Page 90 of My Fiancé's Brother 2

“Chloe told me the other day that I’m starting to repeat my stories.”

He laughed. “That bad?”

“I’m desperate.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“She got me an invite. I still have to win them over.”

“You've got this.”

“How did you save her husband?”

He was about to speak when suddenly a loud explosive boom happened off camera. Jackson turned, shielded his face, and then he hauled an enormous scary automatic weapon up from his side. He stood up and looked towards the sound of the explosion.

“No,” I said as he moved, disappearing out of view of the camera. I sat there, my hand over my mouth, staring at that netting, and listened to the worst sounds I had ever heard. Men shouted. The pop pop pop of gunfire. I saw other men run by with huge guns, in the direction that Jackson had disappeared. Another explosion. More shouting. Terrifying gunfire that never seemed to take a break. Thenthe camera was falling and lying on the ground. And then everything went black.

“Oh shit, oh shit,” I looked at the screen. I was crying. “Please call back. Please call back.”

I sat there for an hour and dialed his Skype number to no avail. The absolute worst things were going through my mind. Visions of Jackson lying in that dusty sand, bleeding. Hurt. Possibly even dead. I texted him. I emailed him. I tried to call him. Nothing.

There was no communication at all from him. Where was he? What had happened? I knew he was a soldier, I knew he was a SEAL, but what I had just witnessed, made me realize first hand that this was real. Jackson lived and worked a dangerous job. He could die at any moment.

I could not erase from my mind the sight of him heading into a gunfight. If something happened to him, I would not survive. I couldn't imagine my life without him. The thought alone made me sick. I knew what death was. I knew what loss felt like, but to have Jackson die, that would feel like all the oxygen would be sucked out of this world. I would never make it.

I paced the length of the house, too freaked out to sleep. I made up some rules for myself.

If Jackson survived this, I'd never bother him again with my shit.

Going forward, he’d get sunny, happy me on Skype telling him how awesome life was.

The house could burn down around me, and I'd tell him everything was great.

I wouldn't distract him with my petty problems.

I wouldn’t get emotional or give him bad news.

He needed my support, not my issues.

At 5 AM, precisely nine hours since I last saw Jackson on Skype, I crawled upstairs and wrapped myself around his pillow, falling asleep with my iPad in my hands. When I woke up, I didn’t let the iPad leave my sight. I kept it charged and the volume on full. I constantly checked to see if it had power and if the volume was on.Chloe didn’t get her walk. I spent the entire day, sitting on the couch waiting. Waiting to hear from Jackson.

Seventeen hours later,my Skype rang. I opened it, and there he was. Looking dirty, hot, a bit pissed off and alive.

I worked to not burst into tears. I had vowed to support him going forward. This wasn’t just about me. This was about him, staying safe and coming home.

“Emily,” he gave me a look. “I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.”

“Were you worried?”

I moved the iPad away from my face so I could quietly sob. Then I wiped my tears and came back.

“Em, I know you’re crying. Why are you hiding that from me?”

I sniffed, “I don’t want to distract you.”

“From my job?”

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