Perfect Rage (Unyielding 3)

Apparently, O’Neill.

I discovered he was really patient because I thought about each question before I answered while he shot off his answers like gunfire. He laughed at some of my responses, and I laughed at some of his questions because they were off the wall and random. Like, how was I supposed to know that a polar bear dip meant jumping into freezing cold water and not swimming with a polar bear?

He stayed clear of anything sexual, which I hadn’t expected, because there was no denying there was something sexual between us.

The most basic question he’d asked was what my favorite color was, to which I’d told him powder blue. Then I asked what his was and he said blue, too. He said it reminded him of the ocean and how powerful it could be and yet calm and peaceful at the same time. Then he started on about the color orange. He hated orange.

But it was more than hate. He abhorred it and I was glad I didn’t have orange hair; otherwise, he’d have never agreed to take us to the orphanage. He went on to tell me he refused to eat carrots and oranges, and orange candy was out of the question.

I laughed until my stomach cramped because he took his hatred of orange really seriously and it was ridiculous. But it was sort of cute, too.

Question nineteen was what is the best sound in the world and I answered without hesitation, a child’s laughter. His expression changed from light and playful to surprise and then his brows furrowed.

He remained silent for a minute and then said, “Yeah. Mine, too.”

That was it. The game ended on question nineteen and he abruptly stood and told me he’d see me at 0600 and Gunner would show me where I was staying and would get me in the morning. He reiterated I was not allowed to go anywhere without supervision. Then he’d left. I hadn’t seen him until this morning and he’d barely nodded in my direction before he said we were ‘moving out’.

The drive was slow and steady, and we had to stop at several checkpoints where Jaz and I had our passes checked. It took an hour to reach the orphanage just outside of Kabul. When we stopped, it was the first time I think my heart beat normally.

Jaz patted my hand, smiling. “You did good.”

The doors opened and we all piled out. The first thing I heard was yelling kids, but it was with happiness as they bombarded us. Well, not exactly us—O’Neill. There were about twenty-five kids who had seen us arrive and they obviously knew O’Neill, but they called him Riot as they crowded around him jumping up and down, the ones closest to him, hugging him.

I quickly pulled my camera out of my bag and moved closer, but not so he’d notice me and I started taking shots. It was why I loved taking photographs, moments like this. There was a story behind every frame. How did the children know who he was? Why were they so excited to see him? I was seeing a side to O’Neill that I really liked and I was disappointed he was leaving.

O’Neill grinned as he ruffled kids’ hair and chatted with them, but I was too far away to hear what he said. My chest swelled as I watched from behind the lens. He was really good with them, so patient and sincere.

It said a lot about him. I respected O’Neill for what he did for his country, all these men and women, but seeing him with the kids, it became much more.

I lowered the camera when he glanced over at me, a huge grin on his face. My heart skipped a beat and I returned the smile. ‘Laughter,’ he mouthed.

Yeah, the laughter of kids who had very little was the best laughter of all.

There was a lot of commotion as the supplies were unloaded. Jaz and I helped and there were several people with the agency who ran the orphanage who came and also assisted.

The place was overcrowded and run down, with kids wearing shoes too big and ragged dirty clothes. Their ages ranged from five or six, right up to older teens, and there were definitely more boys than girls.

Jaz and I chatted with Sarah, a British woman who had been there for several months and she offered to show us around when Gunner yelled, “Stay safe. Pick-up thirty days.”

“Thanks, Gunner,” I called and Jaz waved.

He nodded then hopped in one of the Humvees, so did Drummond and Trent. But no one got in the Humvee that O’Neill had been driving.

That was when I heard booted steps come up behind me. I turned to come face-to-face with O’Neill’s chest. I peered past his shoulder and saw the kids were off playing with some of the donated toys.