Page 3 of Unmade

I returned my attention to the newspaper, and it was folded to immediately show me an article about some people dying in Afghanistan. It was a half-page story, with grainy photos of a bunch of soldiers.

I was terrified you might want to follow in his footsteps.

My…my dad?

The name under one of the pictures made me blanch.Sgt Jacob J Quinn. My dad’s name was Jake, but Mom had said his last name was Smith.

I shook my head, fucking confused. This didn’t make any sense. She’d told me he’d died in a work-related accident. I mean…was that what you called it when a soldier died on active duty?

This couldn’t be real. Quinn. Smith. Quinn. Smith. Sgt Jacob J Quinn. He looked familiar, kind of. The photo wasn’t good quality. Definitely a soldier, though. He was in uniform in the picture.

I swallowed hard and sank down onto the floor.

I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.

Sergeant Jacob Quinn and his unit had died in an act of heroism, saving civilian lives… Wait, there was one survivor from the unit.

A strangled noise escaped my throat, and my vision blurred. How many goddamn times had I tried to look up a fuckingSmith? Had she lied to me? Had she picked that last name because it was so damn common?

She wouldn’t do that to me.

I was terrified you might want to follow in his footsteps.

My breath hitched, and I quickly wiped at my cheek.

I grabbed the business card again and eyed the name scribbled on the back.

Bo Beckett.

I let out an unsteady breath and pulled out my phone. I wanted to know what the Latin words meant, so I entered “Quod incepimus conficieus” into the search field.

The result came up right away.

What we have begun, we shall finish.

Well, that was un-fucking-helpful, so I looked up the Hillcroft Group instead.

I felt my forehead wrinkle as I clicked on the website.

Private security. Risk assessment. Personnel protection. Cybersecurity. A bunch of these words just stared right back at me. Government training. Protection of assets and…

It was a private military agency based here in Arlington, for fuck’s sake.

I had to go there. I had to ask if they knew—if they’d known my dad. If they knew where he was from. And who the hell this Bo Beckett was.

* * *

April 3rd, 2018

The barista had spelled my name Layten…

I’d only come here because it was Mom’s usual morning stop on her way to work. And because I didn’t want to meet up at my aunt’s place. She’d offer to cook lunch.

“She didn’t sayanythingabout this to you?”

Aunt Laura shook her head, visibly confused, and studied the Hillcroft business card. “The only thing she ever divulged was when she found the article about your father’s death in Afghanistan. She was beside herself because she didn’t know what to tell you. You were still so young.”

I guessed that part didn’t matter anyway, because once Mom knew, she’d become afraid I’d follow in his footsteps to…join the Army? Go to war?

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