by Lizzy Ford
Chapter Eleven: Sawyer
I’m finding it hard not to pity Katya. She’s clearly miserable, though I warned her about the rain. If she were one of my Marines, I’d call this a lesson. But she’s not. She’s a clueless civilian who gave up her sleeping bag to one kid after almost taking out a fellow counselor for hurting the feelings of another kid.
She really is a contradiction. So oblivious in some ways, worse than a child, yet capable of purposely needling me to try to piss me off. There’s an instinct that’s been building whenever I’m around her, one I wasn’t able to define until this evening. I’m beginning to think her problem is that she doesn’t have someone who takes care of her the way she tries to everyone else. Petr watches over her from a distance but even he won’t get too close, knowing she’ll give him hell if he does.
Someone like Katya needs an occasional ass kicking and someone to hand her a jacket every time she gives someone the shirt off her back. She’s both completely selfless about taking care of others and a selfish bitch when it comes to how she’s viewed everything involving me. I’m not sure how someone can be both.
So frustrating. I want her to simply be a mega-bitch, so I don’t feel concerned about what she’ll do without a sleeping bag. As wrong as it is, I don’t want to feel compelled to take care of her. It’s a slippery slope. If she were anyone else, anyone who hadn’t managed to creep beneath my guard and get an emotional reaction out of me, then it wouldn’t matter.
But I’m feeling the need to maintain some distance – physical and emotional – between us. I’m starting to realize why, and I don’t like it. It’s something more than basic attraction, which is what I’ve been trying to tell myself it is.
She exits the front of the tent after talking to Jacob. As usual, she doesn’t bother telling me where she’s going or for how long. Maybe it’s a civilian thing. I’m used to a lot better communication than this.
“Don’t forget,” I tell the kids firmly. “Team first. Always.”
They nod. Lexi is holding Jenna while Tanner helps Rory.
With a glance at my watch, I add, “Dinner in ten. Be ready.”
I pull up the hood of my Gortex jacket and go out the second entrance, headed towards the tent Brianna said was ours. I reach it and stop.
It’s in a puddle, partially collapsed.
I’m beginning to wonder which girl is the bigger bitch.
“You can have ours,” Riley says, joining me. He points to the one on the north side of the camp. “We’re sleeping with the kids.”
“Great, thanks,” I reply.
We walk towards the other pup tent. These aren’t basic military issued canvas. These are lightweight, professional, high-end camping tents, another sign that the Khavalovs spent money all over the place.
“I never thought I’d like cooler weather like this. I’m tempted to sleep outside,” I say wryly.
“It’s a nice break,” he agrees. “Sorry about Brianna.” Riley clears his throat. “You ever wish they were service members, so we could just deal with this problem the easy way?”
I laugh and glance around to make sure Katya doesn’t get the drop on me again. “Every fucking day.”
“I’ll run interference. Is Jenna really a bed wetter?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t even know how to deal with that.”
I smile. There’s always an easy air with other members of the team. Most were hand selected for my team, and I trust them completely, know them better than anyone else. It’s relaxing being around Riley, even when we’re quietly standing in a steady stream of rain for a few minutes, each of us lost in our own thoughts.
“Mikael would like this,” Riley says.
“Yeah, he would.” It’s hard to forget the reason we’re out here. I have to tolerate Katya for Mikael’s sake, as well as Petr’s.
“Captain Mathis, Rory hid my shoes.”
Riley laughs. We give each other a look then turn to face Morgan. She’s wearing her raincoat – and is bare foot.
“See you at dinner,” Riley says with a snort and starts towards the mess tent.
“All right, come on,” I say to Morgan.
She takes my hand, and I bite my tongue, wanting to remind her that Marines don’t hold hands. Seeing her feet sink into the mud, I take pity on the girl and swing her up into my arms and over my shoulder. She’s slender and weighs about what my pack today did after Katya stuffed it full of clothes and god knows what else. I didn’t double check before slinging it onto my back.
