Divine (5 page)

“I wish I were.” Bradley backed off the
bridge. “I’ll walk slowly.”

“See ya,” Matt said, and faced her with a
downward mouth.

She hated that look! Hated that her actions
put it there.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jerked away from
you.”

“I get it,” he said. “At least your dad
didn’t storm the woods.”

“I’m eighteen, and they still treat me as if
I don’t know what I’m doing,” she fumed, moving toward him.

He pulled her into his arms. Every inch of
him hardened, every inch. She rested her forehead against his
chest, relished in his solid planes against her cheek. “I want to
remember this always.” With a finger, he lifted her chin and kissed
her long, hard, and deep. The kiss was like no other she’d ever
had. Feelings, desire, and want went into it. She returned the
passion and they split apart. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah, okay,” she stumbled over her words and
tried to find the strength to step away. Call it instinct,
intuition, or whatever made a person second-guess a decision, she
now thought leaving would be a really bad mistake. Despite the
sensation, it didn’t stop her from heading toward the woods.

“Trina, sweetheart!”

At the edge of the footbridge, she stopped.
He leaned against the railings, the moon casting him as a
drool-worthy specimen. “Yes?”

“Next time I see you, I hope you ditch the
panties then, too.”

She squeezed her thighs together but couldn’t
stop the coil from unknotting low in her belly.

“Next time, there will be no stopping.”

Her girlie parts jumped for joy while her
brain kicked in gear, remembering her goals and knocking the fun
out of what could be. It was time for her to behave like an adult,
not fall to his feet like a sex-starved, lovesick teen scared to
death of never seeing him again. Time to do the responsible thing.
Let him do his duty without her reservations in his head.

“Keep the keychain close.” Comforted that as
long as he carried it she would be with him, she forced a
smile.

Like a whirlwind, he rushed forward and
wrapped his arms around her, pressing his body into hers. He held
her so tight she didn’t think he would ever let go, nor did she
want him to. She’d love to stay cocooned in him forever. A deep
ache pierced her heart and threatened to bubble out of her in a
sob. She wouldn’t let him see her break down, couldn’t. She kissed
his cheek. “I’ll miss you,” she whispered.

“You’ll always be with me.” His voice wasn’t
stable either.

She kissed his cheek again, darted off the
bridge, and ran her broken heart through the woods.

Chapter
Three

Adrenaline pumped so fast Matt didn’t feel
anything. His senses locked on high alert. For hundreds of yards,
every chirping bird and rustling leaf echoed.

Stretched out atop a hill in Afghanistan, he
shifted his sunglasses to the top of his head, and peered in his
riflescope’s eyepiece. Today Gunnery Sergeant Frank York would
decide if Matt had the guts to become a sniper. He knew he did,
always dreamed he would become one. Saving his comrades’ lives from
being an unexpected target topped his goal list.

With his bipod leveled on the uneven terrain,
he shifted the barrel of his rifle on top of it. From his vantage
point, he held the ideal view of his platoon rushing toward a small
hut a few hundred meters away.

The stakes were high. A wanted terrorist that
no one came close to spotting, much less capturing, barricaded
himself inside.

“Stay alert.” His gunny’s voice boomed over
his earpiece. “Eyes on the package.”

“Yes, sir.” With another scan over the
cliffs, he focused on the building, on the package, and put a
finger on his trigger and waited.

This was it, do or die. If he passed, then
he’d get advance training. If not, he didn’t know.

Men from his platoon swamped the area,
surrounded the hut, and stormed inside.

Seconds ticked off. Sweat beaded on Matt’s
forehead and dropped to his cheek.

A loud ruckus broke out. Men yelled with
their guns aimed at the hut.

The door flew open. A man, dressed in brown
fatigues and a turban, appeared. With his hands in the air, he
shook his head so fast Matt couldn’t make out his face.

He secured his grip on the gun, ready for
whatever happened next.

“No shot,” Gunny said. His disgust echoed in
Matt’s ear. “He’s a decoy.”

