“I deserve a bullet.”
Bennett swallowed and joined Darren to look out the window but didn’t attempt to wrest the gun from him. Time to dissect to the dark heart at the center. “Why do you think that?”
“Because that’s how those boys died. The ones I sent in.”
“It’s the job. We all knew the risks when we joined up.”
“Risk versus reality is different.” Darren caressed the gun. “You got out after Noah was killed. Cut yourself off from the team. Are you telling me you never thought about it?”
Suicide would have been the easy way out, and Bennett’s way had never been easy. From his time in foster care and beyond, the struggle to survive was familiar if not welcome. Living was his penance.
Besides, now there were other reasons to live that included a woman with enveloping hazel eyes and a warm laugh, even if those were more recent discoveries. “I made Noah a promise.”
Darren squinted as if looking far beyond the line of pine trees at the fence line. “I’d say you’ve gone above and beyond what Noah asked of you.”
Bennett rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well—”
A noise, as slight as it was, whipped him around, his senses heightened. Harper stood in the doorway, her hand around her neck. Her eyes were wide, but he couldn’t discern surprise from hurt from anger. Or maybe she was all three. His stomach squirmed. Later. He would explain later. Right now, his mission was Darren.
Her demeanor changed as she took in the scene. He gave a slight shake of his head, and she backed from the doorway but stayed in the hall. Having her there gave him courage. It had not been since his SEAL days—since Noah—that someone he trusted had his back. The irony wasn’t lost on him.
“You don’t really want to kill yourself, do you?” Bennett asked.
Darren shot him a side-eye and shrugged. “I wrote a note. I’m standing here with a gun.”
“How long have you been standing here?”
Darren stared out the window like he’d spotted an extinct dodo bird and didn’t answer.
Bennett stepped closer, within reach of the gun now. “I know someone who might be able to help you.”
“I’m not going to see a goddamn shrink. Everyone would know.”
“You don’t think everyone isn’t already wondering what the hell is going on with you? You’re a fucking mess, man.” Bennett would wrestle the gun away if it came to that, but he hoped it wouldn’t. “Give me the gun.”
Darren held the gun in both hands, caressing it like a talisman, before holding it out butt first. Bennett let a long breath out and took the gun, hefting it in his hand. Something was off. He checked the magazine. Empty.
“No bullets,” Bennett murmured.
“I was going to practice a few times. Work on the angle.”
Or he really didn’t want to kill himself; he just couldn’t see another way out. Bennett could give him that. “How about this … no shrinks, no base support group. You remember Alex Ramirez?”
“Sure. What’s he doing now?”
“He’s a SEAL instructor but also works with current and ex-military who have been injured physically, mentally, and emotionally.”
“You think he can help me?”
“If he can’t, then he’ll point you to someone who can. Your kids need you. Sophie especially.”
“I’ve been a shitty dad.”
“Then work toward not being so shitty.” Bennett stuffed the gun in his waistband at the small of his back. “Look, I grew up without a dad, and my mom OD’d when I was nine.”
For the first time, Darren came out of his selfish stupor to send him a sympathetic glance. “I never knew that.”
“I went through the foster-care system in Mississippi, passed from family to family. Having a dad would have been a dream come true. Even if he wasn’t perfect.”
Darren leaned his hands on the windowsill and dropped his head. “You think I have a chance to make things right with Allison?”
“There’s always a chance to make things right.” Bennett glanced down the hall. Harper still stood sentinel at the top of the staircase.
“Okay. I’ll talk to Alex.”
Bennett pulled his phone out of his back pocket.
“Not right now.” A hint of panic sailed Darren’s voice high.
“You need help right now. Alex can recommend a doctor who understands the military mind-set. You will do everything he recommends. If you don’t, I’ll talk Allison into having you committed on a fifty-one-fifty.” Bennett wasn’t bluffing. He’d hog-tie Darren and put him on a psychiatric hold himself, if necessary.
Bennett punched Alex’s number. A measure of tension bled away when he answered with a clipped “hello” on the second ring. Someone else to help shoulder the burden. The briefest of explanations followed; then Bennett handed the phone to Darren. “You don’t have to hide anything. Alex has heard it all and worse.”
Darren took the phone and sat on the edge of the bed, his voice hoarse and stuttering. Bennett backed out of the room but left the door open. Harper straightened from where she leaned against the wall, full of worry and questions.
He nudged his head and went downstairs. Harper stayed on his heels but didn’t speak until they were in the kitchen. “You’re going to leave him alone?” The fire in her eyes burned into him.
Bennett took the gun from his waistband and laid it on the table with a thud. “Not even loaded.”
“You don’t think he would have gone through with it even if we hadn’t found him?”
The letter against Darren and Allison’s wedding picture flashed in his mind. “Honestly, I don’t know. But I do know he wants help and hopefully Alex can give it to him.”
She cocked her head. “Wounded Warriors?”
“He works with them but also does outreach. His brother was ex–Special Forces and committed suicide.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Yeah.” Bennett rubbed a hand over his jaw and looked at her through his lashes. “Listen, I know you overheard us talking about Noah. And you.”
