Survivor (First to Fight Book 2)

by Nicole Blanchard

  She glances down at the clothes in her hands and the suitcase in front of her knees. She places the handful of shirts inside and zips it shut. “I’m—a…nothing. I’m just packing.”

  “Sure doesn’t look like nothing.” I step inside her room and close the door. “What’s going on? You said you were sick and then you didn’t answer any of my texts. I’ve been fucking worried about you, Sof.”

  She jerks back as I get closer and I frown. “I’m fine. I’m sorry, I should have texted you back,” she says.

  I wave that away. I want to go to her, but there’s a knot growing in my stomach that keeps me from taking another step farther into her room. Forcing my voice to remain calm, I say, “I don’t care about that, I just want to know that you’re okay.”

  She lifts a shoulder and the sweater falls off baring angry red marks. “Of course I am,” she says, tugging the sweater back up her arm, her thin smile wobbling.

  “Then what the hell are you doing? And what the hell happened to your shoulder.”

  She sets back on her heels, gets to her feet, and tucks her trembling hands behind her back “It’s nothing. Just a scratch from moving things around. I’m fine, I promise.”

  “Then why do you look like you’re about to blow chunks or run away screaming? I’m not mad. I mean I was, but I’m not really mad, baby. I was just worried.”

  Pressing her lips together, she sighs, then says, “I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

  My stomach clenches. “Tell me what, Sof?” My voice is rougher than I intend it to be and she shrinks back a little. I force my tone to gentle. “Tell me what?”

  “I’m leaving,” she says to her feet.

  The gas chamber at boot would have been easier to take. “The hell do you mean you’re leaving?”

  She squares her shoulders and finally manages to meet my eyes. The emptiness in hers causes the knot in my stomach to triple. “I mean I’m going and I’m not coming back.”

  My hands ball into fists by my sides. “Where are you going?”

  Now that she’s confessed her secret, the words start coming more quickly. Except now I wish I hadn’t convinced her to talk. “I’m going to test out of the rest of my classes here for this semester. I’ve got enough credits to graduate early. I’ve already spoken to the counselor at Tulane and accepted their offer. I start in the fall.”

  Those hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “That’s good, though, isn’t it? That’s what you wanted.” I scrub a hand through my hair. “You’re acting like this is a bad thing, Sof, and you’re really fucking starting to freak me out.”

  “No, I mean, yeah, it’s good.”

  “Then, I don’t understand. What’s the problem?” I cross the room and gesture for her to sit next to me on the bed. Before I left, before we were faced with the sudden shift in our relationship dynamic, coming here was easy. We’d sit on her bed and talk for hours. This time, she doesn’t lean back against my chest and play with my fingers as she chatters about our future. Instead, her back is ramrod straight and her eyes dart to the door every few seconds like she’s searching for an escape.

  When she doesn’t say anything, I change tactics. “Why wouldn’t you text me back?” Apprehension claws at my throat, makes it hard to choke the words out. I can feel the whole situation going bad, but there aren’t any moves I can make from here to salvage it.

  “I think we should break up,” she says, her face carefully blank now. Her whole body is wound up like a top.

  I’ve had a lot of training over the past year. Live grenades, sophisticated weapons, war-hardened Marines with a grudge. I’ve gone to thousands of briefings and trainings and classes designed to teach me how to respond in any and every situation that may come up during war and none of them have prepared me for this.

  “You’re going to be in South Carolina, I’m going to be in Louisiana. You’ll probably deploy soon and I know I’ll be going to graduate school at some point. I won’t be able to follow you around the globe wherever they decide to send you next. What’s the point in dragging this out?” she asks, unable to meet my eyes. “What’s the point? I don’t want to keep you in a relationship that’s going nowhere. It’s not fair to you.”

  I try for a calm response. “You know none of that bothers me. You know I said I would wait for you to finish school before we made any decisions. I don’t have a problem with a long distance relationship.”

  “Well, I do,” she snaps.

  I jerk backwards. “Since when?” The whole world has to be off-axis. Tilted a couple degrees in the wrong direction because I’ve never felt so off in my life. Scrabbling for control, I ask, “What are you saying?”

