Page 44 of When We Collide

By the fourth hour I can feel my patience wearing thin. I walk out the bunker in search of Dean. Surely a brief doesn’t take four bloody hours. After asking around, I learn that he was seen heading towards the gym. Matthews, the same guy who had come knocking for Dean earlier this morning, kindly offers to guide me there.

As soon as the heavy metal door opens, my senses are greeted with a flurry of sounds; thumping, chains rattling, and heavy breathing. The gym is dimly lit, giving off a moody atmosphere. The distinct smell of sweat fills the air, sharp and slightly salty, intermingling with the lingering scent of rubber from the mats and weights. Despite the stale air, there's an underlying energy pulsing through the room.

I spot my husband with his back facing me. He’s topless, his body covered in a light sheen of sweat as he wears his headphones and relentlessly punches the black and red boxing bag. Every strike creates a loud thud and sends the bag swinging wildly. I can't see his face from this angle, but I can feel the anger and tension radiating off of him in waves.

Dean moves with effortless grace, his body completely in sync with the bag as if he anticipates its every move. As he moves around with the bag, I see the focussed look on his face. Those emerald eyes I love are vacant and blackened, off someplace else entirely. I don’t want to interrupt him mid-workout while he’s locked in the moment, so I lean against the bar of the chest press machine and quietly observe him.

As I watch Dean's vigorous movements, I can't deny the impressive display of his strength and stamina. I mean, I’m no stranger to Dean’s stamina and self-discipline, the man can go for hours. Yet watching him now, every muscle in his body ripples with each powerful motion, and I find myself both impressed and irked at his physical prowess. Despite my anger towards him, naturally there is a primal attraction that stirs within me at the delightful sight before me. The way he moves, fluid yet powerful, is so damn enchanting and I hate him for it.

After almost a full five minutes of unrelentingly punching that bag, Dean’s movements slow and he finally stops and sits at the edge of the small square boxing ring to catch his breath. He has yet to notice me standing there, so I push away from the bar I’d been leaning on and slowly walk across the gym toward him. I can hear him panting, his shoulders rising and falling quickly with every ragged breath. His eyes are cast down, brows fused together furiously.

Only when I step into his line of vision does he lift his gaze from the ground to look at me. I don’t know why, but I expected the grim look he’s donning to change when he sees me, but it doesn’t even flicker. He bites the velcro of the glove and pulls it open with his teeth before yanking his glove off by wedging it between his knees and repeats the process with the other one.

“You need to stop wandering around and into restricted areas, Jeyla.” Dean grumbles pulling off his headphones and setting them aside. “You’re on a military airbase, you can just go anywhere you please.”

Uff, he’sJeyla’dme. The only time he says my actual name instead of JJ usually means he’s pretty fucking upset. That and he’s refusing to look me in the eye.

“Well, what do you expect? You just walked off and you’ve been gone for over four hours, Dean. When you didn’t come back to the room, I started to worry and came looking for you,” I explain, slowly inching toward him. Dean stands, picks up his t-shirt and proceeds to wipe the sweat off his face.

“I’m fine as you can see. Will you please just go back to the room and wait there.”

Did he just fucking dismiss me?

Agitation crawls up my spine and I cross my arms over my chest and pin him with a deathly glare. “No, I can’t.” Dean’s eyes snap to mine sharply and they darken. “You can’t just lock me in a room all bloody day. Even prisoners get to go outside twice a day.”

Dean's intense gaze narrows and he angrily discards his t-shirt, causing it to land with a thud on the dusty floor. With long, purposeful strides, he closes the distance between us until he is mere inches from my face.

“Prisoners? Are you taking the piss? No one forced you to come here. You're the one who insisted on coming along, Jeyla,” he growls, his tone dripping with frustration. “What did you expect? This isn't some luxurious holiday resort; it's a military airbase. There are strict regulations and protocols in place. Youcan't just wander around unsupervised here. We're surrounded by artillery training sessions and it's incredibly dangerous. How many times do I have to explain this to you?” His words are dripping with exasperation as he struggles to make me understand the gravity of our surroundings. “I fucking knew bringing you here was a mistake.”

