“Are you going to stand here all night and watch to see if he comes back?”
I can’t take this conversation anymore. I tilt my head at him. “Why are you suddenly so interested in what I am or am not doing?” I mock gasp. “Are you in love with me, Atlas? Is that what this whole talk has been about? That we could be together if we go tell Trav? Oh, how sweet, honey boo, really. But I—”
Atlas holds up his beefy big hand. “You know that’s not what I’m saying.”
“Sure, it isn’t. You love me. You really, really love me. I promise that once either of us is done with Mike Bravo, we can bone until we can’t bone no more because you’re sexy as fuck.”
Atlas mutters, “I hate you sometimes.”
“Is this our first fight as a couple?”
Atlas goes to walk off.
“Don’t worry, boo. There’s a fine line between love and hate. Maybe I’ll come around one day.”
Atlas flips me off as he keeps walking.
And as if I can’t help it, as soon as he’s out of eyesight, my gaze drops back to the door Saint disappeared through.
Of course.
Chapter Eight
Saint
The frigid air on my face feels like I’m in Alaska, not the desert. My boots sink into the sand with every step, and the taste of metal in my mouth makes me want to gag.
I realize I’m back in Udoola, but I’m … not really there.
It’s like I’m watching my squad from the outside, seeing how that night all played out.
Someone orders Gillard to go take watch. I think it’s me, but my voice doesn’t sound right.
Fog surrounds us, but that makes absolutely no sense. Then again, none of this does.
It’s dark, I can hardly see, and as Gillard separates from the group, he glances at me over his shoulder. Only, it’s not Gillard. It’s Courter. Then the face morphs into Parsons.
I call out Tanner’s name, shouting over the increasing sounds of helo blades getting closer. When I glance down at my body, blood oozes from every pore.
“Saint,” a voice that doesn’t belong here says. He says it over and over again. Saint. Saint.
The voice is distant, but it holds so much hope. It gives me a reason to hold on.
“Saint!”
I blink, and the army green material of the tent comes into focus.
I’m covered in sweat, and I’m disoriented until Iris’s face appears above me.
“You awake now?” he asks.
I squint. “I think.”
“I didn’t want to touch you in case you took a swing at me or thought I was a threat—”
My lips quirk. “Oh, you’re a threat all right.”
Why does that sound flirty? Am I still asleep? Is this about to turn into a porn dream? Yes, please.
Iris gets to his knees next to my cot, and yep, this is totally a porno dream. “You were calling out for one of your teammates.”
“Jealous it wasn’t your name?” I snark.
“Totally. I was tempted to take you here and now while you’re half asleep and having a PTSD episode so you could start calling out my name instead.”
I wave him off. “It’s not an episode. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine, Saint, and that’s okay.”
Slowly, I sit up and put my legs over the side of the cot. My head’s a little fuzzy like it has been a lot since my injuries, but I don’t think I’m on the edge of some breakdown. “I don’t think it’s PTSD per se. It’s probably classified as it, but it doesn’t seem like it’s trying to hold me back. It’s almost like …”
“Like what?”
“It’s like my brain is trying to remember what happened, but the harder it tries, the more facts get mixed up. I dreamed that I was freezing cold, and everywhere was covered in fog. I know that can’t be real. The rest …”
“I know it’s hard to accept, but the rest doesn’t matter. If you get your memory back, what will it change?”
“Maybe I’ll find out what really happened to Parsons. I can’t help feeling for his family. They don’t have closure. I checked. He’s still officially MIA.”
“We might not have retrieved his tags, but I think we both know there was no surviving what you guys went through.”
“I survived.”
“With a lot of help.”
I lean forward and run my hands through my hair. “You’re right. I know you’re right.”
“Did you want to talk about it, or do you want me to distract you?”
“Distract me. Definitely.”
“Hmm.” He rubs his chin. “How about some lame jokes?”
“I don’t need to know your life story, thanks.”
“Ooh, the man’s got snark.”
“Says the snarkiest person I know.”
“That is true. I am fabulous.” Iris leans back against the wall of the tent, sinking into the mesh like a backrest. “So, two fish are in a tank. One says to the other, ‘Do you know how to drive this thing?’”
It takes me a second, and then I’m laughing.