When they arrived at her house, Damon beat her to the passenger door.
"Such a sweet boy." Her mom let Damon pick her up again without protesting.
Grace hurried to unlock the front door. "Take her right to her room."
Damon did as she said, setting her mother gently on the bed. Then he hovered in the doorway while Grace got her mom's pain medicine and a glass of water.
"I'm going to help her change." Grace grabbed his hand as he stepped out into the hall. "Please don't leave. After I get my mom settled, I'm going to change, then I want to spend more time with you."
"Iamgoing to leave for a bit." He tapped his chest where the ribbons rested. "To get out of this monkey suit, but don't worry, I'll be back. I want to spend more time with you too." He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I'll let myself back in, if that's okay."
She nodded then turned to find her mom grinning at her.
"I wondered if I'd ever see that look on your face again."
"What look?" Grace tempered her smile as she pulled one of her mom's nightgowns from the drawer.
"The look that says, 'You're in love.'"
Grace stopped short. "No, I'm not in love. I really, really like Damon, but I'm not in love. Not yet."
"If you say so." Mom's expression was doubtful.
The thumpof chopper blades fill the air, making Damon's chest seize. An enemy chopper.Funny how their helicopters sound different from ours.
"Take cover!" Soldiers rush past him, heading for the makeshift bunker. Damon follows. The weight of his pack makes him feel like he's running in slow motion.
The air is hot. Too hot to breathe.
Sand everywhere, irritating his eyes, filling his lungs.
Machine gun fire splits the air as he dives into the bunker. His body jolts at the hardness of the impact. More sand billows in his face.
Men scream. Some shouting orders, others shrieking in pain. The whistle of bullets buzzes past his ears.
He struggles to maneuver his rifle into position to return fire, but his fingers won’t cooperate.
Above the chaos the hollow whomp of a mortar exiting its tube makes Damon's gut clench.
Theirs or ours? He couldn't tell.
"No." He jerks again, desperate for better shelter.
Everyone freezes, waiting for the impact.
The blast is both deafening and blinding.
"Damon." McDonald reaches for him, his face bloody and twisted in pain.
He tries to crawl to him, but he can't make his body work.
"Damon." A hand shakes his shoulder.
He shoves it off. McDonald needs his help.
"Damon, wake up please. You're scaring me." The voice of an angel chased away the panic engulfing him.
Grace's voice.
