Page 9 of What I Should Have Done

Scottie’s brows flickered briefly in confusion, her face pulled tight as she sat next to me. But she didn’t open her mouth to say anything. Not a sound had left her since the announcement of our departure other than the occasional clack of her teeth.

Part of me wasn’t sure what to make of the conversation we’d had right before gearing up and heading out. The other part was intrigued by the possibilities that it presented, and I hated that.

“Relax, Corporal,” Ford said, seated across from her and chambering a bullet.

“I’m relaxed,” she hissed. Her gaze blazed with a fire. Rage—a familiar sight since I was so often motivated by that feeling.

Ford cocked his head, clearly not believing her. “This one’s a fairly simple mission. In and out. Leave nothing behind. Bernie’s favorite kind of missions ’cause that means he gets to blow shit up.” The massive man wiggled his brows as her dark eyes stared at him, narrowed.

Bernie clapped Ford on the shoulder. “I don’t think that helped, dumbass.” His green eyes slid back to Scottie and smiled. “You’ll be far away from the danger, perched up on a hill making sure that no one surprises us. I’ll make sure the explosion doesn’t reach you.”

“I don’t need you to protect me. I’m not some helpless girl you have to save,” she snarled, and I bit back an unintentional smile.

“Nobody wants to be saved by Bernie, that’s for sure.” Duncan winked. A chuckle reverberated deep from my chest, and she shot a quick glance my way. Dom shook his head but said nothing as Scottie inhaled deeply.

Digging through my pocket, I found the worn pack of cigarettes that Griffin had given me on his last tour. I’d smoked only one since, carrying it more as something to ground me than anything else.

Without a word, I offered one to her. She merely shook her head, and so I stuck one between my teeth, then shoved the rest back in the pocket. Rolling it around on my tongue without lighting it brought a sense of ease to the excited nerves tossing in my stomach. The unrest was not a result of the impending op, but because of her.

How the hell were we supposed to just trust that she’d keep us safe? We’d met only a couple of hours ago. She’d never been through BUD/S, hadn’t even been out on an actual combat tour before. Everything in her file read training after training, which was great, but training only goes so far. Being out in the actual field, killing someone for the first time, was an entirely different thing.

“Ask something, it’ll help calm the nerves,” Duncan quietly said from the other side of her. “It did for me.”

Bernie snorted. “You should’ve seen Duncan on the first flight out on a mission. Dude pissed his fucking pants the moment our boots touched the ground from the chopper ride. We should’ve decided to make entry by water ’cause that would’ve at least covered his shit up.”

Duncan’s face turned red as he shook his head. “I didn’t shit my pants,” he grumbled.

“Still pissed them.” Bernie grinned.

Scottie tipped her head and scanned the rest of the team. “Why do you care so much about making sure I’m not nervous?” she sternly asked, her voice holding not a single ounce of wavering inflection.

“’Cause I’m not exactly in the fucking mood to die during some shit as simple as this,” Ford stated, adjusting his tactical vest.

Her gaze narrowed. “You don’t think I can do this, do you?”

“I don’t think you’ll be able to shoot straight if your knee keeps bouncing like a crackhead tweaking out,” he coldly answered and leaned his head back, closing his eyes.

Scottie clenched her jaw and slammed a hand over her leg. Fingers now braced against her knee, her leg continued to twitch. But she refused to acknowledge Ford’s soft jab at her. Defensive when needed, silent when not.

Feisty one. Kinda hot…

Get a fucking grip, I silently scolded myself and stared across the black chopper.

“You got a nickname or something from sniper school?” Dom asked, changing the subject but not admonishing Ford.

Scottie blinked, clearly confused by the question as my stomach twisted into knots. She cast me a brief glance, knowing that I could easily share the information with everyone about what they called her. But instead, I made no move to say anything. There was a morbid curiosity to see how she handled this question swirling in my gut.

“What’s wrong with my given name?” she asked, lifting a brow at Dom.

Resounding chuckles left all of us, including me, and my gaze drifted away from her to land on the floor.

“It’s for your call sign. Can’t very well be saying ‘Scottie’ over the comms. I mean, I guess we could, but that would not be good for your personal protection.” Dom clasped his hands in his lap.

“Oh,” she muttered, the first hint of embarrassment rising in her sharp cheeks.

“We can change it later, but we need something. I’m Phoenix,” Dom said and then pointed at Ford. “His call sign is Tank.”

Scottie snickered. “Fitting.”

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