Semper Mine (Sons of War #1)(56)

I’m convinced this is the case, until I open the box.

For a moment, I stare at the golden Ruptured Duck nestled in the black velvet interior. There are only two people in the world who know the significance of this little pin to me, and one of them is deceased.

It doesn’t seem likely that Katya sent this, not after the exchange of letters we had weeks ago. It seems even less likely that a dead man sent it, though.

I pluck it out of the box and study it. The one given to me ten years ago was beat up and worn with a colorful patina, an heirloom in every sense. This one is in mint condition, polished to a soft shine. I’m not a collector by any means, but I can assess that finding a flawless, nearly one hundred year old gold Ruptured Duck probably wasn’t cheap.

Its light weight is familiar. I missed my good luck charm. My mentor gave it to me as a reminder for me to stay on the straight and narrow. I was not happy with myself for losing it. I always treasured it for what it symbolized – selfless, honorable, brave service. I understand the concepts better now after losing men and having my own command for close to a year. I think, somehow, it means more to me now than it did before that night that changed my life in so many ways.

There’s only one person I know capable of the level of thoughtfulness it’d take to track one of these down and pay what I would consider to be a small fortune to buy it. Katya is many things; superficial will never be one. Even if I want to deny it’s her, I’ll always know it is.

Don’t let her get to you.

It’s too late. My insides are already growing warm, the hot emotions I feel any time I think of her trickling into my thoughts. In a blink, she takes away the quietness in my mind.

“Fuck, Katya.” I can’t help saying the words aloud. The tiny gift stirs me in ways I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get over. It’s not only what I feel for her but the newfound appreciation I have for those men like her brother, who didn’t even flinch when he volunteered to sacrifice himself for others.

This pin represents everything I’ve learned and gone through since that night.

Katya has a way of provoking emotions when I want to be numb. I set the golden duck on the desk.

There’s still something there between us, something more than the emotions both of us feel surrounding Mikael’s death. I don’t know what it is or how deep it might run, but it’s not going away. Neither is it to the point where I can determine if and what either of us actually feels towards one another. It’s like walking blind folded into enemy territory without knowing how many weapons are trained on me.

This can’t be healthy.

I have no f*cking idea what to do about it. Usually, staying away solves problems. It’s not working this time. With no operations planned for the holidays, I’m not certain how I’ll be able sit here for two weeks and not think about her.

I lean forward, elbows on my knees, and glare at the Ruptured Duck.

There’s no way to know what Katya intended when she sent it, if she meant this as a something more than friendship.

Shit, we aren’t even friends. We aren’t anything that I know of.

She knows what this means to me.

I close the box and absently reach for the dog tags around my neck. I’ve got Mikael’s with me still. I intended to give them to Riley or one of the others before they left.

I didn’t. I’m not sure why. It’s not like me to forget something that important.

Katya should have them.

Five minutes after receiving her gift, and I’m spiraling into an emotional firefight that I absolutely hate. I can’t not know what’s between us after this, and it’s clear that, four months after I last saw her, I’m no closer to getting her out of my head than I was at camp.

There’s a completely innocuous excuse for me to find out – the Christmas party the Khavs throw every year. Petr wouldn’t turn me down, if I showed up on his doorstep. It’s not the way we do things in spec-ops. Our team is our family. I can go, realize I’m not interested in her but have been obsessing over the unknown or a memory or regret or other emotions associated with her bother, and then leave.

“How do you do this to me, Katya?” I growl. “Halfway across the world, and I can’t f*cking think straight.”

I will fix that. Somehow. I’m going to go crazy if I don’t just end this. I definitely can’t spend months, years, wondering what could be between us.

With a sigh, I send Petr a quick email, snatch the duck and trot through the compound to tell Colonel Howard that I need a few days off after all.

***

Forty hours, six flights, an eight-hour snow delay and a three-hour wait for my luggage later, I’m finally walking out of the Logan International Airport in Boston. By now, I’m tired enough to be thinking two completely opposite trains of thought: first, that this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done and I need to go back to Iraq. And second, I’m not getting on another f*cking plane again. Ever.

The chilly night air is flecked with white snow. I’d forgotten what snow and winter were like. After being away so long, it’s almost pleasant. The night is quiet, aside from the crunch of tires on snow from the cars picking up passengers outside of baggage claim. I’m in my fatigues, which offer some protection from the gusts of wind. The pickup area is well lit with taxis and hotel shuttles waiting, their exhaust curling into the air behind them.