“No, I am not taking the piss.” I retort hotly and grab his arm when he turns to walk off and pull him back to me. “I thought coming here I would at least be in the loop and know what’s going on at the very least, but we’ve been here almost twenty-four hours and I still have no idea what the hell is going on or when we’ll get our son back. Your son’s life is in danger every second he is with that lunatic and you’re in here slapping around a bag full of sand!”

A deep, guttural laugh escapes from Dean's throat, the sound laced with anger and pain. He leans in closer, his eyes burning into mine as he speaks. “Slapping around a bag of sand,” he repeats, his voice dripping with disdain. His jaw is tight and his hands are clenched at his sides, a physical manifestation of the control he's trying to maintain.

“Do you even have the slightest understanding of what it means to go to war, Jeyla?” His words are sharp and cutting, like knives slicing through the air. “No amount of training or love for your job can prepare you for the fear that grips you before stepping out that door. The uncertainty of whether or not you'll make it back home.” A flash of pain crosses his features before they harden once again. “And imagine having someone you love waiting for you on the other side, praying for your safe return. It's an unbearable weight to carry.” Dean shakes his head, his gaze never leaving mine.

“Now, add to all that the knowledge that statistically you’re facing a less than one perfect chance of coming back home. Can you even begin to fathom the toll that takes on a person's psyche? You can’t.” His words hang heavy in the air. “You might believe I’m just ‘slapping around a bag of sand’ for fun, but...” he pauses and presses his index and middle fingers to his temple. “I’m mentally preparing myself, the only way I know how, to go and face off with the man that took our son and will likely bury me alive six feet under.”

My stomach rolls and I can feel the food I consumed earlier making its way up to my throat when the image of Dean being buried alive flashes before my eyes.

Less than one percent chance…

My eyes feel like they’re on fire and the lump forming in my throat cuts off my oxygen. I feel like a boulder has been dropped on my head. “Less than one percent?” I choke. My head shakes from side to side almost violently. “No, no that can’t be. They’ve been gathering intel and planning for days and that’s the best they can come back with?”

Dean’s eyes lock with mine and I search his for any signs that he’s fucking with me to punish me for pissing him off, but I see nothing but despair staring back at me. “Don’t look at me like that,” I plead, my vision blurring with tears as I reach to take hold of his face. “You’re going to come back home,” I cry. “Don’t do this to me. You promised me you would fight.”

A quivering breath pushes past Dean’s lips. “I will,” he avows, “I’ll fight to the death,” his fingers curl around my wrists, “but the mission is to safely retrieve our son.”

I close my eyes and tears spill down my cheeks when I feel Dean’s lips press a kiss to my wrist and my heart aches deep inside my chest. “I want to come with you, please Dean let me come with you.”

Dean shakes his head, the load of his decision evident in the creases of his brow. He lets out a heavy sigh, and I can see the worry etched into every line of his face. “No, Jeyla, you can’t come with me,” he says firmly.

My heart twists at the thought of being left behind once again. “What am I supposed to do?” I ask fretfully, my voice trembling. “You want me to just sit here and wait, not knowing if either of you will make it back home? I can’t do that, Dean. I’ll lose my mind.”

“After we leave, you’ll be taken to a safehouse,” Dean replies calmly. “And once we extract DJ, they will bring him to you.”

I want to believe him, but the fear is suffocating. “And if…” The words get caught in my throat like a lump of lead, “neither of you make it out?”

“DJ will make it out, I promise you,” Dean says with determination. My knees tremble like they’re moments away from caving. I’m ready to hit my knees and scream until my lungs implode. Why does this keep happening to me? I’m stuck in an impossible situation. Should I be happy I’ll be reunited with my son, or should I be torn that I’m sending the love of my life off on a deadly mission? God, I can’t do it. I can’t do it all over again. I don’t think my heart is strong enough to withstand losing Dean again.

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