Semper Mine (Sons of War #1)(49)

“We all do, devoshka moya.”

“I don’t know what there is outside of you guys. I’ve never really been interested in what I took in school.”

“You are interested in the camp?”

“Yeah, that was cool.”

“I had thought to create a new charity to help military families and put the camp under it. It will need someone to help manage it. You have always wanted to help people.”

I run my thumb over the seam in the box. It doesn’t slip past me that I can help people like the kids I met this week and Captain Mathis, who was also an orphan. I can help others like me, too, who are hurting from losing a family member. The camp was an incredible idea, and I imagine there are other positive ways to help others that also ease my pain.

“I might like that,” I murmur.

“Petr will help you.”

“I thought he wanted to go back to the military.” I lift my head.

“We talked about it. We think you need us now, devoshka moya. You have taken care of us long enough. Now it is our turn.” My father gazes at me tenderly.

Tears spill down my face. I’m too touched to speak. I know they love me. I’ve never felt broken before, never really thought I needed them as much as they do me. Dealing with Captain Mathis made me confront the reality that I’m not ready to let go of Mikael or accept his death.

“So he will stay for a while, until you are ready to send him back.”

I give a startled laugh that quickly turns into sobs. Baba wraps his arms around me and holds me. I cry into his expensive sweater, and he murmurs to me in Russian.

The time I spent with Sawyer was frustrating, infuriating, crippling. He managed to pry me out of my shell and hold a mirror in front of me, so I could see how damaged I am. Like him, I’m broken by Mikael’s death.

Am I fixable? Is he? Why do I hope we both are and that one day, we can sit down for coffee and have a normal conversation?

I don’t think I’ll ever see him again.

The idea crushes me. I’m too upset to know why exactly.





Chapter Seventeen: Sawyer


AUGUST

IRAQ



She didn’t even say goodbye. The last thing I need to be thinking about in a war zone is Katya Khavalov. Maybe it’s the abrupt manner of her ditching camp or the fact she didn’t come down to see us that Saturday, but I can’t get her out of my mind.

Thinking about her stirs my blood like a triple espresso, even when I’ve spent the past forty-eight hours awake on mission. I don’t know if it’s desire or anger. She has that affect on me and leaves me wired when I need sleep. A month after camp ended, and every conversation we ever had continues to haunt me.

Sweating and tired, I’m the last of the team to enter the isolated, abandoned house we’ve been using as a base of operations in the Iraqi desert for the past two weeks. No one was hurt and we found our target. It was a successful day.

Lowering my ruck to the ground, I glance over at the skinny Ranger who’s in charge of our communications.

“We up?” I ask.

“For an hour.”

“I gotta get my report in.” I crouch at the station where the single laptop connected to the outside world that we always take on a mission is hooked up. Internet is hit or miss. We rely on satellite connections rather than ground lines, and most days, they’re shoddy at best.

Duty always comes first when the mission is over. Reporting to my commander, taking accountability of the team’s health and mental awareness, assessing the condition of our equipment, setting up the duty roster for the night, cleaning my own gear, food and then, if there’s time, sleep. Thank god I type fast, or I’d never have time to sleep.

Hunkering over the laptop, I have the report done and out before the connection goes down. I check on the guys and equipment then take care of my gear. The two-room house has an antiquated bathroom and a main room that serves as our living and sleeping quarters. The guys are cleaning their weapons by lantern light, and I join them, claiming my spot between Riley and Carson.

Taking apart my weapon is second nature. I go through the motions without registering them. The token Air Force spec-ops guy, Ian, is racked out already while the others are either eating MREs or cleaning weapons and gear.

“You’ve been quiet,” Riley says, glancing at me.

“Not him. Everyone,” Carson replies. “The Khavs always had the stories.”

“Yeah, they did.”

It’s odd that five months later, we still can’t go a day without mentioning Mikael.

“You hear from Petr, sir?” Carson asks me.

“Not since we’ve been out here,” I reply.

“Katya?” Riley questions with a small smile.

“No,” I respond emphatically. “Pretty sure I won’t.”

“I kinda liked her,” Carson says. “She made life … interesting.”

I smile, and Riley laughs. He’s too polite to say what Riley or I might: that she was the frustrating combination of an ambush and a puppy rolled into one.

“Will be good to be back tomorrow for a few days,” Riley says. “I need some real f*cking food.”

I agree silently. I finish up, eat what I’m willing to, and lie down to stare at the ceiling. There’s a good chance I won’t sleep more than an hour, and if I do, I’ll dream about the night I woke up with night terrors and Katya was there.