Page 77 of Knot Guilty

We both kept up a running commentary every fight, calling out each other’s anticipated moves. Because of that, we were forced to be more mindful and not rely on muscle memory so much not to be predictable. We made each other better in more ways than just on the battlefield.

And I need to make sure she knows that I’m here for her, whatever she needs. If she even still wants me to be.

Pulling off my gloves and tape, I decide to take Knot’s advice and call it a night. I shower and change before leaving, and I stop at Mel’s for a bite on the way home. “Hey, Wanda,” I say in greeting as our favorite waitress waves me over.

“Hi, Hun. Sadie comin’ later?”

“Uh. No. She’s–”

Wanda’s face goes white as a sheet, and she nearly drops the tray of beers she’s carrying. “Please tell me something didn’t happen to her too.”

“No, Sadie’s ok. She got a little banged up during our last deployment and is resting at home.”

Wanda presses a hand to her chest. “Oh, thank god.”

The motherly woman delivers the beers and heads straight for my table. She pulls out her order pad and fans herself for a moment, still working on controlling her heart rate. Poor thing. She’d only recently learned about Sadie and me working as PMCs. And only then because Brock was killed. “What can I get for you tonight, honey?”

I order my usual and head straight home after I’ve scarfed down the monster burger. I’ve got something to take care of before work tomorrow.

The following day, I march into a crowded situation room and drop an unmarked envelope onto the table in front of my boss. “What’s this?” he asks without even looking at it.

“I want to be reassigned to another team.”

The room goes deathly silent at my demand. Some will take this the wrong way, but I need my request to be out in the open. I’ll handle the fallout later.

Knot leans back in his chair, his wide eyes and slack jaw telling me I’ve shocked him. “You sure about this?”

“Sir, I’ve only ever been sure about two things, the Corps and… her.”

Knot slides the envelope to the side of the table without opening it. “Anything else?”

I clear my throat and say, “Yes. I want a few days off to go visit a friend.”

Knot’s lips turn up in the barest hint of a smile. “Granted. See you next week.”

Ignoring the shocked faces of mine and Sadie’s team, I race outside to my truck for an eight-hour drive to Tennessee.

Sadie

I’m beginning to rethink my decision to move back into my room as I walk down the stairs for the first time. All the bandages are gone, and the only sore spots left are the stab wounds in my left hip and shoulder.

My face has healed, and only faint bruising remains around my right eye. I’ve also been able to lose the sling supporting my right arm. At least I don’t have a cast to worry about. The breaks were complete and had to be surgically repaired. I’ve got plates and screws in both bones in my right forearm, negating the need for exterior stabilization.

And, of course, I still have the blade tip in my left hip. With all the hardware floating around inside me, I bet I look like some steampunk puzzle on x-ray.

So far, my time in Tennessee has been peaceful. Odd but peaceful. My brothers come around a lot, bringing food and making me laugh. They’ve all asked questions here and there, and eventually, I even answered some.

When I healed enough to walk without too much pain, I spent a couple of days at my dad’s business, puttering around the office or letting my dad show me the advancements in architectural stone.

By now, I’m about ready to go home. I’m not yet healed enough for close combat training, but I want to be back where I belong. Even if it means facing my humiliation head-on. I’ll have to deal with the stares and the gossip eventually. May as well get it over with. Well, I will if Knot will let me back in the building. The man said three weeks. I’m sure he meant three weeks.

Though he likely won’t shorten my forced sick leave, I can open the lines of communication with Norfolk for the first time since leaving India. Outside Knot and Birdie, I mean. Those two wouldn’t dream of letting me cut them out. I’ve spoken with my boss a few times and with Birdie nearly every day.

She seems to think that Gunny disapproves of her extracurricular activities. I didn’t ask what they were, and she didn’t offer. Whatever it is that she’s into, I’m not surprised about Gunny. He’s rather judgmental for a fish.

Feeling somewhat like there’s a firing squad waiting in my email, I sit down at my little desk with a borrowed laptop and log in to my personal account. I probably have a shit ton of messages on my work phone, but I’ll leave those on ice for a while.

Besides the usual commercial emails, which all get deleted, I have only a few personal messages. This is no surprise. There are precious few people on this planet that I consider friends.

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