Page 80 of What I Should Have Done

How long was I going to believe the lies I told myself?

Of all the people to end up pissed at, to tear apart, Mikey was not one deserving of my anger—anger imploding from the bottle I’d kept capped for so long.

And I knew, as he disappeared beneath the outcrop, the next time we’d be alone so I could apologize was undetermined and not guaranteed. He’d fought through hell, became the devil himself to rescue me, and I destroyed him in a completely different way.

Why? Because I was a fucking coward. Because I’d convinced myself I didn’t need him. That never having him hurt less than having him and knowing I would have to eventually let him go.

Consumed in my own misery, I waited the ten minutes and then quietly crept down from the ledge that swallowed my soul whole.

Whether Mikey was actually asleep or not was a mystery to me. His eyelashes didn’t flutter open as I roused Bernie. Mikey remained lying on his side, unmoving, with his back pressed up against the cold, petrified sand to the right with one arm angled beneath his head and the other holding his rifle.

As I laid down on my back in the open space between him and Duncan, every cell in my body ached to see his ocean gaze once more. But I knew I lost that privilege. And I also knew that there was no sleep to be had for me for the foreseeable future. The one place I found comfort, the one person who provided me with any semblance of solace, I’d ruined.

I simply stared at the dune ceiling, waiting for the dreamland to overtake me.

Waiting…

Wishing that I could take back the words I’d spat in anger toward someone who didn’t deserve an ounce of my malice.

Eventually, Bernie returned and quietly traded out Ford for watch. The sky was slowly beginning to darken, and I knew we’d be in those dune buggies, cruising toward base in just a couple hours. The moment Bernie settled down on the opposite side of Duncan, I shifted sideways and stole a moment to gaze at Mikey.

He hadn’t moved a single muscle. His face remained as stoic as it had been the last time I glanced at it. In the dimming light, every chiseled feature of his was highlighted with shadows that danced across his body.

Honestly, I didn’t mind the facial hair. But Mikey seemed to prefer it shaved, and I liked being able to see his jawline. Beneath the dried crimson that stained and marred almost every inch of his exposed skin, waited a handsomeness that honestly beat out all else.

A fire blazed to life in the pit of my belly, flames licking at the edges of thoughts I’d never had about another man. I’d been with men before, but something about Mikey resonated differently, hit differently.

I sighed heavily, studying his face as the sun ticked lower and lower down in the horizon. Every line, every sharp angle of his bones, seared into my mind.

What a fool I’d been. And what doom crept into my soul as the reality of everything settled upon my shoulders. I’d destroyed Mikey. Thompson was dead. The Black Box was missing. Our only lead to where it could be was in a coma back in the United States. And someone entirely different than al-Jabari had been after me. Plus, we still hadn’t even managed to snag a photo of Karim.

Every fucking thing that should have gone right, failed.

I was a failure.

And the longer I lay here, the deeper I sank. Drowning in chaos and destruction that was of my own making, and I couldn’t seem to find the strength to swim.

Chapter 28

SCOTTIE

Leaning back against the palms of my hands, I closed my eyes. The sun beat down hot against my face. A feeling I reveled in despite the absolute nothing we’d done. For three fucking days, nothing. And what was worse, was the hopelessness of the situation had created unusual tension between everyone.

I’d hardly seen Dom as he spent most of his time with the colonel, trying to discuss different ideas or ways to retrieve intel, especially since the news came that Powell was still in a coma with the prognosis being bleak. He likely wouldn’t ever wake up. Ford and Bernie sat across from me, cleaning their weapons quietly. Even the snacks from Bernie’s mom had done nothing to cheer any of us up. Duncan was hardly ever around, and Mikey had been almost completely absent. The few times I’d caught a glimpse of him, he simply walked away, expressionless.

Three days of nothing.

Three days of fading hope that we were going to stop al-Jabari before he did who the hell knows what. Maybe he had a fucking nuclear bomb he wanted to send to the United States. Maybe he had an entirely different nefarious plan. But we didn’t know shit because we didn’t have the damn Black Box. All we had were assumptions.

The only good thing about all of this was knowing that al-Jabari also didn’t have his own Black Box and as a result, it seemed to have caused him to go underground. There were zero whispers of him or any of his insurgents moving anything.

Zero news at all of anything. It was quiet. Too quiet. Which made things worse.

Footsteps approaching pulled my eyes open, and I slung my legs over the side of the bench. Dom, Duncan, and Mikey all approached the little table the rest of us were seated on. Solemn expressions, downcast emptiness coated every face as they slid in around us—Mikey on the opposite side of the bench as far away as he could get from me.

“You’ve got news, don’t you,” Ford grumbled, setting down his cleaning rag.

Dom nodded. “Powell died just a few minutes ago.”

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