmly. Realizing I’m watching her, I close the door and enter the room fully.
She kneels to pick up the lotion she dropped, and I freeze.
I’ve seen a lot of wounds and scars in my time. I don’t know that I’ve seen anything close to what’s on her shoulder, peeking out of the tank top.
“What the fuck happened?” I crouch behind her and instinctively touch the knotted scars on the back of her shoulder.
She knocks my hand away. “None of your damn business.” Katya starts to rise. I grip her arm, keeping her in place. My knees drop to either side of her thighs to aid my balance. Too interested in the old wound, for once I don’t notice our bodies touching or how close I am to her.
“This is why you limp,” I guess. I run my fingers down her back, following the feel of the scarring through her shirt. It stretches diagonally from her left shoulder to her right hip.
She’s stiff, tense. “You noticed?”
“I notice everything. What the fuck did this?”
There’s a brief hesitation then Katya tugs her arm free. She pulls the back of her tank top over her head, exposing the damage.
Speechless, I rest a palm on her back. The scar tissue is as wide as my extended hand, from the tip of my pinkie to the tip of my thump. It covers most of her back. The skin is warm and soft despite how ugly it looks.
“There was a fire in the family ski lodge when I was nine,” she said tersely. “It’s what killed our mother. I got trapped under a super heated steel beam. Cut right through me. Spent six months on my belly in the burn unit.”
“And I t
hought getting shot was bad.” Knowing this doesn’t make up for her being a bitch. It’s giving me a little more insight into why she’s got this shell around her.
“I’m sure it is.” Her voice has a slightly breathless quality in it, one I’m not expecting to hear. Almost like she’s … affected by my touch.
Which makes no sense. This woman hates me with a passion I’ve never reserved for anything. My gaze travels down her narrow, feminine shoulders to her shape. Trim torso, tucked waist, perfectly rounded hips. She smells more of her own scent and less of other products this evening, a smell I find myself leaning forward to breathe more of.
Shit. No. She’s not remotely interested in me, and I’m not in her. At least, I will continue to tell myself this.
“I can’t believe you noticed.” She sounds upset.
“The scars? This is the worst shit I’ve ever seen.”
Katya pulls her tank back on, pushing my hand off her back. She twists to glare at me, face red. “That is the rudest thing you’ve said yet!”
Civilians. I shift to make room as she turns to confront me, my hand falling automatically to the soft skin of her upper thigh. Our bodies are touching, her face a few inches from mine. I can see the different hues of blue and green in her eyes.
I can also see that her pupils are dilated, a second sign of physical arousal. I’m not sure what to think of that, especially when she’s clearly angry with me once more. I don’t seem like her type, and she’s definitely not mine.
“I meant, I can’t believe you noticed my limp,” she snaps. “I’ve spent years fixing it!”
“I only noticed this morning when you were walking back with Jenna,” I reply. “When people are tired, they aren’t always able to regulate themselves like they do usually.”
She’s upset. I’m not sure if it’s because I noticed her limp and scarring or because I’ve been too blunt with her again.
“If it helps, I’m more detail oriented than most others,” I add. “Is the scarring why you don’t wear bathing suits?”
Her flush deepens. She crosses her arms.
I don’t know how she does this: infuriates me yet makes me sympathetic to her in the same breath. The idea a woman as beautiful as she is can be self-conscious is absurd, yet her blush confirms it. It’s probably why she didn’t want to get in the paddleboats when everyone stripped down to bathing suits this afternoon. I’m once again torn between reaching out to comfort her and getting away, before I say something that I can’t take back.
“You shouldn’t let the scarring deter you. You’ve got a great body,” I tell her.
She rolls her eyes. “I assume you noticed that, too.”
“Absolutely,” I reply without hesitation.
“Whatever. You don’t have to lie about it.”
“Do I strike you as the kind of person who tells you anything but the truth?”
“I’m well aware you’d rather be in a firefight than deal with me!”
“I meant that, too.”
She’s staring at me like she either wants to kill me or figure out what kind of alien I am.
“I can’t imagine it’s the first time you’ve heard either of those things,” I add, growing irritated by the tension between us.
“You are such a dick,” she responds. “Pretty sure that’s not the first time you’ve heard that, either, is it?”
Fuck her or leave her. Right now, I’m thinking there’s a third option, one that makes me wish we were in the deserts of Iraq, where no one would find the body.
Every conversation ends this way between us. It’s the reason we shouldn’t be alone together. Ever.
I have the urge to breach the delicate space between us. She’s breathing more quickly. I don’t let myself consider that it might be because she’s attracted to me and chalk it up to being anger. I do realize my hand is on her bare leg and my body is humming with adrenaline and anticipation, the way it does before a mission.
Or before I fuck a girl I’m insanely attracted to. This is like high school attraction: untamed, burning, and consuming. It’s not like me to feel like I want to lose control with someone, to allow my calm control to be burned up in passion.
A knock at the door makes her jump and jars me.