She rubbed her arm and drew in on herself. “I love you, Bennett, but I can’t live with this secret between us. I thought I could give you time—years even—but I can’t. If that makes me selfish or stupid or whatever, then I guess that’s what I am.”
Everything after “I love you” blurred together. “Wait. What?”
“I said, if you don’t trust me enough to—”
He grabbed her shoulders and squeezed hard enough to get her to look up at him. “You said that you…”
He was a SEAL. Four-letter words were an art form. He could practically carry on a conversation only using four-letter words and their variants. But this particular four-letter word shocked him to the core. It made his bones rattle and his blood sprint through his body at a breakneck, sickening speed.
Harper took his forearms in a tight grip and searched his face. “You don’t look too good. You’d best sit before you pass out.”
She steered him backward. The edge of the chair hit the back of his legs and he slumped down. “You love me?” The words felt unreal. “Me? Why?”
Everything about her softened, and instead of leaving like every other important person in his life, she plopped down on his lap and wound her arms around his neck.
“Why not you?”
“Because no one ever has before.” Bennett didn’t want to admit he’d never heard anyone say the words outside of movies, and certainly not in reference to him. Sarge had been a less talk, more action kind of father figure.
Her chin quivered as she shuffled her hand through his hair. “That’s not true. Your sergeant loved you. Noah loved you. Jack London and Ben and my mom love you.”
It’s funny what a different perspective could do. He wasn’t alone anymore. Even more important, he wasn’t lonely anymore. He wrapped an arm around her waist and brought her flush against him, burying his face in her nape, his lips against her skin. “And you.”
“Of course me. How could I help but fall for you?”
“I love you, too. Just so you know.”
She relaxed into him, her back curling, and he took her weight with a gratefulness that was overwhelming. Overwhelming too was the realization he might lose her if he didn’t tell her the truth.
“I promised Noah to look out for you if anything happened to him.” His voice was rough. “He asked me to be Ben’s godfather.”
“That’s why Noah picked the name Ben.” She huffed a sigh before forcing eye contact. “The money was your way of taking care of us?”
“Yep.”
“You weren’t intending to get in a relationship with me, though, as a means of keeping your promise?”
“Lord, no, in fact—” He bit the inside of his mouth.
“Spill it.”
Spill, excise … what was the difference at this point? “I’ve been feeling guilty as hell.”
“I think Noah would have given his blessing. He loved you like a brother.”
“It’s not only that. It’s…” He blew out a long, slow breath. “Even when he was alive, I felt a weird draw to you.”
She put some distance between them, her hands resting on his shoulders. “But we’d never met.”
“Your letters.”
She took a quick intake but didn’t speak.
Nerves had him filling the silence. “I built this picture of you through your letters and emails to Noah. Funny, irreverent, sweet. It was something I kept to myself. Noah didn’t know how I felt, but it’s why I avoided meeting you all those years. I was afraid he’d figure it out. Anyway, it wasn’t real. I understood that when you drove to my shop and confronted me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, the real you is more complicated and amazing and beautiful … basically, more everything than my imagination conjured all those years ago.”
“Will you tell me how he died? I need to know and you need to tell me. Then, we can move on together.”
He wanted to believe the surety in her voice but didn’t.
Chapter 22
As always and forever, I love you. Make sure you come home safe to me and our baby. We both need you now.
Harper
Bennett hopped out of the helicopter, hitched his bag over his shoulder, and hunched over in a walk-run away from the whirring blades. Dust rose and obscured his range of vision to just a few feet, the grit irritatingly familiar. It worked its way into every crack and crevice, even the most personal ones.
Darren, the platoon officer in charge, was in front of him, and Noah and the rest of the men were on his heels. Stepping out of the shade of the two helicopters was like sticking your head into a preheated oven. As the dust settled, the base came into view and they weaved their way to the briefing room. Gear rattled as they jogged. The helicopters took off, throwing up another wall of lung-clogging dust.
Their SEAL team operated out of Camp Lemonnier in North Africa. They were set apart from the other men. Untouchables who inspired awe. But Bennett felt like just another grunt in a godforsaken desert. Not what he had in mind when he’d joined up to see the world. Nostalgia for the green lushness of the Mississippi swamps reared up to bite his ass at the funniest times.
They had gotten word on the way back to base from their most recent direct-action mission that a high-value target had been identified. A briefing and a few hours’ rest was all they would get before they loaded up and headed out in the dark of night.
Folding chairs were scattered around the room. An AC unit hummed and pumped in blessedly cool air. One corner was taken up with an L-shaped desk that acted as their communication center with laptops and sat-com capabilities.
The primary target was a purveyor of secrets and information. Unaffiliated with any group or religious sect, he spoke one language and worshiped one god—money. The village he’d holed up in was full of his blood kin who might well be unaware of his activities on the dark web. A village full of innocents made the mission especially precarious.
“Take a seat.” Darren’s voice boomed through the room.
Bennett grabbed a folding chair and opened it on the flanking side, facing Darren. Noah joined him and the rest of the men fanned out in a semicircle.