Morgan is giggling. I take her inside the tent and deposit her near her rack. Her shoes are sitting on top of her sleeping bag, and she whirls, glaring at Rory, who looks guilty.
“I told you I was getting Captain Mathis!” she yells.
“No yelling at team members,” I chide. “And no stealing shoes.” This I direct towards Rory.
He mumbles something. I’m not sure if it’s an apology or excuse, but I won’t humor either.
“Dinnertime. Line up!” I order them.
The kids scramble into a line, with Morgan falling in last. We’re getting looks from the other teams. Unconcerned, I critically evaluate my little team.
“Water?”
They go down the line saying check.
“Meds, Jenna and Rory?”
“Check!” They chorus together.
I glance around without seeing my fellow camp counselor. Not surprised, I march the kids out of the tent, into the rain, and next door to the mess hall. We’re the first there, for once, and the scents of barbecue are thick in the air. My mouth waters at the thought of pulled pork sliders and cornbread.
And then I remember Katya’s healthy meal plan. With some reluctance, I go to the food table designated for our team by a blue flag and take in today’s surprise. A smiling cook is waiting to scoop whatever this shit is onto our plates.
“This is what?” I ask, indicating the main dish, which looks like barbecue, if meat came in cubes.
“Tofu-cue!” the cook says cheerfully. “Homemade tamales, refried chickpeas, organic cornbread and almond-soy custard for dessert.”
“Fucking A.” First my bacon, now my barbecue. If Katya is using food to wear me down, it’s working too fucking well. Trained to lead by example, I present my plate anyway. “Load me up.”
The cook fixes up everyone a plate. I’m pretty sure the cornbread is all that I’ll be able to choke down. Like usual, the food isn’t bad. It’s not what I want right now, and it doesn’t taste like real food, even if the consistencies and coloring are similar.
The kids don’t complain, even though almost all of them avoid what the cook called tofu-cue. I don’t even know what tofu is, except that it can’t be anything that grows naturally. It’s definitely nothing I’ve seen served in a mess hall.
Too occupied trying to understand what I’m eating, I don’t notice that Katya isn’t there to enjoy the menu she picked out until I’m done. I finish before the kids, who aren’t used to eating quickly like I do in the field.
Bet she’s secretly eating a pulled pork sandwich and laughing. Twisting around, I assess Katya isn’t at dinner at all. I don’t think even she would wander off from this place, especially in the rain. It’s not like her to be absent. She may not like it, but thus far, she’s gone everywhere the team has.
Brianna is here, which makes me relax some, until I start to think maybe Brianna won their face off and buried her in the forest. Katya has heart, but I spent an hour with her teaching basic self-defense. If Brianna has an ounce of training, Katya isn’t going to win.
Harris isn’t here. The hair on the back of my neck rises the way it does when I’ve walked into a surveillance web. I tell myself it’s nothing. He may be in his tent or something. This isn’t a war zone, Sawyer. We aren’t surrounded by people trying to kill us.
Sometimes, it’s difficult to take your mind out of the war zone, even if your body already is. Shaking away my unease, I go back for another piece of cornbrea
d.
Half an hour later, I march the kids back to their tent and turn them over to Riley. I imagine it’ll be more comfortable in the big tent and wish Katya could stay there instead of a pup tent. I’m sure Riley would gladly give up his cot, if the two women weren’t on the verge of killing one another.
Tomorrow will be an early day. We’re starting at six instead of eight. Our team, however, will get to sleep in an hour. I head back to the pup tent and unzip the opening. Stripping quickly out of my wet clothing, I roll everything tightly and enter the tent, which has a lit lantern hanging from the low ceiling. There’s enough room for two people and a few feet of space for packs at the other end. By military standards, this is luxurious.
Katya isn’t here. Irked, I pull out my phone and text her to ask where she is, not for the first time in the past two days.
Her response is quick. With the kids. Don’t wait up.
“Sometimes …” I stare at the phone. I’m not going to let her rattle me tonight.