  She sucks in a deep breath. “I’m saying, I’m not sure if I want to spend the next few years of my life holding out on a future that may or may not happen. I’m seventeen, Jack. I’ll be in college. These are supposed to be the best years of my life. I shouldn’t be spending my Friday nights on video chats with someone a world away when I could be having fun. Enjoying myself.”

  When I’m not able to find the words to respond, she gets to her feet and drags out another suitcase, flinging me a defiant glance over her shoulder. “You should just go, Jack. I want you to go.”

  Confident she’ll change her mind in a couple days, I take the few steps to cross her room and stand in front of her. I cup her cheek with one hand, but she flinches away so I grit my teeth and drop it by my side. “You wait until the day before I’m leaving to tell me this? I guess that’s better than writing me a letter or doing it over the phone right?”

  “I’m so sorry, Jack,” she says, her voice barely over a whisper.

  Shaking my head, I open the door. I have to get out of here. Get away from here. “Goodbye, Sof,” I say.

  Present

  “SOFIE,” COMES A voice from the end of my bed. After hours staring at the note I found on the porch, I finally managed to fall into a fitful sleep around 2 a.m. I squint my eyes at the clock and see barely two hours have passed, even though it feels like seconds. Alarm shoots me straight up in the bed when I hear the tell-tale sounds of Donnie about to ralph, then he adds, “I don’t feel so good.”

  I have mere seconds from the statement until he’s doubled over the toilet in my bathroom. I rub his back with a hesitant palm, because isn’t that what you’re supposed to do with a sick kid? Even if he’s nearly as tall as you are and big enough to toss you around a little.

  When he’s done he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You okay?” I ask. What is wrong? Did he eat something bad? Is it the flu? I resist the urge to abandon him in the bathroom to do a quick internet search for communicable diseases in North Florida. While he flushes and shuts the lid on the toilet, I wet a washcloth with cool water and press it against his forehead.

  “I don’t know. I just feel crappy. Do you think I could stay in here with you for a while?”

  I pause before I answer, unsure of taking this step. Can I do this? This is what mothers should do. I’ve never even taken care of a goldfish, let alone a sick kid. All those mothering genes must have skipped my generation.

  Studying Donnie in the pale fluorescent light, I bite my cheek. He keeps his eyes on the floor studying his Superman socks and seeing them makes my insides warm and soft. I tuck an arm around his waist because reaching his shoulders is a no-go, and lead him to my bed. After I wrap him up in my covers and smooth the hair away from his face, I say, “Let me go get a big bowl, okay?”

  I’ve been very okay with being alone. I learned that the hard way. There have been a few times, though, when I’ve actually craved having the comfort of my overbearing Italian mother and when I’m sick is one of them, so God only knows how this kid feels because instead of her knowing, comforting presence, I’m all he’s got.

  I’m all he’s got.

  The thought stops me in the middle of the dark, silent kitchen, clutching the big white bowl my mom kept from my days with an upset stomach.

  “
Sofie,” comes his plaintive call down the hallway, spurring me back into action. I round the doorway into my bedroom and find Donnie curled in a fetal position on my bed.

  “Hey, here we go.” I place the bowl on the floor by the bed. “Do you need anything else?” I murmur, feeling his forehead because it feels like the thing mothers would do.

  “Water,” he croaks, hugging a pillow to his stomach and groaning.

  “Right, one sec.”

  On my way to grab a glass, I snag my phone off the nightstand and frantically dial Livvie’s number. Coding, piece of cake. Hacking, no sweat. Taking care of a sick kid? Color me clueless.

  Thankfully, she answers after the first ring. “Hello?”

  “Livvie, thank God. Donnie is throwing up and I don’t know what the hell to do.”

  She moans. “I think we passed it around ‘cause all of us have it too.”

  “Well, shit,” I say.

  “Just give him some sips of water until he’s able to keep them down. Then little bites of bland food and Gatorade. Should go away in twenty-four hours. If Rafe isn’t already sick, too, I’d keep him away from Donnie for a while until it passes.”

