Devin groans, and I picture him dropping his head back and running a hand through his hair like he did when we were kids. “Trust me, I would have, but those damn mortar rounds took out our communications center and it took days to get it up and running again.”

I didn’t even think of that. “That’s not at all what was running through my head,” I say, a shiver racing down my spine.

“I don’t want to know what was running through your head.”

“Hell no, you don’t.” My head falls back against the cabinet as relief sinks in, seeping its way through my body.

“I’m sorry, Katie.”

I’m not sure what he’s apologizing for, but the way his words come out makes it sound like everything. “You’re forgiven.” A smile spreads across my face because, in my heart, I know that he really is forgiven … for everything. Before, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to forgive Devin for the way he walked away from me, but that seems so insignificant right now compared to everything else that has happened. “No more apologies, okay? From now on, you and me, we keep moving forward.”

“I like the sound of that,” he says with a hint of playfulness in his voice. Heat radiates through my chest, and I reach for the spot that’s been aching the past several days, only to find it gone.

The phone line gets scratchy and I hear several other voices before Devin speaks again. “Katie, I hate to do this, but I’ve gotta go. We’re getting ready to leave, but I promise that I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

“You promise? No matter what time, you promise you’ll call?”

“I promise,” he says, laughing.

“Good. Because if I don’t hear from you soon, you’re in serious trouble.”

“I find that incredibly intriguing, Miss Devora. What would be my form of punishment?” he says suggestively.

“Hah!” I bark out, a huge grin splitting my face. “Of course you would turn that into something dirty.”

“You didn’t answer my question. What’s my form of—?”

“Goodbye, Devin.” I sigh, feeling like the weight of the world has been lifted from my shoulders.

“Bye, Katie.”

“If It Means a Lot to You”—A Day To Remember

I’M SHEDDING MY EQUIPMENT BESIDE my cot, just after mission, when Tavares bursts through the entrance of our tent, his frantic movements catching our attention. His eyes lock on mine and when I see the look of pity on his face, my blood runs cold. I know he’s here for me… but why?

In three long strides, he’s standing before me. His mouth opens and closes several times as though he has something to say, but he just doesn’t know how to get it out.

“What’s up, man?” I ask, dropping my body armor to the ground and unbuttoning my uniform top.

He remains silent and looks over to Navas, who is holding a Hot Rod magazine but has his eyes locked on Tavares, waiting for him to speak as well.

“Dude, Tavares, what the fuck is up?”

“We need you over at HQ …” His eyes flit around my face and his voice trails off. I can tell he wants to say more, but can’t.

Now I’m annoyed.

“Who is we, Tavares?” I ask, trying to keep my voice as calm as possible.

“Captain Kendricks,” he says before turning on his heel.

“No,” I snap. He looks over his shoulder, and the determination must be written all over my face because he spins around to face me. “Tell me what’s up.”

“I’m not really sure. Kendricks didn’t mention anything.” I don’t believe him, but I won’t try and press him for more. I’ve known Tavares long enough to understand he says what he wants to and nothing more. If there is one thing in this life I’ve mastered, it’s the ability to read people.

I follow Tavares to headquarters and the short walk is awkwardly quiet. He leads me inside to Captain Kendricks’s small office. Tapping on the door, he’s met with a deep grunt from the other side. Then he opens the door, motions for me step into the office and closes the door behind me. I take a seat, having absolutely no idea what’s going on, but my mind runs through a hundred different scenarios. Not one of them is good.

Kendricks continues to shuffle through papers without acknowledging my presence. He finds what he’s looking for and finally looks up. He has the same look of pity Tavares had, only his seemed forced, most likely out of habit. His conversations with the men below him are business, and only business.

“Well, Clay, I have some bad news.” He pauses, crossing his arms over his chest. I’m immediately grateful that he tells it like it is; I respect a man that can do that. “We got a Red Cross message tonight, and … well”—he clears his throat but keeps his eyes on mine—“your mother died two days ago.” He stops, presumably to let me process what he’s just said. My mind is numb as I fight to comprehend his words. “There’s not a lot of information there,” he says, handing me a stack of papers, “but there’s a number to call, and of course, we will have to get you on a plane out of here as soon as possible.” I grab the paper from his hand and notice that mine is trembling. My hand never fucking trembles.

My mother is … dead. Gone. A rush of breath pushes through my lips and I close my eyes, only instead of thinking of Josephine, my thoughts travel to Katie.

Will I get to see her? Will she come to Pennsylvania to see me?

I should feel bad that this is where my thoughts are going, but I don’t. Not after the hell my mother put me through.

“A plane, Sir?” I know what he’s saying, but in this moment, my mind isn’t here.

“Yes, we gotta get you out for the funeral. It says in the message—I mean, you can read it yourself—but the funeral is in three days. We will have to get you on a chopper and to the Green Zone in the morning, and our operations men have set up a flight for you out of the country tomorrow evening. You’ll be home by Friday,” he says, handing me another piece of paper. I glance at it and see my itinerary. He stops for a moment, and for the first time during this meeting, he has a genuine look of pity on his face. “I’m sorry for your loss, Sergeant Clay.”

“Thank you, Sir,” I mumble, my eyes drifting to his marble-topped desk as I mentally make plans to call Katie. I have to call her. I have to see her.

“Clay?” Captain Kendricks’s deep voice catches my attention, and I look up. He wants to say something else but stops himself and simply nods.

“Do you know when the chopper will be here, Sir?” I ask to fill the awkward silence that’s taken up the room.

“0600 the bird will be here, so get your stuff together tonight and be prepared at 0530.”

Nodding, I stand, the Red Cross message clenched in my hand. Without a word, I walk to the door before realizing how rude I must’ve come off. I spin back around.

“Sorry, Sir. I’ll be at the helipad at 0530.”

He nods, accepting my explanation. “I’m sorry again, Sergeant Clay.”

The walk back to the tent is almost like a dream. My senses have dulled and my mind struggles to understand. I wait for the urge to cry or feel an overwhelming sense of loss, but it never comes. I’m only numb.

The line rings several times and I wonder what they’re going to tell me, if anything. My desire to call Katie is growing by the second, but I have to find out what happened to my mom first. As foul as that woman could be, she was still my mother, and I hope at the very least she died peacefully, though at her age I know that’s impossible.

The line clicks and a woman’s voice comes through.

“Red Cross Emergency Communications Services. This is Sharon. How can I help you?”