Page 68 of Luck Be Mine
The bright morning sun hurt her eyes. Too little sleep made them burn, and too many worries about her absent husband strafed her emotions. She wasn’t supposed to let her bucket get full like this.
She avoided news updates from Afghanistan like the nightmare-inducing PTSD mess they were, but it didn’t stop thesick feeling inside. U.S. flags over so many coffins through so many tours. They were on her mind and heavy on her heart.
She craned her neck to see who was at the desk in the building’s entrance. Two men exited, and she groaned.
Can I not have a minute?
Mackey and Quaid.
Remy St. Claire at the desk must have tattled on her sitting in her car.
One phone call upstairs had Mackey and Quaid striding across the parking lot in lock step. One would think they had a deal with her husband about her security.
She shut off the engine and opened the door, resigned to two bodyguards in civilian clothes. Her purple surgical scrubs stuck to her legs, her feet hurt, and she’d kill for a shower. She grabbed her purse, searching for a way to convince them she was fine.
Her phone rang.
Adrenaline surged. Her stomach rolled.
Frogman. No! Wrong time of day.
Fingers shaking, she juggled the phone and answered. “Hunt!”
Quiet airspace lasted long seconds. Finally, his voice filtered through, low and hesitant. “I’m okay.”
Cait’s breath seized. Fear knifed through her. “Tell me.”
“I needed to hear your voice.” Low. Raw. Controlled.
But he wasn’t. She knew it, felt it, heard it in his voice.
Her pulse stumbled. “What happened?”
Mackey and Quaid stopped in front of her, concern on both their faces.
“Can’t say. You know how it is.” His voice hitched. He didn’t have to explain.Loss.Failure. Grief.
She exhaled, calming herself. “Babe, I’m here. Whatever it is, you can handle it.”
Silence.
Mid-morning call, no words.It was bad. So bad.
“I love you so much, Cait.” His exhale came sharp, ragged. There was an edge in his voice she’d never heard before.
Her heart sank. Her throat flooded with tears. She stared at Mackey and Quaid, panic rising. Mackey’s hand dropped in a quiet signal –calm down.Her emotions weren’t what he needed.
She shoved the rising ache away. “I’m here. I love you, too. Listen to me. This is what you do, what you’re good at. Without that, I’d be dead. You understand?”
“Yes.” His simple answer scared her. The grief coiled beneath the surface spoke of a heavy weight. She’d heard the same sound from men clinging to sanity in the middle of hell. It was in her voice sometimes, too.
“Stay steady and do the job, Hunter. The leader is what they need. It’s what you trained for. Then you come home to me. I’m here.”
“You always are. I need to go.”
“Wait.” Her voice cracked. “We do hard things, and then we go home, Hunt. Repeat it.”
A long exhale came over the line. “We do hard things…then we go home.” Steady, believable.
