by Xavier Neal
“It's okay,” she assures me. In a soft whisper she says, “I don't blame you. Tyger's an asshole too.”
A crooked smile comes out of me and we exit the room together to resume the tour. We walk towards the end of the hall with her pointing out the other two doors on the right are team meeting areas and notes one of the spots in the wall leads to an exit set of stairs.
At the end of the hall she points to the right, “That is the director's door. Director Shepard. Everything we do comes from him. His orders come from...well, someone higher up. You won't be meeting him today, but soon. Do not go into his office unless requested. We clear?”
“Yes ma'am,” we respectfully answer.
“God I feel ancient,” Jazz groans as we turn left. “I'm gonna take you down underneath the main level where there's a weapons training area. It branches off into firearms and other. Underneath that level, the deepest level we have is where we hold interrogations and interviews. There are doors on that level that require a security clearance level you do not have. I know you are all big boys and can figure out why.”
Torture. They use the rooms we can't get into for torture tactics. I don't mind fighting for my country. Killing what I need to in order to protect it. Honoring the men and women who have given their lives for this great nation to continue to be just that. But that doesn't mean I ever want clearance to be in those rooms.
***
Pulling up in front of my house, the last to be dropped off, Jazz stops me from getting out. I need a shower. Severely. I smell like sweat. Gunpowder. A combination that Haven used to love. There's another sharp pull in my chest. Fuck. I hate that that's back. I would go another round at the punching bag in the garage if I thought I could endure another round, but training with HORN isn't like anything I've dealt with before. It gives the inner rage and insanity that tries to swarm around a direction. A purpose. Drags it front and center and beats it until there's nothing left. Then demands more. It's perfect. And painful.
“Grim.” Jazz's hand squeezes.
“Ma'am?”
She scrunches her face quickly and shakes her head. “Don't do that. Turn that back off please.”
Realizing I'm still in training mode, I take a deep breath and relax against the seat willing my mind to shift gears. To turn back into every day Grim. To put the mask back on that they're expecting from me. The way our unit is supposed to work. Blend.
“What do you need Jazz?”
“I need to know that you trust me.” The grip on my bicep drops.
Uncomfortable by the statement my body tenses. Alert. Alarmed. “Why?”
“It's unlike you to ask questions.” She tries to smile but fails. Miserably. “Look Grim, something is coming. Something big. I need to know that when shit hits the fan, you know I have your greatest interest, the team’s greatest interest in mind. That I'm doing my job and what's best. That you trust me to handle everything. That you trust to follow my lead. That you trust me.”
The subject matter has me shifting uncomfortably. I've never been asked do I trust my commanding officer before. It's a given. An assumption. An expectation. Never has my opinion mattered before. But this is different. This unit is different. This operation. Everything.
“I need to know when the time comes that you do.” Jazz sighs this time gripping her steering wheel tightly. White knuckle tight.
With a sharp nod I reply, “I do.”
“Good,” she answers unlocking her doors. “I'll see you soon.”
I don't say another word as I get out of her vehicle the same time dad and Haven arrive home. When her eyes link with mine she immediately glances behind me seeing Jazz's SUV. The look on her face causes my heart to constrict. To twist hard enough for something inside to break. She turns her face away from me and quickly rushes to help my dad. The thing I should be doing. The thing I would be doing if she didn't have my mind so wrapped around her. And all it took was a look. Fuck. I hurry across the yard to unlock the front door for the two of them, opening it wide to save them the trouble.
“Thanks,” Haven whispers strolling past us.
Dad flops himself down on the couch as he grumbles, “I'm really okay Haven.”
“Whiskey--”
“It's okay. Really. Go ahead and go to your movie as planned. Besides Slugger is here. He can order us pizza.” Haven looks at him with a soft look before briefly glancing at me like just making eye contact hurts. I know the feeling. Fuck. I'm experiencing the same thing.
Scratching the back of my neck, I'm immediately reminded I need a shower first. A hot one. A long one. “Yes sir. I can take care of us.”
