“Like his daddy.”
Gavin swallowed the lump in his throat. “So he’ll be one in August?”
“Yep. August twenty-eighth.”
Mikey reached both arms toward Gavin. The boy let out a garbled command Gavin didn’t understand. But he knew what that reach meant.
“Go on.” She held the boy over.
Gavin took him, felt the unfamiliar weight of a child, and stared at the boy in wonder.
“Gavin, meet Michael Gavin Lucas Duncan. I also managed to finagle a John onto his birth certificate, but it’s a little wordy to fit in there.” Nic smiled.
Shocked, he felt tiny hands on his cheeks, then his nose and hair. The boy wanted down, and Gavin followed the little guy’s orders without thought.
Then Nic hit him with another emotional two-by-four. “Gavin, can you… Can you tell us if it’s true how they died?”
“What?”
“The Marine Corps told us the men were in a routine convoy when they ran over land mines. That it was all over in an instant. No one suffered. That’s true, isn’t it? It wasn’t friendly fire or a cover-up, and they weren’t in agony when they died?”
“Fuck, Nic.” She was crying again. Amanda was wiping her cheeks too. “You know I wasn’t with them. I was in the medical bay—more like a tent. I was there for two weeks before it happened. Took another four before I could go back to active duty. And even then it was limited.” He took a deep breath, then let it out. “But I investigated the hell out of that incident. Talked to the few guys at the back of the convoy who survived. The roads should have been cleared. They still think we got faulty intel, that the insurgents talked to someone inside the camp and knew where we’d be heading eventually. If not Mick and the guys, then it would have happened to another convoy a day later.” He rubbed his eyes. “Such fucking bad luck. But they went instantly. No suffering, no pain.”
A flat-out lie, because they’d worked on John for hours but couldn’t save him. Mick had been thrown from the wreck and broken his neck, his body on fire. Luke immolated. No chance of saving him.
And all while Dumbass Donnigan lay on a stupid hospital cot, hearing the terrible news as it came in, and knowing he’d never see his friends for that promised poker game or their next shared liberty together. It had been the worst night of his life, up there with the first time he’d had to kill.
“I’m glad,” Nic said.
“Me too. Thanks, Gavin.” Amanda nodded.
“I know this wasn’t easy,” Nic continued. “And it might be too much to ask, but we’d like to see you every now and then. We love you, Gavin. We miss you. I know the guys are gone. We miss them too.”
“Even Luke,” Amanda teased. “Now who’s going to walk me down the aisle?” She paused. “I was planning to invite you to the wedding, if that’s okay.”
Oh fuck.
Nic grabbed his arm before he could flee. “But if you can’t, it’s okay,” she said, as much to him as Amanda, it seemed. “We love you, Gavin. Whether we ever see you again or not, you’ll always be a part of us.”
“Yeah.” Amanda nodded. “We love you. And we’re so glad you’re okay. With you and us around, the gang is always here with us. You know?”
“I do.” He was suffocating. “I, um, I need to go.”
“Sure.” Nic walked him to the door and tugged him into a hug before he left. “Be happy, Gavin. Have a good life. You deserve it.”
He nodded and left, knowing he’d never heard anything more untrue.
