Page 4 of D-Day

He growled when someone turned on a light, covering his eyes as the brightness shot into his aching retinas. Before he could even catch his breath around the excruciating pain, hands grabbed at him and dragged him from the bed, marching himbetween their hard bodies. He stumbled several times, but there was no mercy.

He knew all about that, and the memory came at him like a demon in the darkness, malevolent, shrieking, and so real. He’d been helpless back then, a boy dealing with high school peers, and his tenacity to right wrongs and take whatever punishment came his way.

And the repercussions had been brutal, humiliating, and without mercy.

But BUD/S had taught him the depth of his endurance and that he could get through anything with the help of his teammates. It was just too bad that his problem would be devastating to the team if he tried to tell them what was going on. He was dealing with the pain, enduring it, and about ready to start throwing some bows and fists when he was shoved under the spray of the shower.

The freezing cold spray.

His scream was harsh, filled with old rage and dark shadows. “Fuck! I’m going to fuck you up! You fuckers!” The water chilled him to the bone, woke up every nerve ending in his body, and all of ithurt. An unbearable trembling took hold of him, and all he could do was stand against the tiles, trapped in the past and present, and shake.

“Oh, I believe he’s awake,” Gator drawled.

“You sure?” Professor said, tapping him on the head. D-Day shoved his hand away, his glare taking just about all his energy.

“Get out!” he shouted.

Everyone shuffled out except Bear. He stood there looking intimidating and so fucking wise, D-Day wanted to lash out. There was always this calmness about Bear, as if he’d tapped into the soul of the world and understood everything about it. D-Day wasn’t sure anyone could ever shake this man’s resolve.

“We’re here for you,kola,” he said in that deep, cosmic, venerable voice.Kolawas Lakota for friend, and in fact the word “koda” short for Dakota, translated to friend as well, and symbolized the brotherhood that existed between those who lived, hunted, and went into battle together. “This is an interdiction?—”

“Intervention, Bear,” Professor shouted from outside the bathroom.

“Why?”

“Because you missed a briefing. We’re rolling out in six hours. We covered for you, but if you miss a troop movement, you could be out, and we can’t have that.”

A sick sensation traveled through D-Day.

It was as if his words, presence, and quiet voice all had weight and heft to them, reminding D-Day that this brotherhood meant everything to him, and no matter how hard they hammered him, or how much he wanted Helen, he would be completely lost if the bond between them all was broken, especially by his own actions.

He was nothing without this team.

Nothing.

2

After Bear left,D-Day switched the water to hot and took a long, drawn-out breath as the heat helped with some of the pain. He washed off the dirt, grime, and blood, chastising himself over and over. He’d never missed a briefing, and the fact that he’d been out of it and his teammates had to cover for him, was a rude wake-up call. It was a shot of hard, cold reality.

He had to acknowledge that Zorro had been right. He’d been looking for a fight, needed to get his face slammed against something hard. As it was, Hickey hadn’t been much of a challenge, the fucking cowardly bully. And he didn’t know Sara would be in the mix, but he couldn’t regret being there for her. If he hadn’t, he wasn’t sure what would have happened to her. Whatever brought him to Avery had saved her life.

Those people had called him a hero. They wanted to give him a fuckingparade. He groaned softly and gritted his teeth, the thought of being exposed to that many people and activity warring with his need for solitude. He wasn’t used to all this hullabaloo. His team was usually in and out before anyone even knew they were there. He much preferred it that way. But as hisfather always liked to point out, he made his bed, now he had to lie in it.

The same with his six brothers downstairs. He had to face the music and extricate himself from the fucking mess he’d made without blowing his relationship with them. It was going to be a tricky song and dance. There was no way D-Day could tell them the real truth, one he’d tried to bury for their sakes.

He turned off the water and got out, grabbing up a towel and drying himself off, careful over his face and knuckles. Six hours… Joker was sure to notice the state he was in. He faced himself in the mirror, remembering that he had said goodbye to Helen six months ago after Buck’s wedding reception.

He closed his eyes, the memory of him pounding into her in that dark corner of the horse stall asvividas the night itshouldn’thave happened. The memory turned his pulse thick and heavy, his breathing suddenly erratic.

Realizing what he was doing, his eyes popped open, the guilt rushing back, surging even harder. He couldn’t get to the airport fast enough, knowing that he couldn’t keep his hands off her, that he wasn’t only giving her up but Buck’s whole family, the cowboy way, that amazing ranch. His chest got tight, and his throat constricted. He swallowed hard several times, the emotions swamping him.

In Wyoming he’d been accepted for who he was, no strings attached, no preconceived notions…okay, he was perceived as a greenhorn, but that was true, and…he swallowed hard again…unconditional love from them all. He couldn’t risk going back there, ever. That crushing pain surged as hard as the guilt, mixing together until his mouth was so dry that a whole bottle of tequila couldn’t quench it.

He braced his hands on either side of the sink and dropped his head, working at stalling the ache that kept spreading, a desperate feeling making him grip the sink tighter, his ribcageexpanding and contracting. He had to wait until the nearly suffocating swell of emotion passed, but it didn’t, it just settled deeper into his bones, sinew, squeezing his heart with a rawness that hurt much more than any of his physical pain. He looked up into the mirror, blurred by the steam, distorted and unrecognizable, like a jumbled puzzle. He felt like a nowhere man…simply nowhere. D-Day bent his head and dragged his hand across his eyes, then inhaled raggedly, blinking back the stinging moisture. His physical pain would heal…he feared this kind of heartsick ache may fade, but never go away. He had no idea how much he would miss…everything…everyone…her.

Would there ever come a day when he could think about her without losing his shit? He opened the cabinet and pulled out the bottle of painkillers. His headache was still pounding away, and he had a mission he had to get to. All this faff wasn’t going to help in any way. It was time to shift gears, get back into warrior mode, and do what he did best.

He downed two tablets, then ran his hands through his hair. It had gotten way too long, and he was going to get shit about it, but he combed it back off his face, deciding that the rough look always worked best on a mission, and decided not to shave.

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