Page 45 of Faron
42
Faron
We’d only been back in the city for a week when River called.
“We need you,” he said. “Afghanistan. Americans still in hiding. Four years is too long.”
I didn’t like the sound of it. Too vague. Too quiet.
I liked it even less when I looked at Blue. She was sitting cross-legged on the couch in one of my shirts, flipping through patient charts with a mug of tea she hadn’t touched. She glanced up the second she saw my face.
“Where are you going?” she asked, voice soft but steady.
“Afghanistan,” I said. “There are still people we need to bring home.”
She was quiet for a beat, then nodded. “I’ve read reports. Some of them were married when they got stuck. Do they want to bring their families with them?”
“Maybe. We don’t even know who we’re meeting. The whole thing’s… loose.”
“I’m going with you.”
My heart twisted. I crossed the room and sat beside her, brushing a thumb along her cheekbone. “Sweetheart, no. It’s toodangerous. Cyclone and I are going in light and fast—just recon and extraction. I need you safe while I’m gone.”
“I’m not fragile.”
“No. But I need to know you’re breathing while I’m gone. That Bear’s snoring. That Tag’s pretending to drink tea while he watches your every move.”
“Hey!” Tag called from the kitchen. “This is real tea. Very manly. And delicious.”
Blue didn’t smile. Not this time.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” she said.
Tag walked in, unbothered. “Too bad. You’ve got one.” He pulled her into a hug and kissed her square on the mouth like they were siblings. “Besides, I like hanging out with Blue Davis. She’s way cooler than Faron Lightfoot.”
“I heard that,” I muttered.
“You were meant to.”
Blue pulled away, locking eyes with me. “This doesn’t feel right, Faron. Something’s off.”
“You’re not wrong,” I said. “Cyclone’s outside. Said he didn’t want to come in and have to say no to your face.”
“Coward.”
“Yep.”
Tag sat on the armrest. “By the way, Olly told Oliver he’s not cutting his hair anymore. Says he wants it long. Like Faron’s.”
I smiled. “That kid’s got good taste.”
“I thought it was a mourning thing. You haven’t cut it since your dad passed, right?”
I nodded. “And I won’t. Not until I go, too.”
Blue’s eyes softened, and I saw the war behind them—her desire to fight for me, and her promise not to pull me away from who I was.
“I still don’t see why I can’t go,” she whispered. “You know I’m good in the field.”