  “Great.” I barely know how to handle Donnie, I don’t know what the hell I would do if both of them get sick.

  “You’ll be fine. Call me in the morning if you need anything.” She makes a strangled sound in her throat and the line goes dead.

  “Sofie!” Donnie calls from the bedroom.

  Stumbling through the darkness, a glass of water clutched in my hand, I feel the first stirrings of nausea and pray it’s just the coiling of nerves.

  I press a hand to my mouth as I stumble from my bedroom to my bathroom. My foot catches on the little step up to the bathroom and I nearly knock myself out when my head collides with the towel rack. With one hand nursing the bruise forming on my head and the other holding back my hair, I lose what little contents I have left into the toilet.

  A glint of sunlight catches my eye and on any other day, I’d love its red-gold hues shimmering through the window, but not today. Not after the night of hell. Now, the sight of it makes me nauseous, but then again, so does pretty much anything at this point.

  I flush, then rinse out my mouth. I can already see a good sized goose-egg forming on my brow in the mirror. I groan. Hopefully, that disappears before I start my new job in town next week. I manage to shuffle back to my bedroom and slip carefully between the covers so I don’t disturb the two sleeping teens.

  I tap out Livvie’s number on my cell and hope she hasn’t died from the plague. If she feels anything like me, she’s damn near close to death as it is. The phone rings and I will my eyes to stay open and my stomach to stay settled.

  The line clicks and a groan answers.

  “Livvie,” I manage to croak out, my head now pounding from the serious beating and exhaustion.

  Another groan and some garbled words, then static as someone fumbles with the phone.

  “Hey, Sof, it’s Ben. Guessing you’re not feeling too good.”

  “Stomach bug, I think. Livvie said you guys had it to.” I curl into a ball, the warmth of my brothers at my back and their deep, inhalations the only sound in the darkened room. “I’m pretty sure we’re all dying.”

  “Yeah, she and Cole are laid up as we speak. Is there anything you guys need? How can I help? I know one kid is a handful, can’t imagine how it’s been with two sick ones.”

  “You’re a saint. I was going to ask if you could pick up an emergency pack of Popsicles, but you’re taking care of Livvie and Cole, so I don’t want to bother you.”

  “Don’t be stupid. I’d come over myself, but you’re right, I don’t want to leave these two alone. Livvie’s already threatening to kill me.” I’m making plans to live out the last of my days in this room when he says, “I’ll have Jack pick up some stuff for you and stop by on his way to the gym.”

  My heart jumps to my throat and if I had the energy, I would have bolted straight up in the bed. As it is, I can only manage a feeble, “No!” that sounds like the croak of a frog. “I don’t want to bother Jack.”

  Donnie grabs my arm, his palm feverish against my skin. “Jack,” he mumbles, his voice broken and scratchy. “Please.”

  As much as I want to protest, I can’t stand seeing either of them so miserable. The whole night I’d been up and down with Donnie and checking on Rafe to make sure he didn’t get it as well. I’d literally worried myself sick. I can’t begrudge them anything that will make them feel better. Even if it involves bringing in the last person I could possibly want to see me like this. “Fine,” I tell Ben. “Tell him thanks. I appreciate it.”

  He shushes a whining Cole in the background. “Okay,” he says to me. “I’ll call him right now and tell him to hurry. Is there anything else you guys need?”

  “No, that’s all. Thanks, Ben. I hope you guys feel better.”

  “Hell, me, too. I’ll come by and check on you guys later.”

  “Sounds good,” I tell him.

  He hangs up and I drop my phone somewhere on the floor. I slip into a drugged half-sleep. When my doorbell rings not even twenty minutes later, I sit up and immediately regret it when my stomach revolts. I forget about the door and run to the bathroom, tip-toeing as quietly as possible so I don’t wake the finally sleeping boys. My head throbs by the time I’m done and I worry about getting back to my feet without passing out.

