Break My Heart (The Heart Series Book 2) (12 page)

“Like that trumpet music stuff you listen to now?”

“Big Band,” she counters condescendingly.

“Whatever,” I mimic her tone.
Speaking of clothes
. “Hey! I have a bone to pick with you.”

“So, what’s new?”

“You threw away my stuff, Harper. What the hell?” Last time I was over at her place, I went looking for clean clothes only to find she’d gone through my boxes.

“Oh, I see you’ve been to the guest room,” she replies, pleased with herself. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“You threw away my clothes and my food,” I point out dejectedly, and she snickers. The sound lifts my spirits, makes me feel like I can fly.

“First of all, I threw away a bunch of junk. And, by the way, why in the hell are you stashing meals ready to eat? What was the plan, Colton, become a hermit? That shit expired like five years ago,” she scolds.

“They never expire!”

She huffs. “Really? Then what are the dates printed on the side for?”

“They’re
suggestions
,” I muse with a big grin, because I know she’s right.

She laughs wholeheartedly at my explanation. “Right…good luck up in the mountains with a bunch of expired MREs.”

“It wasn’t for the mountains, smartass. As long as you keep your kitchen stocked up, I won’t need them.”

“Oh, so that’s how it is.” Her voice is full of joy and delight. “Fine, be that way,” she says playfully, sounding much better now.

I miss her so much it hurts. “I love you.”

I wait with a ray of hope that she’ll say it back.

“You’re such an asshole. Call more often so I won’t have to miss you.” She deflects my declaration, like she always does. “You’re a terrible boyfriend.”

Once again, I let her off the hook. “That I am.”

“Colton?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful out there.” Her wariness sobers me.

She feels the same way that I do. I wish I had her back twenty-four-seven, and seems she wishes the same.

“Copy that.” A yawn escapes me along with a sigh.

“I’ll let you go. Get some sleep, okay?”

“I’ll try.”

“Hey, Tommy?” She says my name like she’s nibbling my ear, and my dick twitches awake.

“Yeah?”     

“Stop bringing junk over. Bye.” She ends the call before I can respond.

Falling back onto my couch, I smile at the phone and think about my dream.

That night, I carried her to safety, where we were stuck until the shelling stopped. I ran as fast as my legs could carry us, fighting the mud, the cold, lightning, and incoming fire. The crackling voice on the radio rattled off coordinates and my feet moved like a compass, straight for the underground bunker.

Once inside, I searched for my light. The dust-filled shelter was no bigger than twelve-foot long, six-foot wide, and four-foot high. It was cramped, musty, damp, but secure. The ground vibrated as the mortars hit, dust raining on us every time there was a strike. We worked our way to the small bench against the wall, sat, and waited for the all clear.

We were both covered in mud and who knows what else. That’s when I noticed a hole in her pants. She was wearing the same ripped, bloodstained ACUs from the earlier attack.

Rage, anger, and a new thirst for vengeance boiled inside my chest. It was bad enough we had to walk by that fractured, twisted beam from the World Trade Center every day and read the plaque at the base of it: “Never Forget.”

It made us want to run out there and kick some ass as payback for all the innocent lives taken that day, and all our fallen since. But to have them try to take us out at our own base? Fuck that.

Kicking some enemy ass was Mission One.

I remember like it was yesterday: she was shivering like a drowned cat, goose-bumps rising over her arms. Water was dripping from her chin, hair plastered to her head. Her t-shirt was glued to her body. But she was lost in whatever was going on inside her head.

So, I did what I’ve come to do best. Distract her. Cheer her up. Try to make her smile.

“So, should we hit the bar after this?” I blurted out.

She blinked up at me, a deep frown line between her eyebrows. “What?”

“For your birthday.” I smiled and acted as if we were just hanging out at some bus stop, instead of inside the belly of the desert.

Her frown disappeared and she laughed, shaking her head.

“Oh, after the mortar attack?” She gestured over our heads in question. “You wanna go to the corner bar? Maybe we can go dancing afterward, too.” Her voice grew lighter and a small giggle escaped her.