I hang up my wet rain gear at the other end and set my shoes there, too. The patter of rain on the top of the tent promises to lull me into sleep. Stripping off my layered shirts and pants, I change quickly into sweats and sit on my sleeping bag.
Thunder grumbles. It’s far off and reminds me of the sound of a distant battle. I listen to it, recalling when the last time was that I heard a thunderstorm. It was the night before that horrible day four months ago when I lost four men.
My thoughts return to that night, and I close my eyes. I can almost smell blood and sulfur, feel the scorching heat of the explosion that took off Petr’s leg, hear the shouts of my team as they struggle to accomplish the mission while rescuing their fallen friends.
Worst night of my life. Yet, it led me here, to the peaceful forest helping children who are a lot like me. It’s one of those paradoxes I’m not certain what to do with. When I was sixteen, I mugged a Marine, a man who then became my mentor and the reason I joined the Corps.
If I hadn’t been involved in a life of crime, would I be here now? If I hadn’t walked into an ambush four months ago, would I be able to touch lives of orphans like me and perhaps inspire them, too, to join a service one day?
These are the kinds of thoughts that sweep me away when I’m completely alone like this. I’m used to being around people twenty four seven, and I’ve never noticed how lonely it is in a pup tent a few meters from everyone else. As much as she irritates me, sleeping in the same room as Katya keeps these thoughts from plaguing me.
Not wanting to dwell on the past or the emotions percolating, I turn off the lantern and crawl into my bag.
Folding my hands behind my head, I stare into the darkness. There are some days when I think I have a problem that runs a little deeper than the occasional nightmare. I hardly sleep anymore and when I do, it’s not well.
I’m beginning to think I’ll have to hunt Katya down when the door to the tent rustles and unzips. A gust of wet wind enters.
“Just me,” she says. “You awake?”
“Yep.”
“Oh.” She sounds disappointed and seals us back in. “Nice and warm in here.”
I ignore my anger. “You missed a fantastic dinner.”
There’s a pause, and then she chuckles.
“I assume you’re trying to torture or kill me with this food.”
“Hmm. Why would I want to … oh, yeah. Something about you killing my brother.”
Walked into that one.
She settles on the other side of the tent. If the constant tap of some body part against the floor is any indication, she’s shivering.
“Where you been?” I ask.
“Around.” Her teeth are chattering.
Be cold, Iceman. “All right. Sleep well.”
It’s too dark to see in the tent. I can hear her rustling for a moment then sense her stretch out on the ground beside me.
I’m not going to do it. Not going to fall for it. Not going to get drawn in.
Not going to take mercy on her because she gave her sleeping bag to a nine-year-old orphan.
I know it’s a losing battle before I grate my teeth and sigh deeply.
“I’ll share,” I say reluctantly. “Shoes, socks and rain gear off. You can hop in with me.”
I am going to regret this. The last thing I want is to be so close to her, we’re touching the whole night.
Chapter Twelve: Katya
“I’m fine.” Wow. Can he be anymore insincere? What an ass.
I can’t feel any of my exposed skin, and my fingers are too numb to work right. Even so, I’d rather sit here and shake all night and risk freezing to death than trespass in his sleeping bag after such a forced offer.
“It’s not a request,” he says in the tone he uses with the kids.
I laugh. “Whatever. Like that shit works on me!”
He says nothing. Jesus, I’m cold!
“Come on, I’m serious,” he says.
“Yeah, you sound really eager to share. I’m fine.”
“Katya, you would make a terrible, terrible Marine. That said, you gave up your sleeping bag so Rory had one, which was a very sweet thing to do. The least I can do is share,” he says in a softer tone. “I don’t mind too much.”
There are times when he eggs me on and those when he says something I don’t expect. I touch my cheek. It’s hot, the only part of me that is, after my little tiff with Harris. No one’s ever slapped me before. It hurts more than I expected.
Then again, my hand does as well. Captain Mathis was right about the dangers of punching someone. My wrist feels swollen. It’s not the first time things got weird with Harris, but it’s the first that he actually hit me.
