Page 31 of Mended Hearts

“Yes, sir.” He gives a curt nod. Heavy, uncomfortable silence looms between us, almost diminishing the noises that fill the lively base as we continue walking. “It’s just,” he starts as we stop in front of the wooden door, “I want to make sure I’m familiar with all the whos and whats in case…”

“In case I’m incapacitated, and you have to fill in for me?”

He gulps.

The wooden door swings open, saving him from a response.

THE NEXT FEW days we spend up-armoring our Strykers we’ll be driving to our post as well as putting a bird cage around them and adding sniper nets. Most would think these nineteen-ton monstrosities could withstand anything, but since explosively formed projectiles became a thing, we’ve had to adapt. So to keep the molten metal from melting through the Stryker, we now encase them with metal slats and bars all the way around, which is called the bird cage. It makes the new weight of the beast a good twenty-two tons.

Ever since coming back to life after landing, Greyson hasn’t seemed to shut up. I’m unsure if it’s nerves or age, but I’m just thankful he’s playing twenty-one questions with the other guys and not attempting to do so with me. Greyson and Williams work on the Stryker to my left, working to get the camo net over the top to keep the snipers from being able to easily spot our men.

“Where you from?” Greyson asks.

“Oklahoma.”

“How long have you been married?”

I glance up and watch as Brian looks off momentarily.

“Umm, almost thirteen years.”

Holy shit. She literally shacked up with him right after she disappeared.

He continues, “She’s my childhood best friend. Familiar and comfortable.”

How can he reduce what she means to him to such simplistic values?

“All I’ve ever known. And same for her.”

But that’s a lie. She knew me. And truth be told, she still owns me.

“Pool, where you from?” Brian asks, hopping to the ground.

“Oklahoma,” he says. Then as if it was planned, in unison they yell, “Boomer Sooner.”

Naturally, both Brian’s would be Okie’s.

“Yo, Adams. How about you?”

I can sense all three looking my way, waiting for a reply that I don’t care to give. I don’t even want these guys to know my first name, let alone where I’m from. It’s a tactic I started when I first joined to keep from getting close to anyone. The less information, the lesser the attachment.

“Smalltown Georgia.” Roberts comes up from behind, bracing both hands on my shoulders. “Ain’t that right, Georgia Peach,” he teases, walking off.

And I hate him for it. Apparently, I haven’t kept my wall high enough through the years and have let some mosey their way in a tiny bit. But when you’re in a war zone, you do desperate things to keep your men alive. That’s what I did with Justin Roberts when he was lying injured in my arms five years ago. He wanted to hear about my life to keep his mind off his wounds. And without hesitation, I opened up to him. I just hoped he wouldn’t remember anything I had said.

“Remind me to let you bleed out alone next time.” I finally speak up, but only to change the subject.

“Dang, shots fired,” Roberts says, causing me to laugh. Every platoon needs a Justin. For someone who had such a rough upbringing, his humor and positivity know no bounds.

“You know I love you, man.” I walk up to Roberts and give him a fist bump.

“Yeah, brother, I know. You ain’t as hard as you try to act.”

“I soften up just for you, baby.”

And just like that, the conversation has been diverted.

Chapter Twenty-Two

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