Semper Mine (Sons of War #1)(52)

“Fuck!” My curse draws the eyes of half the center. I log out and rise, slamming my chair back under the desk before striding out.

It’s hard to hate you when I know you’re broken like Petr. The words have stayed with me. She may be right about me being broken, but she’s wrong about hating me.

It’s clear she does. Always has.

Why does that shred me as much as anything else I’ve been through?

“Hey, you okay?”

I don’t realize I’m standing in the hallway, leaning my forehead against the wall, until I hear Harper’s voice. Straightening, I gaze at her. She appears alarmed and concerned.

“You need to talk about something?”

There’s no way to explain what’s in my head, especially since I have no f*cking clue how to sort out my thinking about Katya.

I just … Want. Her. Gone.

So I can think, function … f*ck – so I can breathe right whenever her name comes up! My body and my mind react to her in a way I can’t control.

“I don’t want to talk,” I tell Harper, refocusing on my surroundings. “If your other offer is on the table …” Something has to fix this.

Harper nods, studying me.

“I’ll get cleaned up.” I stride away, towards the showers. I try to tell myself this has nothing to do with trying to forget Katya.

But it does. She’s physically out of my life. I need to get her out of my head.

After a quick shower, I sit down in the closet-sized tiny quarters that are mine. I don’t share with anyone, because of my rank. My head hurts, and my body is sore. I’m exhausted and wired, a sign I won’t be able to sleep, if I don’t take Harper up on her offer.

Assuming she’ll be by when her shift is over, I sit on my bed and lean against the wall, unable to purge my mind of the letter Katya sent. It was four pages. I barely made it through the first.

Do I owe her? Should I finish reading it before I delete?

I’m too tired and emotionally drained to know how to handle it. My gaze settles on the pad of paper and pen on the Pelican case I use as a suitcase in a corner. It acts as a table in the tiny room. I have a few student pen pals who sent letters over for class assignments that I keep in touch with every once in a while. It’s normally easier to handwrite responses, since my computer time is dedicated to work.

If I could say anything to Katya, without consequence, what would it be? She has no qualms about destroying me, no concerns about consequences. What if I took the same approach, just once in my life? What if I told her exactly what I feel and think?

We’ve never even had a friendship. The brittle relationship we do have isn’t going to survive her letter – that much I know. So does it really matter what I tell her?

I stretch and grab the pad and pen. I start writing and stop after her name. I’m drawing a blank, despite the amount of things going through my head. It’s probably my detail-oriented nature, but something tells me I need to read all four pages before I start. She has a way of surprising me, and part of me hopes there’s something less poisonous in the letter.

Someone knocks at my door.

“Come in,” I call.

Harper enters. “Good time?” she asks.

“Always.”

I set the paper aside, warmth stirring within me for a different reason than anger this time.

Fuck you, Katya. I can’t help thinking of her even now, when I’m about to spend the night with another woman.

I stand and strip off my shirt. Harper sits and unties her boots.

“Is Colonel Lawrence still here?” I ask casually.

“No. His replacement is here. A civilian named Petra.” She looks up at me. “You want to talk to her?”

I debate responding. On a base this size, everyone will soon know if I show up on the doorstep of the psychologist assigned to the FOB to help monitor the mental health of those assigned here. Anyone can talk to her, but a lot of people avoid the shrinks for fear of looking bad or weak in front of everyone else.

I need to get rid of this shit in my head. The guilt, self-doubt, fear.

Thinking of Katya reminds me of all of that, of the night when four men died under my command.

“Yeah,” I say with effort.

“I think that’s a good idea, Sawyer,” Harper says warmly.

Not really. It’s probably a bad career choice, because I’ll have to tell my commander, who can choose to take me off missions. It’s a fear I’ve had for a long time, about losing what matters most to me.

But I can’t function like this. The emotions aren’t going away. They’re getting worse. If I don’t get a handle on them now, what happens if I’m on a mission and lose my focus? What if I had read Katya’s note before going out on a mission?

I won’t let anyone else die because I can’t get one f*cking woman out of my head.

It’s hard to hate you when I know you’re broken like Petr.

“Goddammit,” I mutter. I need her voice out of my thoughts. So she’s right. So I need to go back to the shrink.

If I can reconcile what happened that night and my destructive emotions, will it help me get her out of my head as well?





Chapter Eighteen: Katya


SEPTEMBER

MASSACHUSETTS