“Of course you can,” her voice seems to whimper as she turns on her heels to head upstairs. Dammit. I miss hearing her voice with strength and confidence. Attitude. Life.
I plant my hands on the back of the couch beside my father, his arm in a sling. With a deep sigh, I hang my head unsure of how much more of this I can endure. Mindy was right when she declared love another battlefield. No matter what armor I'm in, no matter what weapons I have loaded, I'm never fully prepared. It's never fucking enough.
In a low voice he says, “Things will get better.”
Haven appears at the end of the stairs now wearing a pair of snug jeans and a tight brown sweater, her tags still on top where they belong. Where they should always belong. Her hands are filled with a notebook of some sort.
Cautiously she steps a little closer to me. “I was going to give this to you this morning but you were a little...um...busy.”
Sir looks up at me concerned, “Busy doing what?”
I don't shift my focus to him. I leave it on Haven. I know this is a great time to explain. The perfect chance. Instead of taking it I clamp my mouth shut tighter.
“Here.” She hands me the notebook. “While you were away the therapist suggested I write you letters explaining the things I didn't get a chance to say to you or that I felt I couldn't say or that I had trouble saying,” she mumbles in a hurry, her eyes glued on the ground. “It was supposed to be a coping technique. I didn't have to show them to you, but I felt there are some things you should know.” As soon as the notebook touches my hands she pulls on the sleeves of her sweater and begins mumbling again, “I hope you choose to read it. But if not I understand. I uh.....have to go. Mandy and Mindy and me, we've got this girl's night thing planned. Kinda started as a way to deal with the...well with what happened between us. Just kinda never stopped doing it after that.” When her gorgeous brown eyes finally lift back up to mine I feel my knees buckle. Fucking really? Let's not start that shit again. I brace myself against the couch. “You sure you don't need me to stay Whiskey?”
“Go. Go,” my father waves a hand at her. “We'll see you later.”
She offers him a weak smile, turns, and exits without another word. The minute the door closes my father asks, “Are you gonna read that?”
I look down at the notebook in my hands and stare at my name printed in cursive on the cover. The look gentle yet sad. Lost. Fragile. With a hard swallow I change the subject. “You sure you're okay?”
“I'll be fine,” he grunts doing his best to mask his discomfort. “It was just a shot to the arm.”
“You took a shot to the chest as well.”
“I'm fine,” he repeats irritation clear in his voice. “Not the first time I've taken a bullet. Probably won't be the last.” The information feels like a small pinch on the back of my neck. A small nag. I didn't know he had been shot before. I know very little about his time in the Navy. About him. “So what can you tell me about her?” I don't answer. My eyebrows simply rise. “Is she the reference Haven was making?”
“She was.”
“Hm.” He hums out. “Well, I know you're not sleeping with her.”
“How?” I question his judgment.
In a grouchy voice he declares, “Because I'm not stupid.” I shut my mouth again. “Commanding officer?” Gripping the back of the couch tighter, the journal slightly in
my way, I divert my attention down knowing I can't exactly answer. He nods, “Alright. What can you tell me?”
“I'm in training,” the standard line falls from my lips like I'm programmed.
“Ah,” he says. Turning to me he cocks a crooked smile. “I'm proud of you son.” My eyes look into his as he continues, “I know how it works Slugger. I know what you can and cannot say being in the division you can or cannot confirm you are actually in. Just like I know that woman isn't the latest bar babe who can't let go.” I let a smile twitch onto my face and he nods again, “I'm real proud Slugger. I just hope you know what this means. Not just for you, but for all of us.” Before I can question what he's getting at he explains, “Everything you do in the Special Ops affects your family. Even when they promise to protect those you love, never forget that the mission is what matters most. Everything else is second. Don't. Forget.”