  Heat wraps around my arm and I look down and find a lightly tanned hand wrapped around my elbow. I frown, following the hand to a thickly corded arm encased in a thermal tee. It’s a forest green that I know will match his eyes perfectly. I reach his eye-level and have trouble keeping on my feet. The kind, soulful look I find doesn’t help. It reminds me too much of the easy way things used to be between us.

  “I’ve got you,” he says, looping an arm around my waist. “C’mon, let’s get you into bed.”

  I can’t help it. It just slips out. “Now that’s a line I’ve heard before.” I slap a hand over my mouth.

  Jack grins. “You must be feeling pretty bad, huh, baby?”

  I don’t reply for fear that something else equally embarrassing will slip out without my permission. I lean heavily into his side as he guides me back to my room. When he steps in and pauses for a second to look around, I have a little mental panic about having him in my bedroom again.

  The boys snore lightly, sprawled across my bed so Jack diverts his aim to my mom’s old room across the hall. Thankfully, I am so exhausted that I can only give freaking out about having him here a passing thought. He helps me onto the bed and glances around the room.

  I do the same, spotting the little teddy bear he gave me when he got back from boot camp on my mom’s dresser and my nose burns with tears. I can’t believe she kept it. It’s little Marine utility uniform has seen better days, but it looks exactly like it did the day he gave it to me.

  When he pulls back the pastel colored-chevron patterned comforter, I can tell he notices the bear because his hands pause for a second. I bite my lip as he leads me down under the covers. He doesn’t say anything, but I do notice that he looks at me with questions in his eyes.

  He flicks the covers over me and I recline back on my pile of pillows. He pauses for a second, his big body entirely too at home being so close to me. Then, he leans down and reaches over me. For a second, my breath catches in my throat. He pulls back with the bear in his hand and a little smile playing on his lips. He tucks the bear in next to me.

  I grasp for a different subject before I combust. “How did you get in here?”

  Jack sits on the edge of the bed and puts a big hand on my forehead. I manage to catch myself before I lean in to the warmth of his touch. “I still had your spare key. I got your Popsicles. I can’t believe you still have to have those when you’re sick. I think I got the right kind, but it’s been a long time since I’ve had to do your lady shopping at the grocery store.”

  “I can’t believe you remem
ber that.”

  He assesses me with a small smile. “I remember a lot of things about you,” he says. His intense scrutiny makes me squirm under the covers. “I also got you some sports drinks, crackers, bananas and shit. Livvie had a whole list of things that are supposed to be good for kids when they can’t keep anything down.”

  “You didn’t have to do that. The boys just needed something to settle their stomachs. They were able to finally get to sleep and I figured they’d be hungry when they woke up.”

  “It’s no big deal.” He shrugs and glances away. “I’ve been here a lot for the boys over the past few years. And the gym has desensitized me to any and all types of bodily fluids.”

  Wincing, I clutch a hand to my stomach and try to purge the thought from my mind. “Still.”

  “Looks like you aren’t doing too bad on that front either,” he murmurs, nodding towards my old bedroom where the boys’ snores echo.

  Frowning, I look back at the doorway to my room and then at him. “What do you mean?”

  “For someone who was so convinced they couldn’t raise them, you seem to be holding your own.”

  I gulp down the compliment and if I had any blood left in my body, it would have rushed to my face. “I—uh, well, thanks.” Blinking furiously, I glance away from his relentless stare. “Thanks for coming by like this. I hope it’s not a problem with the—uh gym and all. I wouldn’t have had Ben make you come, but Donnie asked for you.”

  Jack waves that away with one big hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got enough manpower to watch over the gym for the rest of the day. Consider me your slave.” He shrugs playfully.

  My eyes bulge and my fingers spasm around the little bear. “Rest of the day?” I damn near whisper. “No, that’s too much. I’m all set now, Jack. Promise.”

  “Shut up.” He kisses me on the forehead and shocks a gasp from my chest. Goddammit, he can’t do things like that. “I’m going to go get your Popsicles and something to drink. Then, I’ll get you set up in here. I don’t know why the hell your mom never put a T.V. in here. Fuckin’ shame.”