I chomped at the bit. Anxiety and anticipation fueled my ADHD, making it difficult for me to stay still. As I counted to ten in several languages, my blood, which was percolating in my veins, slowly calmed.
Sitting down next to James Pearson, the team’s number five guy, I reached for the glass of sweet tea, draining it before grabbing the fork next to the best-looking plate of home cooking that I’d seen in a while. I gripped the fork, turning and gripping it over and over, waiting for Matthew to answer my goddamn question.
“Dad, who has Adam?” Foster asked.
“That last op, the HVT got a heads-up and left a couple of expendables in the house for y’all to find. It was a setup. They wanted to capture a ranking service member to find out what we know about their structure and plans,” Admiral Holt said.
The fucking TTP. Baitullah Mehsud and his various militant groups. Adam could have been any-fucking-where.
I clenched my teeth so tight my ears rang. The tinnitus rang so loud it drowned out Foster and his dad. I could see their lips moving. At first, they were talking to each other and the other guys, but then they looked at me. All of them. Everyone appeared to be talking over each other, yet I still couldn’t hear anything other than the ringing in my ears.
James grabbed a hold of me, and without thinking, I had him out of the chair and against the wall, my forearm pressed against his throat. James stared at me, not blinking, not speaking. He raised his hands in surrender, and it finally registered what I’d done.
Shame filled me. I stepped away from him, raising my own hands. “I’m sorry, dude.”
James just smirked at me. “No apologies. I knew what would happen when I grabbed you.”
I nodded and followed him back to the table, righting the chairs we’d knocked to the ground. My neck and chest felt hot with embarrassment, but fuck it. The team knew I was struggling and why, and I had a sneaking suspicion the admiral did as well.
Carson handed me a shot of something, and Eric handed me his fork. My teammates, my brothers. We took care of one another. They now knew what Adam meant to me. How I felt about him, and not one of them gave a fuck that I was queer.
Matthew smiled. “I miss the teams so bad sometimes.” He turned to Foster and said, “Don’t tell your mama I said that.”
Foster cracked up, throwing his head back, laughing so hard tears came to his eyes. I shook my head at them, trying my damnedest not to let my frustration get the better of me.
I dug into the food in front of me while waiting for Matthew to let us in on the plan.
“Jesus, fuck. You’re a lucky man, Admiral. Mrs. Holt can damn sure cook,” I said, hoping if he realized I was squared away, he’d start talking again.
“Yes, son, I am. So, about Adam. As I told Foster and Brock, Adam escaped and is now on the run. They are trying to get a QRF team to him, but the area is too hot for a larger unit to move in, so they are sending out Charlie Team since they are forward deployed. I will be getting y’all outfitted and wheels up so you can rendezvous at J-Bad. Our hope is that Charlie and the QRF will have grabbed our boy up, and he will be waiting at J-Bad for you.”
Hope had been lost to me since we’d been sent back home. Trusting the brass when it came to rescuing Adam wasn’t something I was capable of at this moment.
“And if Charlie and QRF fail? What’s the plan then?”
The admiral’s face turned to stone. “Well, then my guys will go in and get him, because I’ll be dead and buried before I let a frogman remain a POW.”
I stared at him. And he at me.
Then I nodded. “If that happens, I’m going with them. Fuck what command and the pussy ass motherfuckers in D.C. say. I won’t leave him there again. I’m bringing him home.”
Matthew smirked. “I wouldn’t expect any less. That’s what you do for…family. You take care of them. No matter the consequences.”
I pushed my plate away and wiped my mouth and beard with the cloth napkin Mrs. Holt had handed me with my plate. “Well, what are we waiting for?”
After the team thanked Mrs. Holt for the food and Foster bid his family goodbye, we were off. Matthew put us in a big-ass passenger van and drove us across the ranch to what looked like a mini military base, complete with a fence and guard shack.
I shook my head. This man didn’t do anything by half measure. He pulled to a stop outside a warehouse. A retinal scan and a four-digit code later, and we were inside a replica of the team facilities at Little Creek and Coronado.
“Y’all should feel at home here,” he said as he walked through the corridors to a secured room, which, if we’d been back home at Vah Beach, would have been the room our cages were in.
Sure enough, we walked into a massive room filled with room-sized cages. Inside, a woman was setting bags and hardcases down in front cages. How she knew whose shit was whose, I don’t know, but my go bags and hard cases were stacked together.
“Heidi!” Foster yelled and strode toward her, picking her up and swinging her around before kissing her forehead. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She shoved him away with a smile on her face. “Well, I work here, as you well know. Since I speak the language, I’m going with you.”
Foster frowned and looked at his dad.
