Page 39 of The Fox

“Trust me, Parker. I want to spiral, but I have to keep focusing on the small victories. I need you to do that for Amelia too.”

My eyes rake over her, noting the smaller signs now that Parker is not coping well, if at all. There are sunken circles rimming the underside of her eyes, her hair is greasy from needing to be washed, and her clothes have a stain or two from consuming an ungodly amount of caffeine. Her gaze is locked on a random point on the wall across the hall from her.

“Where is Duncan?”

“He’s busy with work and hasn’t been home much.”

I frown. One look, and I know Parker is at her limit, at her wit’s end. Duncan has abandoned his wife while her best friend is in the hospital. My mind flickers back to something she had said when I’d first arrived days ago.

“What did you mean, Parker, when you said Amelia should have told me something? What did she need to say to me?”

She sighs, a nervous energy taking over as she flits her gaze from across the hall to land on me.

“She wanted to tell you. I begged her to say something,anything.”

“Parker.”

“Amelia is the most stubborn person I know, and the last thing she wanted to do was hide it from you.”

“Parker.”

“And now I don’t know what to do. I know what I should do, but that decision cannot fall to me.”

I reach out, gripping her shoulders firmly. “Parker. What is going on? I can have someone call Duncan to come take you home. I’ll call you the second something changes, I swear.” A hollow laugh erupts from her and Parker shakes her head.

“Don’t bother him. He won’t leave her anyway. He can’t leave her.” Parker’s eyes are now lined with unshed tears, and something tells me this is deeper than Amelia being in the hospital.

“Let me call you a cab, at least. I don’t think you should be driving.”

“Don’t worry about me, Rhodes. Amelia isn’t the only one who can hold her own in a world of men.” She pushes up off the floor, straightening her clothing, and makes her way down the hall. My eyes follow her until she reaches the elevator.

“Text me when you’re home?”

A raise of her hand is the only confirmation I get before Parker is gone.

CHAPTER 27

Rhodes---PTSD

I sit, staring at the thin paper coffee cup warming my hands. I can’t help but wishing we were at Amelia’s instead. I wish that this cup was one of her colorful ones and there would be laughter in the room. I want her dancing in my shirt, Lennon silently judging me from his sunspot. Instead, my jeans are three days old and I haven’t seen outside these four walls in many more than that. I will not leave her side. She needs someone in her corner.

Shifting, I return my attention to the bed in front of me, my eyes scanning her body in search of a new injury that hadn’t been there mere minutes ago. The bruises marring her golden skin are uglier than four days ago. I am sitting on a hair trigger. She needs to wake up and the fact that there is nothing I can do to increase the odds of that happening is not ideal. I am on edge. I know this and there is little to be done about it until Amelia wakes up. The darkness looms over me, testing my defenses for a way in.

I don’t do well in situations where I cannot control the outcomes. I’ve only been in this situation one other time and it was the reason I had retired from the military. Three years later, I still wake up in a cold sweat.

“Veles has the target in sight. Clear shot, over.” I shift deeper into my lay, resting the butt of my rifle against my shoulder. I wrap one finger around the trigger, similar to the way I’d curl it around a woman’s body as I drive her higher and higher, seeking that spot deep within her heat.

I hear my spotter, Chris, behind me, shifting his weight as he checks our surroundings. We work in teams, two by two, and Chris has been with me for the last two years. Veles and Thor, Rhodes and Chris. I don’t say much while in position, leaving the talking to Chris. I feel the building beneath my body, steadying the rhythm of my heart into a matched cadence with the air moving through my lungs.

We were supposed to be headed back to the States earlier in the week until orders were given to eliminate this threat. Supposedly, our target is an upper ranking member of a terror organization and by eliminating him, we can clear the path to the kingpin. I have never missed a mark and I’m not about to start now, especially when all that stands between me and getting home is a dead body with a bullet hole in the head.

“Permission to engage?” I murmur, knowing Chris will hear. I can’t move or take my eyes off the window in front of me. I want the shot while I have it but damn protocol prevents me from firing before Command gives the okay. Chris relays to Command and we wait, perched atop the building across from the target. A few seconds pass. A minute. Chris radios again.

“Permission to fire at target, over.” The wind shifts, and my gut tells me something is off.

Command must give the affirmative because all I hear behind me is Chris telling me to take the shot. Then the world goes black as the ringing in my ears deafens the explosion below and I feel like I am free falling.

I wake up to find myself pinned under a slab of concrete laced with rebar, with my head spinning. I blink, trying to clear my eyes from the dust, and yank my arm. Fuck. My arm is pinned above the elbow and I don’t have the leverage to push the rubble off me. I start yelling, unsure of my location and unsure of where Chris is. I need to move. Staying still means dying and I am not keen on that happening today. I cough, the dust from the implosion still hanging in the air. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. I call out, throwing every last shred of my nonexistent faith into the void, hoping someone finds us. I will not leave without Chris.

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