When they filed into his room, he smiled. “You guys getting ready to ship out?”
Fast Lane nodded. “How are you doing, kid?”
He had always resented being called kid, but now he realized it was a term of endearment from his rough-and-tumble LT. “Feeling great thanks to the great care I got here. Thank you all for being there when I needed you. Hoo-yah!”
They all echoed the call almost as one voice, and all those barriers he had thought were so insurmountable were gone. This was his team. These were his brothers. This was his duty to serve with them, their bond ironclad, their dedication without measure.
The brotherhood was everything and the reason he would continue to give everything he had for the fight.
“We’ll see you when you get back to San Diego. Rest and get better,” Fast Lane said as he squeezed 2-Stroke’s shoulder, but before 2-Stroke knew what he was doing, he rose and hugged his CO, who hugged him back. He went down the line: Dragon, Pitbull, Hemingway, Mad Max, Dodger, and Saint, whom he hugged just a little bit tighter.
“I owe you a beer when you get back from LA,” he said.
2-Stroke nodded, then they were gone, and he went through the administrative steps to get discharged. He headed immediately for Dulles International Airport and his booked flight to LAX.
It was time to go home. Finally, time to lay all his ghosts to rest and maybe, just maybe find the other half of him he’d left behind six years ago.
“Hey,” Saint said from Aella’s hospital room door.
She clicked off the TV and smiled. “You’re leaving, then?”
“Yeah, two weeks are up, and we’re headed back to San Diego. How’s the leg?”
“Doing amazing according to the doctor. He said you saved it. It could have been a hard recovery if it wasn’t for your skill in the field.”
He shrugged.
“He thinks once you get out of the Navy, you should become a doctor.”
Saint chuckled. “Yeah? He said that?” He approached the bed and without invitation settled on it. With a smile he gently tucked her hair back from her face. “I don’t need to be an MD to play doctor to your nurse.”
She gazed at him, her eyes dark and slumberous, licking her lips, and Saint’s pulse skittered and caught. He wondered if he would ever get enough of her.
Aella’s gaze shifted to his mouth, and she leaned over and kissed him. “That’s the best medicine for recovery.”
Saint gave a huff of laughter against her mouth, then pulled away. He leaned back and shook his head slightly. “You are a piece of sass. What my momma would call a sassbucket.”
She gave him a slow half smile that was a come-on if he’d ever seen one, but there was a glint in her eyes that wasn’t at all sensual. She rubbed the back of his neck with her fingers, sending a tingle of sensation down his spine. “Would that saying be on par with…if you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen?”
Saint grinned. “See, pure sass.”
A sparkle of amusement appeared in her eyes, and she tipped her head to one side. “I need to give as good as I get. It’s my competitive streak. I’ll try to work on that.”
“No, I like that competitive streak,” he said gruffly. “I’m glad that I could save your leg. But I have no doubt with or without it you would have continued to kick ass.”
She looked down and heaved a sigh as if she were trying to contain tears. He hoped like God she won that fight. It would shred him up to have to leave her teary-eyed.
Lacing her hands together behind his neck, her gaze turned solemn. “I’m going to miss you, West Virginia.”
“Me, too, darlin’. You kick ass out there,” he said, his voice wavering.
“You, too, babe.” She abruptly hugged him against her, and her chest expanded unevenly against him. Cupping his hand under her jaw to nestle her head closer, he felt her swallow hard; then she nodded. Affected by her emotional struggle, Saint drew her deeper into his embrace and rested his cheek against the top of her head. “You stay safe, very Special Agent Aella Mikos.”
She nodded. With all the gentleness he could muster, he lifted her head so he could see her face. She had her eyes tightly closed and her jaw clenched, but in spite of her battle to hold everything in, tears seeped out from beneath her lashes. His throat tight, he bent his head and kissed her face.
“Let me know how you’re doing from time to time.”
Her throat worked, and she nodded once. He pulled away, dying inside. When she opened her eyes and nodded again, the shimmer of tears added a heart-wrenching vulnerability to her raw emotion.
She swiped at the tears, then said, “You better skedaddle, or you’ll miss your flight. The Navy frowns on that, I’m sure.”
He backed out of the room, and when he reached the door, he paused to gaze at her, taking in everything to hold in his mind for when he needed to remember the beautiful and strong woman he’d give his left arm for. But duty called for both of them.
After one more silent, warm, regretful look between them, he turned and left.
2-Stroke landed in LAX five hours after getting on the plane. He was out like a light after boarding and slept the whole way there. It was clear he was still recovering. He’d gone to sleep thinking about Chry and woke up thinking about her. She was a permanent fixture in his mind. But he still wanted to give her some more time. Her texts were still so minimal. When he came out of the gate, Dean was there, and 2-Stroke waved to his brother.
“Hey, man,” Dean said after they hugged. “It’s good to see you up and about. How are you doing?”
“It’s an improvement from the last time you saw me, face down in the mud, bleeding and having a hard time breathing.”
“Yeah, that wasn’t fun. Don’t do that again.”
They walked toward the parking garage to Dean’s cherry-red pickup truck. Once inside, Dean asked, “You hungry?”
“Yeah, starving.”
“Let’s get you something to eat, then you should probably rest some more. Doc said another full week, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
They went to a taco joint that 2-Stroke loved when he’d lived here. After ordering, they sat down at one of the tables. 2-Stroke didn’t touch his food. “So, what did the brass say?”
Dean sighed. “I lost my team, and I’m out of the Navy. I’m going to be on administrative duty here in LA until my term is up in two months. I had planned to re-enlist, but that’s off the table. I retained my rank and trident, though, and will receive an honorable discharge. My lawyer was amazing, stating my personal reasons for disobeying orders, and got me the best deal she could.”
Clenching his jaw against the sudden thickness in his throat, 2-Stroke remained silent, absorbing the consequences of Dean’s actions. He was no longer an operator.
“It’s okay, Neo. I would do it all over again. The outcome sucks, but you’re back safe and whole. That’s all that matters to me.”
2-Stroke made no response, unsure why Dean’s words made him feel like he was ten years old again and trying not to bawl.
Dean leaned forward. “Come on. Eat. Everything will work out for the best. It always does. I don’t want you dropping on me. I don’t have time to play nursemaid to my baby brother.”