A fucking decoy!

Disappointment reared with the men’s
shoulders slumping and their guns lowering.

Matt’s head buzzed. He couldn’t suck in
enough air. He sat on his ass, snagged his nearby canteen, and
gulped some water until his breathing evened out. “Damn!”

He wiped the sweat from his forehead and
peered through the scope. The platoon had left. “What the fuck?
Where’d they go?”

“First time or almost the first time is the
roughest.” Gunny knelt beside him and placed a hand on his
shoulder. “Next time.”

He cocked his head and dropped his sunglasses
onto the bridge of his nose to block out the bright sun. He didn’t
have to say anything to his good friend. Gunny understood his
anxiousness, the letdown, but how had he lost time? “How long did I
lay here?”

“Not long. I’m quick.”

Gunny wasn’t that quick, not from a few
hundred yards. What he considered a bleep of time in actuality had
been longer. Not good.

“Don’t beat yourself up. Good men have
blackout moments. Experience will rid you of it.”

At least he didn’t fail his test and was
still under consideration.

“Let’s get back,” Gunny said, “and have a
drink. You need to unwind.”

He would get no argument from him. He needed
something to slow his heartrate to normal levels and clear the
black specs from his vision. He packed his equipment and moved to
the ground floor where he joined a few others. Together they walked
out of the area to the armored personnel vehicles.

The long, bumpy ride to base drew out with
his endless thoughts. The sense of what he planned to do—kill
someone—stayed with him, leaving him edgy and antsy. He slipped a
hand into his fatigue pocket and rubbed the keychain Trina had
given him. His mind flashed on the river, on them tossing stones
into the water, their kiss, and removed himself from the ugliness
he faced every day.

He tried not to dwell on home; dwelling led
to emotions. Missing people while fighting the enemy was never a
good idea. Men would die. But now that he started thinking, he
couldn’t stop.

At base, the men jumped out of the truck and
headed for food.

“Hang back,” Gunny said and jutted his chin
toward a wooden table outside the mess hall. “I’ll get us a few
cold ones.”

“All right.” He dropped his bag next to the
table, his chest as heavy as his weighted bag. Slipping into a funk
meant trouble. His mood came from not hearing from a certain
redhead. He slipped onto the bench and pulled out the circular
keychain.

“Wished it was a beer.” Gunny plopped a
bottle of water on the table and sat across from him. “Is that
something special?”

He traced the design. Characterizing the
keychain as something special simplified what it meant. When he
discovered it in his suit pocket, he discerned the gift was
precious but didn’t know how or why. As days turned into weeks, and
weeks into years, the keychain represented so much. It meant
friendship, a bond between him and Trina. Even more reason why her
lack of contact concerned him. “Yes.”

“From your girl?”

His girl
. They flirted, basked in each
other’s company, and shared a few kisses. Hardly the makings to
claim her as his. Not knowing how to classify their relationship,
he simply said, “A close friend.”

“Ah, yet she gave you something to remember
her by? Sounds like more. Is the owner of the charm the same one
you write letters to?”

He grunted. Like a chump, he’d written. A
year had almost past since she contacted him, yet every week he
pulled out paper and pen and wrote about his life, the parts he
could tell.

Gunny rested his forearms on the table and
leaned forward. “You’re too quiet. What’s up? Did not being able to
complete the mission get to you?”

He wanted the chance to get the man who
caused so much harm while proving he was sniper material.

“Or my friend, is this girl doing it?” Gunny
tapped the Divine charm.

He’d grown too transparent. “Nope, I’m trying
to put it all in perspective, sir.”

“Skip the sir. It’s the girl. She’s in your
head.” When he remained quiet, Gunny ordered, “Spill.”

Trina consumed his thoughts, day in and day
out. Add to it the worry as to why she hadn’t called twisted his
insides. They didn’t have a hold on one another, no spoken words
saying they’d keep in contact his entire tour. She probably moved
on, found another guy.