Suddenly, I wasn’t cold, or tired, or that miserable son of a bitch I had been. I was this new guy, someone I didn’t know, someone that wanted to sit there, next to her, and never leave.

“Fuck yeah. Twenty-two shots of Gatorade to celebrate.”

She laughed again. That sound, like bells from heaven. She was in the moment with me. Underground, thousands of miles away from home, in the middle of fucking nowhere, people pounding live rounds around us.

“You’re an asshole, Colton.”

“Are you serious? Did you just call me an asshole?”

“Fuck yeah, I did.”

That was the first time she’d called me that, a big grin splitting her face.
Me.
Not just an LT barking orders at a Sergeant. This was different.

We
were different.

And that smile made me feel like I’d won the fucking lottery. Warmed my insides, lit a fire in my belly.

“You wound me, lieutenant.” I grabbed my chest in mock offense and shook my head in fake disappointment.

This was the night I realized Lt. Harper was someone not to be messed with. It was also the first time I lied directly to her face.

“Did you understand what that woman said?” The question took me off-guard.

My eyes took in her pale lips, rigid jaw, and that ridge between her brows. She gave me a sharp nod, all humor erased.

“No. I didn’t understand what she said.”

I fucking knew what the woman said. She called her ‘
accursed’
and spewed some chant that scared me shitless, which is why I disobeyed the direct order.

“It was Dari, wasn’t it.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement she wanted confirmed or denied.

“I think so. I only know Farsi.”
And Dari.
But I didn’t tell her that.

“Can you teach me?” she asked quietly.

“Say again?”

“Farsi, can you teach me?” She turned, straightening her shoulders, full of determination. The confident, young LT I knew was back in charge.

“Why?”

Most officers never bothered; they relied on interpreters and fluent enlisted for translation.

“You don’t think I should know the language of my enemy, Sergeant?”

“No, I mean, no, ma’am.” I paused. Had to collect my thoughts since she’d shifted gears, whatever
moment
we’d shared before was gone. “You have a terp with you, plus some of us know —”

“It’s not the same. I need to communicate with these people; if we want to succeed in our mission, we need to be able to reach out to them, learn whatever we can…then use it.”

I loved it then, and I still love how she thinks. Always planning, thinking ahead, working things out inside that head of hers. To this day, given the time, she’ll figure out the kinks of any situation and ultimately gain the upper hand.

That’s when I got the idea to trade services. The amazing woman sitting next to me already had a college degree. She eyed me suspiciously, but I saw it as an opportunity to spend even more time with her.

“I’m taking some college classes online. I’m kind of getting my ass kicked in bio right now. I’ll teach you Farsi, and you help me with my homework.”

Her lips curved in a small smile, and those dark, honey eyes pinned me in the dim light.  “It’s a deal.”

I beamed back at her. “Yes, ma’am.”

From that point on, we were partners. I always had her back and she had mine.

I miss my girl, but I have to keep my head in the game.

I pick my ass up off the couch, stalk down the hall to grab my gym gear. For now, this case is at the top of my list; the faster I do my job, the faster I can go home to her.

If that means not seeing my girl for a while, so be it.

CHAPTER 12

Ileana

“Now, listen up, soldier. You carry on, okay?” He wipes the tears from my cheeks.

I’m crying. I’m trying to stop, but I can’t.

“Why can’t I stay with you, Sarge?”

He squeezes my arms and looks away. Sarge is on his knees, and his face is all squished, like he’s trying not to cry. I don’t know why he’s sending me away. I don’t want to live with her. I want to stay here with him. He said I could go to college when I grow up, and be an officer. No enlisting for me, he said.

“We need to follow orders, lieutenant, that’s why. I wish I could keep you, but my orders are to let you go. Do you understand?”

He doesn’t want me to go with her either. He’s just following orders.

It makes me cry harder, but I nod really quickly. I jump at him, circling my arms around his neck, and hold on tight. He squeezes me hard, and I can’t stop crying.

“Now, you be a good little soldier for your mom, okay?” His voice is broken and he’s sniffing.