I’m not sure what to think about that.
“I’m okay here,” I respond, drawing myself out of my thoughts. “I appreciate it.”
“One.”
I raise my head.
“Two.”
“You are not counting down like I’m –“ I snap, anger warming me from the inside out.
“Three.”
“Son of a bitch. Fine!” I sit.
“Shoes, socks, rain gear off,” he repeats.
I didn’t wear raingear, remember? I keep quiet. I’m too soaked to get in fully clothed. After fumbling with my shoes and socks, I pause, considering. He really doesn’t want me in there if I’m drenched and muddy. As reluctant as he is to share, I decide I’d rather be warm than anything else, like remain in these cold clothes. Besides, this might be a good chance to mess with him a little for his snide remarks about the menu I picked out this week.
Peeling off my clothes down to my bra and underwear, I sit, shivering. “Okay.”
He rustles around, making room I assume, and I scoot towards him. One foot finds the sleeping bag, and I slide it in. My god, it’s warm from his body heat and the insulation. I can’t wait to melt into it.
Captain Mathis’ hand finds my thigh, and I stop moving, struck by the heat and weight of his hand.
“What the … are you naked?” he demands quietly, the amount of surprise in his voice making me smile.
“Not naked,” I reply calmly. “I didn’t have raingear and was soaked to the bone. Move.”
For the first time since we’ve met, I’m pretty sure I just shocked the shit out of him. And I’m proud.
He shifts around again and I wriggle my way into the warm sleeping bag, my back at his solid one. A trickle of surprise and desire go through me. He’s naked to the waist, and his warm skin is pressed to mine.
“Oh, god, this feels good,” I groan. “I hate being cold.”
He says nothing. I can’t begin to imagine what’s going through his head right now. I do think that I’ve finally won a round between us. Warmth sinks into me, and I relax.
“Thanks,” I murmur.
“No problem.”
The words are forced, like his offer.
This guy really hates me. It’s kind of odd. I guess I’m not surprised, given our convers
ations. Yet there are times when I think the opposite, that there’s a part of him interested or at least, human. Maybe he only hates me part-time.
If that was the case, I don’t think he’d be freaked out about me being in my bra and underwear.
I’m not sure why that amuses me. Snug, warm and satisfied about surprising Captain Mathis, I drift off quickly, listening to the sounds of the rain and the distant rumble of thunder.
***
Some time later, I wrench out of deep sleep, alarmed. Lightning lights up the pup tent as bright as day. The smash of thunder immediately follows, strong enough to make the ground shake. My heart is flying, my adrenaline racing through my blood.
But it’s not the storm that woke me.
Captain Mathis is thrashing, struggling in the sleeping bag, mumbling names and shouting words I can’t understand. He managed to roll over me, and the sensation of being temporarily unable to breathe is what scared me out of sleep.
Night terrors. Like Petr used to get.
I prop myself up on my arm, twisted up in the sleeping bag with him. Our legs are tangled, and I’m lying half on top of him.
“Hey,” I whisper, resting a hand on his arm. “Wake up, Sawyer.”
He calms at my touch without waking. His head goes back and forth, and I recall what Petr told me about the dreams. He said it was like being trapped in a nightmare that was too real, one based on something terrible that happened. For him, he wasn’t able to get past the night Mikael died. Over and over, he watched our brother die, every night for weeks.
I can’t think about it without wanting to cry and focus on Captain Mathis. The night terrors scare me, remind me how deep the unseen wounds of battle really run. Petr’s body is almost healed, but I have a feeling he’s still having bad dreams.
“You’re safe, Sawyer,” I say. “Wake up. It’s okay - you’re safe.”
They’re the same words I used to repeat to Petr every night when his screams awoke me.
I rest a hand on Captain Mathis’ forehead and murmur to him over and over, knowing that eventually, he’ll snap out of it. His body is trembling, his brow clammy. I take everything in, not sure why it bothers me so much to see him like this. It doesn’t seem like anything affects Iceman.