A ping of something stung his core and raced
along his arms to his fingertips. That, right there, the ‘probably
moved on to another guy’ whacked him like a grenade exploding.

He removed the bottle cap, gulped some water
to stop the rising bile, and recalled what the gunny had told him
in boot camp. “Deter the love-bullet from the mind or take
one.”

Not since he’d joined the Marines had he done
lifetime moments or shared feelings, an act he hadn’t given two
shakes about doing with Trina, but maybe it was time he did. “This
keychain,” he answered and held it for his gunny to see, “she left
in my jacket pocket after my mom died.”

“Nice,” Gunny said, but his attention turned
to a curvy woman who hadn’t been here long enough to remove the
softness from her face.

He scoffed and picked at the label on his
water bottle. His next trip home, he’d find Trina and talk. Hunt
her down if he had to. The last several times he visited the
States, he couldn’t locate her. With Travis flying cross-country
fighting fires, and Bradley being who knew where, he didn’t know
whom else to ask. This time, he’d knock on the Lovett’s door and
demand for them to tell where she was.

“Hi, Matt!”

He eyed the smiling woman walking by. “Hey,
Liz. Having a good one?”

“Sure am,” she said, too perky for a military
base.

He nodded and returned his attention to
peeling the label.

“She’s a hot babe.” Gunny, several years
older than him, glued his eyes to her butt.

“She is,” he replied without shifting focus
from his handy work.

“You’ve been here, what—three, four
years?”

Where was Gunny going with his questions?
“So?”

“You didn’t pay the girl any attention.”

He glanced at the woman in question and to
Gunny.

“I’m gonna ask you straight up. When is the
last time you got some?”

The label off, he curled it into his palm and
upended the water bottle. The wet liquid eased his thirst but did
nothing to soothe his irritation for where this conversation
headed. His sex life, or lack of, wasn’t open for discussion.

“You don’t wear the stupid, smug face every
other bastard has for days after returning from leave.” Gunny
didn’t blink, didn’t stop studying him. “You haven’t had your
cherry popped. That’s it. That’s your problem.”

If he had acted on what he wanted the last
time he saw Trina, he would tell his gunny to go fuck himself. As
it was, he couldn’t argue.

Any other guy would have whored around to get
the deed done, to pop his cherry as Gunny put it. Not him. He
didn’t feel the same about sex, never had.

“Your mom died when you were thirteen?
Fifteen?”

“Thirteen,” he said, wondering why he
asked.

“Ah, huh. This girl, the keychain one, has
had her hand grasped around your balls ever since. Wow. How in the
hell have you survived?”

Making love was sacred, an act that only
happened when in love, not to nail any skirt walking past, and
definitely not to add a tally mark to the bedpost to boost his
ego.

“Hell, I get off every day, especially around
this place. You’re too young to be sitting on your ball sack.”

“I haven’t found the right girl,” Matt said,
half convinced.

Gunny reared back his head and hooted at the
sky. “Yeah you have, you lucky bastard.”

Again, he didn’t know where this came from.
He checked Liz over his shoulder, talking to a fellow officer in
front of the mess hall. Did Gunny think he’d jump in bed with her?
“Come, again.”

“The keychain girl,” Gunny said. “She’s
it.”

He snorted. Sometimes he thought so. “Nah,
Trina and I are close friends.” Although the last time they were
together, he wanted a hell of a lot more. “She’s after different
things than me.” He didn’t feel like explaining her asshole
parents.

Gunny rose and tapped his unopened bottle on
the table. “You’re kidding yourself. You have leave next week.
Figure out what you want and do something about it before it’s too
late. When you’re here, your head has to be in the game.”

He stared. “Which is it? Get emotionally
involved to keep my head straight or not? I’m damned if I do,
damned if I don’t.”

“Pretty much, but we’re talking about two
different heads. One is for relaxing, the other…well, the other can
fuck you up. Take care of it, or I’ll have to pull you from the
rifle squad.”