Page 58 of The Omega’s Nest

“Your messages …” I trail off. “Fuck. I’m so fucking sorry.”

He glances at my phone and goes bright red. “Oh my God. I should’ve deleted those. Sorry.”

He rubs the back of his neck, and his scent shifts from concerned to mortified so fast it gives me whiplash.

“Ah, shit,” he says. “Sorry. Here …” He reaches for my phone. “Let me just …”

I lunge away from him.

“No, no way.” I shake my head and grip the phone. “I need to see.”

He doesn’t look happy about it, but he relents with a nod and resumes packing his stuff into the car.

I scroll up, stopping on random messages.

A photo of a stretch of sand, a mountain range in the distance, the sky pink on the horizon and purple blue above it. The message says, You’d hate it here, no ocean. But it smells like you. A smiley face.

Another one. Can’t sleep. I wish I could talk to you. I’ll never get used to not talking to you as the last thing I do every day, the first thing I do every morning.

It was true. Before I was taken, as soon we woke up, we’d message each other. And we’d be texting until one of us fell asleep at night. He was the beginning and the end of my every day.

I blink rapidly, trying to stem the tears.

There’s a photo of a military working dog, with a long message about the dog—Kaiser—and what he does. A video.

Then, I miss your scent.

Then, I hope you’re not cold. Srry, I’m drunk, but do you know how much I think about whether ur cold? It’s winter back in Celo and all I keep thnkin is, ‘Is Addie cold?’

I bite my lip and keep scrolling up. The flow of his words feels as endless as the sea.

A photo of his fighter jet. My new ride. Sunglasses emoji.

Someone has taken a photo of him getting the tattoo—the surfboard encircled with cherry blossoms on his bicep. For you and a love heart.

A simple, I miss you so fucking much, sent at two o’clock in the morning.

And, I don’t know if ur reading these. I hope so.

And, heartbreakingly, I’m scared.

I scroll up and read the whole thread.

3:34 a.m. First real op tomorrow. Not training. For real. T/O at 0500.

3:40 a.m. I wish I could talk to you.

3:47 a.m. I’m scared.

3:50 a.m. I’m not supposed to be, but I am. I’m fucking shit scared.

4:03 a.m. Just in case: I love you. I love you so fucking much. Take care of yourself, okay?

I have to blink back tears.

And more. His random thoughts, his days, his nights, his missives that are long and short and all for me.

“Leo.” I say his name on a reverent breath.