The words ring in my ear beside Jazz's question about trust. This is the only thing I've ever wanted for my career, is to be at this level and in the span of twenty minutes all it's done is made me rethink the choice. Doubt something I have spent years craving. Doubt that this is it for me. But it has to be. There is no other choice. Not now. Not ever. It's too late for doubt. For fear. For second guessing.
Official HORN Unit Duty Day 5
To my surprise life returned to normal. Early morning runs. Breakfast with my father and Haven. Lunch with Mindy. The gym. I offered to take Sir to his first therapy appointment, but Haven insisted she do it since she would be the one to do it when I went back on active duty. I know I should tell her that I won't be leaving like that again. That this time it's different. That this time I am fighting for our country right here on our home turf. That chances of me being shipped off for months at a time are basically gone. But I haven't said much to her. It feels like it did when she first landed in my yard. Like we're two strangers with one very hard pull that won't let us part. It's fucking hard to explain. Harder to deal with.
“I can't believe Mindy still wants to have this,” I say through the closed bedroom door. Haven insisted on moving out of the room. I insisted she stay. Sleeping on the couch isn't the best, but I've had worse. Much worse. And the guest room isn't an option either. That would cement this. Finalize that we're through. Even if I'm not sure how we'll get back to that point, I know we will. We have to.
“You know it's tradition,” Haven answers a little more cheer in her voice since Jazz hasn't been around. That worries me. She's been too quiet for too long. Too long only means the next time she summons it's going to be as bad as the first. If not worse. And since that was the only training day we've had in the facility I know it's coming. Soon. Haven opens the door and I let my eyes drift across her mocha colored skin that is wearing an off the shoulder, long sleeve floor length black dress. It hugs every. Single. Fucking. Curve. The ones that I spent months keeping buried in my brain. And the ones that are brand new to me but have had my attention every chance they've been given. The ones that know they're for me. No one else.
Haven's hand is suddenly tilting my chin up. My eyes close at the first intimate contact we've had in over six months aside from my welcome home hug. Her hand is warm. Soft yet slightly calloused. Instantly the tension I was holding in my body vanishes. The insanity of the unknown future that lies in front of me silenced. Her ability to do that is beautiful. And terrifying.
I open my eyes and see her brown ones full of life. Lit up. Sparkling at me in that way that lets me know I'm it for her. That I always have been. That I always will be. The look doesn't fade as her hand slips away, but my hope does. That fucking bitter poison I can't seem to fucking shake no matter how hard I fucking try.
“You okay?” Her voice asks closing the bedroom door. “It looked like I lost you for a sec.”
“You'll never lose me.” I state. Shit. I shouldn't say things like that to her. Not anymore. Or maybe at least not yet. Maybe never again. Fuck. I don't know. I hate all this uncertainty bullshit. Damn. Is there anything certain in my life anymore? No defined enemy. No defined orders. No defined relationships. I need that order. I need that structure. I need those answers. This. This is madness. I'm not sure I can handle it.
Haven beams a wide smile and slips her arms around mine similar to the way she did the first time I took her to the welcome home dinner. Still smiling, she sheepishly asks, “Is this okay?”
I swallow hard. I nod. And I fight every impulse inside me to pull her into me and kiss her. To re-stake the claim of what's mine. To erase all the months of animosity. To erase every fiber that doubted she didn't love me. My fist clenches at my side. As much as I want to kiss her, it won't fix anything. It won't undo what happened. It won't be the million answers we both need.
The two of us head down the stairs and for the first time since I've arrived home she takes the chance to talk, to really talk to me. She tells me how she and Mindy started a personal baking delivery service together. Apparently it was Mindy's idea. When she heard Haven had a job offer from Michele she countered. Of course Haven liked her options with Mindy better. Ideal hours too. I listen and fight the pride swelling in my chest. Mindy has always been on my side. Just like I know my mother would've been too.
Inside the party I let Haven go and make a straight bee line for my father who is at the bar entertaining Glove and Lordy. I happen to catch the tail end of the conversation that seems to be about the coming football season.
“Drink?” Dad offers nodding his head towards the liquor bottle.
