Page 64 of Philly
“And the goats.”
“And the goats. Dulcie still gets letters from the father—he was a professor before the conflict broke out. Now that things have, well, not settled, but calmed down, he’s back to teaching. There’s only one university and he didn’t want to move his family back to that city—bad memories—so he teaches at a local college. Not a US-type ‘college,’ but the last two years of schooling before the students go to university. The girls are grown now. One is married to a doctor and is a teacher herself and the other is at university.”
“That’s a good story.”
“It is. They don’t all have such good endings, but I like that one.”
She hesitated. “How bad was it? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
He didn’t answer right away. She remained silent, giving him the space to choose what, if anything, to tell her.
“It’s not like the movies. Or even most of the books. Don’t get me wrong, there were some shitty days. And some days, beyond shitty. I lost four friends in the time I served. And one more in a stupid training accident. I saw a lot. A lot of things I could never have imagined, even if someone told me to imagine the worst of the worst. But we had a lot of training time, too. And time training others—other newer teams, ally teams, that sort of thing. That was my favorite part. I knew I wasn’t a lifer, so training the younger teams, or the teams who didn’t have access to the programs we did in the US, felt like a way to give backthat was different. Different from what most people think when they think about serving our country. Maybe it wasn’t, since we all ended up as cogs in the war machine. But I liked seeing those guys—and it was all guys—grow their skills and confidence.”
“Have you ever thought of becoming a teacher now that you’re out?” she asked.
He inhaled, as if to answer, then startled her when he popped up on his elbow. “What the hell?” he mumbled, followed immediately by “Oh fuck.”
Her chest seized as she turned to see what he spotted, but strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her against him as he spun their bodies.
To her everlasting chagrin, she let out a yelp of surprise as they kept rolling. The sheets twisted in their legs, her forehead connected with Gabriel’s collarbone, and still they kept rolling until she dangled off the edge of his side of the bed.
“Gabe—”
A familiar thud followed immediately by the shattering of glass cut her off.
“Fuck,” he muttered again, then twisted even more. They fell, spinning so that she landed on top of Gabriel.
Behind the protection of the platform bed, they stilled, listening for any clues as to what their attacker might do next. Her hands rested on his chest, and like hers, his heart beat out a rapid tattoo.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low.
She nodded. “You?”
“Let’s unwind from these blankets. I don’t much like the idea of being shot at again while wrapped up like a mummy.”
It didn’t escape her that he didn’t answer, but rather than spend time arguing or asking again, she joined him in unraveling their cotton bondage.
The patio remained quiet as they untangled themselves. No more shots, no shuffling of feet, just silence. Keeping their heads below the mattress, Gabriel reached over and slid the drawer of his bedside table open. He reached in and when he pulled his hand back out, he held a gun. They’d each packed their weapons, but she’d thought his, like hers, was in a safe in the closet.
She glanced at the clock as he repositioned himself beside her. Less than a minute since she’d asked him if he’d ever thought of being a teacher. A nice reminder—one she could have done without—about how quickly circumstances could change.
“Someone came over the ledge,” he said.
“The little drop-off about forty feet from the end of our patio?”
He nodded. “We haven’t heard anything since that shot. I’m going to have a look.”
She wasn’t about to let him have all the fun. As he positioned himself to peek over the top of the mattress, she rolled to the side and poked her head around the corner.
“You see anything?” he asked.
“Nothing. We need to get out there. We need to go after him.”
She sensed his hesitation but ignored it. Rising to her knees, then onto the balls of her feet, she launched into four long strides, taking her to the closet. Three seconds later, he joined her.
“The ground’s uneven right outside our patio,” he said as they started digging for their clothes. “A head and torso popped up and caught my attention. Then he rose and started directly for us.” He turned to tug on a pair of sweats. She didn’t waste time arguing with herself about whether she should snag a quick look at his backside as he bent over, and her gaze slid over him as she pulled on a pair of leggings.
Her heart stuttered at what she saw, and she dropped to the ground. “You were hit!” She wrapped her hands around his calf,stopping his movements. Blood covered his leg and halfway up his calf, right in the meatiest part of the muscle, a dark gash marred his skin.
