“I can’t do my job because I froze!” Hunter rattled the chains, feeling a violent rage rising up, worse than anything he’d ever felt before. “I can’t face my best friend’s wife because I’m ashamed I lived instead of him. I can’t even look at my godson because I failed him. I lost everything I loved. I even lost my fucking self-respect, because I couldn’t stop what happened, and no matter how many times I relive it, I can’t fucking change it!”
WHACK!
“Why are you ashamed?” Payne’s voice was implacable now. “How did you fail Jake? What did you do wrong?”
“I didn’t save his father,” Hunter ground out. He felt like he was in his own personal hell. “I should have known there would be a failsafe. I should have told Mark to keep his fucking helmet closed until weknewit was totally safe.”
Another whack of the cane, this one escalating the sting to a burn. “How would you have known there was a failsafe? Who was responsible for keeping Stack’s helmet closed?”
Hunter hissed at the pain. He was tempted to tell Payne he was red and end this, but pride wouldn’t let him. “I should have known there was a failsafe because those sick, twisted bastards wouldn’t waste all that C4 without some way to make sure they killed someone! I should have told Stack to close his fucking helmet because I was his partner and I was supposed to have his back!”
WHACK!
“Tell me the truth,” Payne said. “How could you have known there was a failsafe? Who was responsible for Stack’s helmet?”
“I should have known!” Hunter insisted. “I should have warned him!”
“How?” Payne struck him again, and this time, he couldn’t hold back a sharp yelp at the pain.
“I just should have!” The pain seemed to radiate from Hunter’s ass over his whole body. “I should have been more paranoid. I should have read tea leaves or the horoscope to see if there was some kind of sign it was all going to go in the crapper.”
“Why are you bullshitting me, Able?” Payne struck him again, clearly no longer pulling the blows.
Hearing the name he’d been known by among his mercenary cadre for years hurt worse than the cane. He’d once been proud of his nickname, having earned it because he’d never lost a challenge, never failed on a mission. Mark had joked that hehadto be Able, because it wasn’t enough to be only ready and willing.
“Don’t call me that,” he said hoarsely. “I don’t deserve it. Not anymore.”
“Why not?” Another merciless whack of the cane. “What did you do wrong? Tell me the truth, Able. I don’t want to hear your bullshit anymore.”
“It’s not bullshit!” Hunter shouted. “It’s my fault. If I’d been better at my job, Mark wouldn’t have died! What the fuck do you want me to do, blame Mark?”
WHACK!
“What did you do wrong?” Payne’s voice was as hard as the blunt force of the cane. “How are you the only one responsible for what happened?”
“Because I lived.” Hunter slumped against the bonds. “It has to be my fault, because I lived.”
“Mercs and soldiers live and die every day,” Payne said, although the words weren’t accompanied by a blow from the cane this time. “How are you different, Able? Why does living make you solely responsible?”
Hunter’s throat was tight with grief. He didn’t want to say the words, didn’t want to say what shamed him more than anything. But now he was facing the core of his torment, and he couldn’t back down. “Because I can’t blame Mark. It’s easier to hate myself than to hate him for saving my life.”
“I know,” Payne said softly, and instead of striking Hunter, he rested his hand on Hunter’s back. “Now tell me the truth. What did you do wrong? Are you solely responsible for what happened? What could you actually have done differently?”
Hunter let his head drop down. “Nothing, I guess,” he said hoarsely. “I wish I could have. I want to believe I could have, so I could believe there was a chance I could have saved him.”
“But you couldn’t,” Payne said, stroking Hunter’s back. “Tell me the truth. Did you fail Jen and Jake?”
It felt like defeat, hearing Payne say it, but in a way, it was also liberating, and Hunter shook his head. “I don’t know. I feel like I did. I feel likethey’llfeel I did.”
A clattering noise on the floor told Hunter that Payne had dropped the cane, and then Payne stroked Hunter’s back with both hands, soothing him.
“Do you think Jen was lying when she said she loves you and doesn’t blame you for Mark’s death?” he asked. “Do you think Jake would miss you and ask to see you if he felt like you’d failed him?”
Hunter leaned against his bonds, somehow feeling more exhausted than he could ever remember feeling. “I guess not,” he admitted dully. “I feel like such a failure. Like I have nothing left. I don’t even like myself anymore, so I don’t see how anyone could love me.”
The silence dragged out for so long Hunter began to wonder if Payne had left the room. Then he heard the familiar scrape of the footstool across the floor, and Payne removed the blindfold. Payne’s eyes were red-rimmed, and there were dried tear tracks on his cheeks that said the scene had been difficult for him as well.
“Jen and Jake love you, and they aren’t the only ones,” he said, cradling Hunter’s cheek in his palm. “I love you too.”