Darren reviewed the information that had been collected by intelligence sources. Pictures flashed up on the screen of the man and his suspected cohorts. Eight total. The question was how hard would they defend the racket they had created? Under the cover of darkness and during the chaos of a firefight, their faces would blend into one another and the enemy would be determined by who was trying to kill them. Kill or be killed.
Bennett, Noah, and a few others would be sent straight to where the leader was thought to be living, a compound in the heart of the village. The man’s picture had been taken from his university photo. He was clean shaven, smiling, and preppy looking. Since then, he might have grown a beard and gone to fat. No one knew. The man was less important than his machines. The computers and cell phones would be a trove of information to root out bigger fish.
That was the hope, anyway. Except for every secret seller they eliminated more rushed in to take their place. A nightmarish carousel going round and round. A weariness no amount of sleep could alleviate had worked its way into Bennett’s bones.
Now they would wait until dark. Men handled the wait differently. Some paced; some slept; some joked too loud. One guy meditated. Bennett preferred to find a deserted corner with a deck of cards. Keeping his hands and subconscious busy helped. Noah joined him. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they didn’t, but it was always comfortable.
Noah pulled out a folded-up piece of paper. A black-and-white photo fell out. He held it up and stared so intently, Bennett grew curious.
“What’s so interesting?”
Noah held it out. It looked like some new age modern art. Wavery lines and gradients.
Bennett squinted at it. “What is it?”
“An ultrasound,” Noah whispered.
Now that he realized what it was, a curved line revealed itself as a head. “What is it?”
“A baby, dumbass.” Noah slipped him a sly grin.
“Boy or girl, smartass?”
“We decided to find out together once I’m home.” Noah plucked the ultrasound out of Bennett’s hand. “Keep your mouth shut about it for a while longer. I don’t want to make a big announcement. I feel like I’ll jinx it or something.”
“Of course. Dude, I’m superhappy for you and Harper.”
“Yeah. It’s a dream come true.” Noah’s smile held secrets shared with his wife.
Noah was a great guy and friend and Bennett was happy for him, but the tiniest sliver of him was jealous, too. Not that he wanted to take what Noah had, but Bennett’s life back in the states was solitary. Lonely. He only had himself to blame.
“Still leaning toward ‘Benjamina’ if it’s a girl?”
Noah barked a laugh. “That’s exactly the name I suggested to Harper before we deployed. She loved it.”
Bennett smiled and shuffled the cards. Noah smoothed a letter over his knee, and Bennett recognized Harper’s handwriting.
While she and Noah exchanged countless emails, it was her letters that were high points. She had declared letter writing a dying art that she must upheld. Her letters were never about urgent matters but the day-to-day interactions with a cast of people made more amusing by her observations.
“What’s Harper got to say? Or is this too private?”
Noah didn’t always share her letters, and Bennett could only imagine what was in them with a small crimp around his heart that he did his best to ignore. She wasn’t his and never would be.
Noah read, and Bennett closed his eyes.
“Dear Noah,
“Well, it happened on a Tuesday at two PM sharp. Total humiliation standing between the Ms and Ps. Perhaps I should back up a bit and inform you that the creature in my stomach—I’ve bequeathed him/her the name
Mongo (temporarily, of course)—has been putting up quite the fuss.
“I thought I had escaped ‘morning sickness.’ Which, by the way, is complete and utter bullshit. I was at the library browsing for more books to fill the time while you’re away and before Mongo makes a grand entrance. There I was holding Anne Perry’s latest when Mrs. Hempshaw approached.
“Let me describe her for you: short and round in every way. Her head; her belly; even her glasses have round black frames. She’s very nice and knowledgeable and I enjoy talking books with her. There’s just one problem: she always smells faintly of cabbage. And while cabbage is an excellent vegetable (you know how much I love coleslaw), this particular morning the smell made Mongo angry. And you won’t like Mongo when he/she is angry.
“First I belched. And not a ladylike one. A trucker who’s been on the road eating pork rinds and Slim Jims for days kind of belch. Mrs. Hempshaw might have performed the classic Southern lady taken-aback pearl clutch.
“If that was all then I could have retreated with only mild embarrassment. But, oh no, Mongo threw his/her first temper tantrum. Before I could even take a step toward the bathroom, I threw up. A Linda Blair–Exorcist puke.
“I had the wherewithal to not turn my head toward the two stacks lined with books. That would have been a real tragedy. As it was, the Anne Perry I was holding was charged to my account and a hazmat team was called in to decontaminate Mrs. Hempshaw. (That last part isn’t true. But she might be traumatized and seeking other work. Or therapy.)
“But wait, it gets worse. Mrs. Hempshaw took a step back to escape the carnage, but her foot slipped in the deposit I’d made on the floor. I took a step forward and grabbed hold of her arm to steady her, but I too went sliding. It was like we were dancing and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. We steadied ourselves and locked eyes, the message in Mrs. Hempshaw’s clear—’we shall never speak of this again.’
“As always—”
The Military Wife Page 26
