“We always have been—from day one,” Woody said.
Being coined Woody was a given, considering DuBois literally meant “wood,” but Woody had gotten it for being solid and steadfast. The guy who always had your fucking back. Who was the calm in the storm, weathering the shit and coming out stronger on the other side. He was living up to that nickname today.
I nodded. “Yeah. We have been. I’m on the gay side of bi. I’ve done both, but guys are more my thing.”
Woody nodded. “Okay. Now, will you please let me butterfly that fucking gash on your chin?”
I laughed. He stood and helped me to my feet before patching me up.
A tap on my shoulder brought me back to reality. A can of beer was the first damn thing I saw. I followed the hand holding it up to Finlay’s face. Concerned marred his features.
“You good?” he asked.
I nodded, which was a total fucking lie. I was not good. Not in the fucking least. My swim buddy, my battle boo, the only best friend I’d ever fucking had, and the love of my fucking life was a prisoner of war.
Oh, and the government we’d handed our lives over to had zero inclination to rescue him.
CHAPTER 7
ADAM
SUMMER 2009
I fell through the air,no chute in sight. I twisted and tumbled as I plunged toward the ground belly first. Arms and legs were akimbo, flailing crazily.
It was so weird. I wasn’t the least bit frantic or worried. I wasn’t scared at all. That had to be the strangest thing because I was always scared when jumping. Considering the number of times we jumped out of planes, you’d think I’d have gotten over it, but nah, dog, jumping out of a goddamned plane was scary as fuck.
But not this time.
The ground was coming closer and closer. I flipped in the air again, staring up into the inky abyss. Yet still, I remained calm.
The air rushing past my ears sped up. The sound got louder. The ground approached.
I fell faster and faster and faster.
My eyes flew open just as I “hit” the ground.
“AHH!” I gasped, flying upright. My head smacked something.
My breaths came hard and fast. My heart pounded. I pushed myself back to lean against the metal wall behind me, trying my damnedest to quit breathing like I’d just run ten miles in under an hour in the Afghan heat.
Or like a kid who just watched their first scary movie.
After a few minutes, I realized the dream wasn’t what had me wigging out. It was a couple of different things. It was the fact I didn’t remember being moved back inside the box from the torture chamber, but mostly, it was that sunny winter day nearly five years ago when life took an unexpected turn. It was the reminder of the time Brock had been the one falling through the air chuteless.
That was one of the worst days and one of the best.
WINTER 2004
He nearly fucking died. It was fucking scary as hell. The training op included a HALO jump, and Brock’s primary didn’t open. It happened. What we did was dangerous, so training was too. So yeah, it fucking happened. To all of us.
Hell, this wasn’t even the first time Brock’s primary had failed, but this time, it was different for me as his teammate. As I watched him plummet to earth, I got sick. Physically sick. I lost my cookies, yakking right there in the middle of the team as we all stood watching our brother’s life flash before our eyes. Unlike the others, the possibilities of all the thingsthat had plagued me since that night with Carly also flashed through my mind.
As soon as Brock got his backup open and touched down—a.k.a. smacked the fucking ground hard enough to knock him fucking cold—the realization of all the shit I’d been feeling for the last six to eight months finally hit me. Along with all the crazy mixed-up feelings from when Brock had kissed me and called me gorgeous a few months ago.
When we returned to the apartment, I was still losing my shit. I bitched about the parachute packer. I bitched about the pilots and all sorts of other shit. All the while, Brock remained silent. He never made a fucking sound.
And it pissed me the fuck off.
