I look up and see flashes of fire spitting from the barrel of the .50 cal in the guard tower. I feel the vibrations in my chest as more explosions flash all around me. Only one thought propels me as I sprint to my weapon and body armor: I’ll be fucking damned if I made it this far, only to not make it home to Micaela and RJ.
But as the acrid smoke from the explosions billows in the air and the sounds of machine guns firing overhead fills my ears, a horrible feeling roils in my gut: Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t promise Micaela I would be coming home…
Micaela
“That’s it,” Dad says, setting the nightstand on the floor. “You’re the only person I know who could put a house together in less than a week.”
Bentley laughs, placing the lamp on top. “She’s a woman on a mission.”
“I just want it to be perfect,” I tell them. I also needed something to keep me distracted. I haven’t heard from Ryan in seven days. He’s not due to return until technically tomorrow, but this is the longest we’ve gone without talking since he left, and it’s eating away at me. My mind can’t stop questioning if he’s okay, why he hasn’t found a way to contact me. If he’s due to return tomorrow, shouldn’t he already be on his way? And if that’s the case, he should’ve been able to message or call me. But he hasn’t. Not a single word.
“And it is,” my mom assures me, handing RJ over to me. “The home looks gorgeous. The pictures you hung up in the living room are beautiful.”
“Thank you.” I blew up nine pictures of Ryan, RJ, me, and our families and had them printed in black and white. I hung them up in black wood picture frames behind the couch. Not wanting to spend too much of Ryan’s money, I only bought the essentials for now: living room and dining room furniture, as well as a crib for RJ, so I could keep the one he’s using now at my parents’ place in case they ever need it. The rest of his stuff I brought here. Kayla and Bentley said I could bring Ryan’s furniture from their guesthouse here for the master bedroom. My mom helped me pick up the little things we’ll need like towels, a mop, and a vacuum. Since the house was in move-in condition, all it took was having the guys help move all the heavy stuff in.
“Are you planning to sleep here tonight?” Mom asks, her brows dipping together in what looks like concern.
“I was… Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”
“No.” She sighs. “I just can’t believe my baby is moving out.”
“I’m not even a half-mile away.” I playfully roll my eyes. “I can stand outside, and if I scream loud enough, you’ll be able to hear me.”
Bentley chuckles, but Dad doesn’t dare laugh. Mom glares. “Be nice.” She embraces me. “I guess I should be grateful it’s only a half-mile.”
I swallow thickly at her words, as I remember my plan—before I found out I was pregnant. San Diego University. Scripps. I applied and got in. But then I found out I was pregnant with RJ, so I temporarily deferred. Eventually I’ll have to decide—
“Bentley!” Kayla screams, rushing into the house.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, grabbing her shaky hands in his own to comfort her. “Kayla…”
Her eyes dart over to RJ and me. He’s busy playing with the necklace Ryan gave me. He loves to put it in his mouth. Her eyes lock with mine and my stomach drops. I know that look. It’s the look my mom gave me the day Ian died.
No. This can’t be happening. Not again.
“Kayla,” Bentley prompts, not catching on.
“Is he dead?” I ask bluntly, needing her to rip the Band-Aid off.
Mom gasps, coming to my side.
“Is he?” I repeat. “Is Ryan dead?”
“Enough!” Bentley barks. “He’s not dead.”
Tears race down Kayla’s face. “We don’t know. A base in Afghanistan was attacked. Several were injured and a few were killed. That’s all they’re saying right now. I tried to text him, but—”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Bentley argues. “He doesn’t always respond.”
“He went to a different base to do something,” I inform her and Bentley. “He said it was too high up. No service. I haven’t heard from him in a week. He was supposed to be home tomorrow.”
“Oh, Micaela,” Mom coos, approaching me carefully like I’m a rabid animal.
“I need to be alone,” I tell them.
“Honey,” Dad starts.
“Please.” I swallow the lump in my throat, refusing to lose it.
“Do you want me to take RJ?” Mom offers.
“No.” I clutch him tighter to me. “Can you let me know if you hear anything?” I ask Kayla.
“Yes.” She nods, wiping her tears. “Maybe it wasn’t even the base he’s at. There are so many over there.”
I shake my head, already knowing it was his base. Otherwise I would’ve heard from him. I always hear from him. There’s only one reason why I wouldn’t hear from Ryan—if he couldn’t communicate.
I can feel it in my gut, in my heart. We were so damn close. “I need to be alone,” I repeat, pushing everyone away. I can tell they don’t want to leave me like this, but I can’t do this with them. Not a-fucking-gain.
“We’re only a phone call away,” Mom reminds me, pressing a kiss to my forehead first and then another one to RJ’s, who’s still blissfully gumming the starfish on my necklace, ignorant to the fact that without him ever really knowing his father, he’s more than likely lost him.
As soon as everyone reluctantly leaves, I sit on the couch with RJ. Grabbing my laptop, I pull up the video of Ryan. I should probably be checking the internet to find out the details of the attack, but it won’t do any good. It doesn’t matter what happened or why. If he’s dead, nothing will bring him back. I know that all too well.
Instead, I click on the video RJ and I have watched over a hundred times in the last four months. Ryan’s face comes onto the screen, his gruff voice getting RJ’s attention. We watch the video every night before bed. RJ doesn’t understand it, he’s too young, but because we’ve done it every day, he squeals, excited to do something he knows.
His hands slap the screen as Ryan says hello to RJ. “Hey there, little guy. This is your dad, Ryan. You don’t know it, but we have the same name.”
Ryan’s eyes water, but he takes a deep breath, refusing to let them fall. My mind goes back to that day, four months ago, when I told him he needed to make the videos. He broke down and lost it, not wanting to make them, but deep down he knew it had to be done, and this is why.
“I’m wearing this outfit because I’m in the military,” Ryan continues, plastering on a smile for his son. “I’m a combat engineer.” He laughs softly. “My job is to build and fix things.” He shrugs awkwardly. “Umm… anyway, that’s what I’m probably doing while you’re watching this. Fixing things.” He gnaws on his bottom lip, closes his eyes, then takes a deep breath and opens them. “I just want you to know how much I love you. I’ve only known you for a couple weeks, but fuc—I mean… Jesus, I suck—I mean stink at this.” He chuckles humorlessly. “I just need you to know how much I love you and your mom. You don’t know me yet, but I’ll be home soon and I plan to spend the rest of my life getting to know you. My dad—your grandpa—and I are real close. He taught me how to ski and snowboard, took me fishing, and taught me how to fight. He taught me how to play sports. He was always the coach of every team I played on.”