“They were deciding how to proceed when this Afghani man starts walking toward us. He was carrying something wrapped up in cloth and at first we all got ready for a shit-storm.” He pauses again, regarding me with grim eyes.
“It’s not uncommon for firefights to kick off with a suicide bomber. He was screaming and yelling and walking toward us. Our interpreter was ordering him to stop—to not come any further—but the guy was hysterical, crying, stumbling all over the road.” Sy shakes his head. He takes a deep breath and goes on. “We were prepared to shoot him. Captain Harris radioed from three trucks back and ordered we fire a warning shot at the man.” My heart squeezes in my chest but I keep my mouth shut, waiting for him to go on. “I fired the warning shot. I remember the dust spraying up at his feet as the round made contact with the ground in front of him. He jolted, but it didn’t stop him. He was screaming in Pashto. The interpreter said he was rambling. He was talking so fast and was so emotional he couldn’t hear our interpreter giving him simple instructions. Our Convoy Commander came back on the radio and ordered the kill shot. We couldn’t risk him being a suicide bomber. By this time the man was halfway to us. It was him or us. I prepared to smoke him and he shoved his arms outward, holding a bundle wrapped in fabric out toward us. A tiny arm fell lifelessly to the side, and I lowered my weapon.”
“Oh my god,” I whisper. “The little girl?” I ask. Sy simply nods, swallowing hard.
“The Convoy Commander had the interpreter order him to put down whatever it was he was carrying. He finally listened. It was his daughter. The Taliban retaliated against him for not cooperating with them to store several weapons caches in his two shops. They firebombed his properties and his wife and daughter were both trapped inside. He was asking for help, but she was already dead.”
He lives with this. This terrible, dark knowledge is with him, always and he somehow still finds a way to live his life as best he can. Fresh admiration for Sylas Broussard blooms in my chest.
Right beside it is fresh disgust with myself. For not being strong like him. For every rude comment I’ve made. For not being there for him during those terrible years that he spent serving this country. I should have been there for him, no matter our history, no matter what happened when we broke up. Even at his worst, and my best, Sylas has always deserved better than the likes of me.
“So the nonprofit… it’s your way of giving back to men and woman like you?”
Sy scoffs. “No. When you break it all down my motivations are rooted in self-centeredness.”
“How so? You fly people in from all over the country, put them in hotels, feed and entertain them. For free.”
“Yeah. I found out early on that it helps me to help others. It’s my therapy. It distracts me from my own life,” he pauses tapping his index finger to his temple.
“And I feel better doing what I can for people needing it. When they’re better, I’m better. I don’t know where I’d be without BCF.”
“You can’t save the world, Sy. You can’t fix everyone. You know that right?”
“I know. Won’t stop me from tryin’ though.” With that Sylas puts our leftovers back in his refrigerator and comes to me, slipping thick arms around me. He nuzzles his face against my neck, invading my space with everything that makes up Sylas Broussard. His scent, his skin, his energy.
“Rae, you should know that if you insist on leaving, you should not expect me to make it easy on you like I did last time.” He peppers hot, firm kisses across my collarbone and up the column of my neck. My eyes slip shut and I lean into him, reveling in the feel of this man. “I’m going to make it very difficult for you to walk away from this.” He says with his lips grazing my ear.
I didn’t expect you would.
If he thinks he took it easy on me the last time we went our separate ways, then I sincerely dread seeing what he calls “very difficult.”
“If you’re planning on taking off on me, I swear to god I’m going to make you doubt everything. I’m going to ruin you for any other man because you’re mine and I’m yours. Always.
Chapter 22
Sylas
18 years old…
Months. It’s been months, and I have tried everything. Every suggestion people have made, I’ve given it a shot. I’ve tried making her jealous. I’ve blown every dime of my allowance and yard work money sending her flowers and cards. I’ve tried pretending I don’t care. I’ve stood in her front yard day after day bugging her, pleading with her, promising we could work things out. I’ve begged and bargained. The only suggestion that remains is to give up. I’m frustrated beyond explanation that nothing has worked so far. I’m a pro—or at least I once thought I was—at winning Rae over.
When she dumped me at the bayou that day I honestly put my money on us smoothing things out. Rae and I are the real deal. We can’t be over. No way. She had a fair grievance and yeah, okay, I screwed up bad not getting the courage together to tell her I wanted to join the military but I have always had a knack for working things out with Rae. Since I’ve known her she gets pissed at me and I smooth it over. Rinse and repeat. I didn’t anticipate that this would be any different. I definitely didn’t think this breakup would last this long. Months! And now we are out of time and I am out of patience because tomorrow I ship out for basic training and by the time I get back for my first visit home, Rae is likely going to be gone for college. Goddamn her all to hell for doing this to us and goddamn myself for not going about my enlistment in a different way. I should have told her, but I knew she’d never support my decision to join the Marines.
“Raaaaaae!” I bellow as loud as I can. “Raaaaaae!” I yell louder still. I see her bedroom curtains flutter but she doesn’t show her face. “Goddammit Rae, come down here and talk to me!” Her neighbor steps out on the porch, shaking his head with his lips pinched together. “Evening, Mr. Hughes.” I nod and give a half-hearted wave. He doesn’t say anything, but he goes back in his house. Probably to call my dad to let him know that I’m outside of Rae’s house again making a scene but what the hell else am I supposed to do? She won’t let me see her. I’m still welcome in the house of course but I figure if I make a big enough show of my wallowing for her attention maybe she’ll actually give me a chance to talk to her instead of yelling at her from the yard in front of the whole world.
I scream and holler for an hour before I get tired. Defeat creeps in and I settle myself against the tree in her front yard. I sit here for a long time aware that she’s not going to give me the dignity of speaking to me but also aware that I’m not ready to say goodbye. How many people me the love of their life at ten years old? Not many, I can guarantee. “Rae, I gotta leave tomorrow,” I say barely loud enough for it to reach the second-floor window. “I wanted to fix this. I’m out of time but I’m not out of patience. Not yet. I’ll figure out how to make things right with us. I’m sorry everything is so messed up. I love you,” my voice cracks, and normally I’d care enough to be embarrassed but right now I’m too damn heartbroken to feel anything but grief. I’ll miss her when I’m gone. I see the curtains flutter then they pull back to reveal my beautiful Snow with red eyes and wet cheeks.