“No thank you,” I reply. “Should you be drinking?”
He raises his whiskey glass, takes a swig, and puts it back down. “No.”
Glove chuckles and I notice he's got a beer in his hand. Immediately I look at Lordy who has the same. Like the small children they are, both hide the bottle behind their backs.
When I glare Glove whines, “Come on Grim. I haven't had a drink since I've been home. Do you know how fucking hard that shit is?” I fold my arms across my chest. He groans again, “So we're not allowed to drink ever?” My eyebrows raise. “Like ever ever?”
Lordy sighs and places his half drank bottle on the counter. “Fine.” When Glove doesn't he elbows him slightly. Glove goes to put his bottle on the counter but takes one last drink beforehand.
“And that's why we call your son Grim sir,” Glove whines and then starts tugging at his tie around his neck. Dad chuckles and Glove continues his childish antics, “And why ties? I hate ties.”
“Child,” I grumble.
“Don't start with me,” Glove points a finger at me. “Can't wear sweats. Can't drink. Can't get laid. What can I do?”
“Not a lot from the sound of it,” a voice I recognize says from behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Mandy wearing a short black sleeveless dress with a pair of heels too high to keep any male in his right mind thoughts clean. Great. Just what Glove needs. Temptation in stilettos. She greets me, “Clint.”
“Mandy,” I nod in return.
“Hey Whiskey, good to see you're on your feet!” She exclaims at my father. Huh. Well I'm glad she made it into the family. I always liked her.
“Eh, you didn't really think a gunshot wound would keep me down did you?” he chuckles and picks up his glass.
“It should stop you from downing alcohol,” my head tilts to the glass. “Pain meds and liquor are not a good combination dad.”
“Slugger,” his voice firm and hard. “I know what I'm doing.” And just like that he walks away, glass still in his working hand.
Fighting the urge to growl I turn back to notice Glove staring at Mandy, mouth slightly agape, focus zoned in on the shortness of her dress. Right underneath her ass. When I clear my throat to divert his attention it fails.
“Can I talk to you for just a minute?” Mandy questions. “Alone.”
Suspicious I look around to verify she's speaking to me. Her eyes don't move from their fixated point on mine. I give Lordy and Glove a nod to leave us alone. To no surpris
e Glove throws another minor tantrum as he's being dragged away.
Now that it's just the two of us, I look back down at her and wait. She stares back up at me, her make up perfected face scowling like I've never seen before. I'm not sure if she's aware the expression doesn't frighten me. Or concern me.
“Really?” she plants her hands on her hips. Confused I merely remain silent. She repeats, “Really?”
“Really what?”
“You really haven't made up yet?” Seeing where the conversation is headed I shift my weight. My eyes try to focus on something other than her, which causes her to snap her fingers in front of my face. I tense in response to having the sound that close to my body. Defenses of a hand that close to my face kicking into high gear. “Don't look away. I'm talking to you.”
“No. You're yelling at me.”
“Yelling is a form of talking.” I don't counter. “Seriously Clint. Have you even tried?”
“What business is it of yours?” my question pours gasoline on the fire.
Mandy takes a sharp step toward me. I don't back down. I don't move. However, my breath does stick to the inside of my lungs. “She's my best fucking friend Clint. That's what makes it my business.”
The small rage inside over the situation leans my body down towards hers, “Then where the fuck were you when that asshole was taking my place?”
Surprised by my response she gasps a bit. Mandy stares at me hard in the eyes as she regains her plan of attack, no longer unprepared for me to bite back. “Where were you?” The question pushes me back a minute. Confusion on my face. “You place a lot of blame on her. Rightfully so. But where were you? Did you really fight for her as hard as you thought you were or have you just spent the last few month spinning the weave of the tale so all guilt falls on her?”
Is she right? Was I at fault too?
“I've got to study Clint,” Haven's voice sighs into the phone.
“Of course,” I don't argue back. “And it's not like I can help with that...any more than you could me with my training.”