He’s being a brave soldier like I need to be a brave soldier.

I nod, still clutching the cap with the golden bar he gave me last week for my eighth birthday. He’s all blurry, but I nod, doing my best to be a good soldier.

Sarge says good soldiers follow orders.

Good soldiers do the right thing.

Good soldiers take care of each other.

I’m crying so hard my head hurts and I still don’t understand why I can’t stay here, like I want to.

“Oh, for crying out loud. Move it!” Mom yells, but I don’t move. “Don’t make me come over there and drag you into the car!”

Sarge looks so mad at her.

“Go on, lieutenant. Don’t forget, someday this mission will be over, and you’ll be free.”

I don’t understand what that means, but I follow orders. “Yes, sir,” I sniff.

Sarge stands to attention, a tear running down his cheek, and salutes me.

This is goodbye.

Clutching my hat, I stand up straight. I wish I could put my hat on but my pigtails are in the way. I bring my right hand up to my forehead in salute, just like Sarge taught me.

It makes me cry harder but I try to hold it in. Sarge says a good soldier has to do things sometimes they don’t understand. Things they don’t want to do. But they always complete their mission.

I shoot straight up on the bed. Tears run unchecked down my cheeks, staining my face. I wipe them angrily away, along with the harsh memories of my childhood.

I glance at my nightstand clock. It’s six-thirty in the morning.

I need Tommy right now. I need him to hold me and tell me everything will be fine.

I miss him. I miss
us
. I’m more alone than I’ve been in almost nine years.

Tommy knows a lot about me. But there are some things about me that are way beyond his reach. A few weeks of pouring my feelings out to Dr. Matthews and the past is clawing its way back to the surface.

Fucking therapy.

Rehashing the past is like opening a wound that’s long mended. What’s the point in that? Picking at a scab won’t help it heal. It will only create a bigger, uglier scar, or get infected, spreading to everything around it. Dammit.

An overwhelming need keeps returning, but I avoid it. I’ve been thoroughly tempted to drive down to Bloomingfield, walk into that field all by myself, and see what happens. Maybe some answers will fall out of the sky. Maybe that’s why I’ve been dreaming of Sarge. He would tell me to suck it up and get to the bottom of it.

Head on, soldier, you have to tackle it head on.

Exhausted, I get ready for work. A stop by the kitchen reveals no trace of Tommy. No note or messages. My phone? No missed calls or texts from him for the past few days. We’ve seen each other a handful of times, all middle-of-the-night visits. But the last time was over a week ago, and he couldn’t stay over.

Seems absolutely unreal that we’re residing in the same city and barely see each other. Loss is wiggling its way deep inside my heart, but I hang on to hope, waiting patiently, until the next time I see him. In the meantime, I go on with my life, and like old days, I wait for him to turn up. I try not to think about his assignment: whether it’s permanent, whether from now on he’ll only be on undercover cases, or whether we’ll be able to make it work.

On my way out, I knock on Mrs. N.’s door to make sure she’s all right and to see if she needs anything. She’s her usual sweet self, and yet again, expresses how happy she is Tommy and I are finally together. I bid my goodbyes and take her trash down for her, trying to keep my mind away from the fact that I might be meeting my new partner today.

It’s been close to four months flying solo, and I can’t delay the inevitable.

Whoever he is, I hope he’s not a rookie. And if he is, hopefully he won’t get us killed.

On my way to the bureau, I pick up my coffee for one, chatting about the weather with the regular barista. I love walking to work when the weather allows it, taking the same route I’ve taken many times. Local businesses are readying for the official start of summer. Petunias and ivy baskets adorn entryways and sidewalks, and outdoor seating areas are open for patrons. 

When I reach the building’s front doors, there’s no green sparkling gaze and killer smile to wish me a good morning and call me sunshine.

There’s no laughter or banter, as I go up the elevators alone.

I’ve tried to talk it out during therapy, and I’ve been journaling like Dr. Matthews suggested. But there’s this void inside me and nothing I say or do fills it.