Katya rises quickly and answers it.
My gaze follows her ass, and I shake my head, standing and moving away.
“I think there are spiders in my bed,” Jenna whispers from outside the door. “Can I sleep with you?”
Oh, hell no.
Katya glances at me. I shake my head. Jenna is too old for this.
“Sure!” she says to Jenna.
Jenna smiles and enters.
Maybe this is a good thing. I don’t say anything but go to the bathroom for a quick, cold shower. When I emerge, Jenna is wrapped in Katya’s arms, and the two are buried under the comforter.
I turn off the lights and lay down. My blood is moving too quickly for me to sleep, and I stare at the ceiling. I don’t know what to think about what passed between Katya and me this evening.
I’m starting to really wish I was back in Iraq, where life is much simpler.
Chapter Ten: Katya
I can still feel his hand on my back the next morning when he all but drags me out of bed at five again. Jenna didn’t pee in the bed¸ for which I’m grateful, and I bear through the morning drills. There’s no self-defense this time. I’m not sure if I’m happy about that or not, especially when I join in the drills, running laps, circuit training, other shit I’m not a fan of. I can’t help feeling too aware of my limp today. I spent years in physical rehabilitation and am careful not to give any sign of the accident that took away my mother.
The fact that Captain Mathis of all people noticed it …
It’s too personal, like sitting with him on the floor last night, our bodies touching and his warm palm on my thigh. Not that he noticed anything, but I definitely did. It makes me fevered thinking about how close we were together.
Post-morning torture, we go to breakfast and then head to a couple of activities before we’re sent back to our dorms to gather our gear.
Today is the day I’ve dreaded most. We’re going off into the woods to spend the night. No dorms, though I guess there are outhouse style bathrooms. No showers, though.
Ugh. I straighten from packing. I’ve been very studiously ignoring him today, not engaging unless I have to. Self-conscious about my back or maybe in general, I have the urge to crawl inside my shell and stay there.
“You’re taking all that for one night?” Captain Mathis asks from his side of the room.
“Just in case.”
“Just in case what? The world ends?”
I shoot him a dirty look. Everything he’s taking fits into one small pack. His sleeping bag is rolled tightly and attached to the military style bag. I’ve got a suitcase and a sleeping bag almost as big.
“You never know,” I say defensively.
“You can’t carry all that to the site.”
“That’s what your truck is for.”
“We’re hiking, Katya.”
“What?” I face him, suspecting he’s messing with me.
He’s not.
I should’ve asked more questions. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing out here, but everything I do or say is wrong. The others don’t seem to be having issues adjusting like I am.
“You don’t need a suitcase for one night.”
“I don’t have a pack like yours,” I tell him.
His jaw clenches. I turn away, waiting for him to tell me tough luck and to lug my shit there. I’m itching for a fight with him. It might make me feel better after the weird intimacy of last night.
“Both of our stuff should fit in one pack,” he says at last. “Pull out what’s essential, and I’ll put it with mine.”
Hmm. Didn’t think he’d say that. I want to refuse and hope they forbid me from going. But … I still feel like I need to prove something to myself by making it throug
h this week. I’m not sure what it is, and I pray that it’s worth it by the end of this mess.
I push my suitcase on my bed and unzip it, considering its contents. I don’t notice Captain Mathis looking over my shoulder until he speaks.
“First, you need to be wearing these.”
I jump.
He leans around me, his forearm brushing mine and his chest at my back. Warmth spirals through me. I ignore it, more concerned with him destroying my clothing. Grabbing my hiking boots, he drops them on the bed.
“I figured I’d change into them once we get there,” I rationalize.
“You don’t need two pairs of shoes for one night.”
I roll my eyes.
“One compete change of clothes, one small bathroom bag and rain gear,” he rattles off.
“Rain gear? Really? You Marines have some sort of sixth sense that tells you when it’s going to rain?”
“You don’t have to be a Marine to tap the weather icon on your phone. It’s common sense to check before you go camping,” he replies evenly, gaze on my clothing. “What is all this shit?” He picks up a lace blouse I had packed in case there’s some sort of formal affair.
I snatch it and push him back with my shoulder.
He moves away. “Bring extra socks and pajamas, if you want them. Anything else gets the axe.”
“Pajamas if you want them? So you sleep naked or something when camping?” I snap. Too late, I hear what I said. What’s worse, I’m already imagining him lying buck ass naked on his sleeping bag. If the rest of him is as nice as his thighs and biceps …
Stop it, Katya!
“We’ve got to be outside in five,” he says.
“Yes, sir!” I say sarcastically. Thank god he didn’t catch the naked comment.
He leaves me, and I shake my head. It takes me a few minutes, but I boil everything down to two changes of clothes, sandals, extra socks like he recommended, pajamas and one bathroom bag stuff to the gills.
His pack is half empty. I wonder if it’s because he was expecting me not to be prepared or if he always travels light. I don’t dwell on it too long but shove my clothes into it.
