Page 101 of Stay for Me

He was quiet for a moment, the moon high above us now. “Does she make you happy?”

My mind drifted to my wife, knowing that, some day, when my head was no longer plagued by the shit I’d seen over here, we could be happy. Maybe. She was beautiful, kind, smart. She told me she loved me when I was home last, and I believed her.

I wanted to love her again, but the distance, the tours, put a rift between us and with each passing day, it got deeper. It had been months since I’d gotten a letter from her, and I knew that could easily be due to the baby.

When I called—which wasn’t often—she answered. She gave me updates, told me the baby was healthy, that she was getting the nursery ready. Then, the conversation would grow silent, and all at once, we were strangers again. My unborn child in her belly was the only thing holding us together, and I didn’t know how to change it. I wanted to be the one to hold us together. I wanted to love my wife again, but there was something, deep inside, pulling my heart away from hers.

Truth be told, I didn’t think I had a heart anymore, but damn it all to hell, I wanted to feel something other than rage and fear.

“Mags?” Bullet called.

I moved an inch, adjusting my arm as my finger rested on curve of the trigger. Through my scope, the target was finally emerging from his home, draped in nothing but black, trying to blend in with the night. I aimed at his head, pulled the trigger, and watched as the bullet went through his head, reaping his soul. When he dropped to the ground, I pulled back, rolled my neck, and looked to my friend.

“I think we can be happy,” I rumbled. “It will take some work, but I want to be happy.”

Something shifted in my friend’s eyes and he murmured, “I hope you find it, brother. I really do.”

“Wake the team. It’s time to move.”

Onto the next mission.

Onto the next target.

More ammo.

More shell shock.

More blood.

More death.

It was all the same.

A constant routine of tainting my soul for the love of my country.

Days or weeks later, who knew, my unit and I were under attack, taking heavy fire from behind enemy lines.

“Guess they’re still a little pissed about you killing their boss, eh?” Chip deadpanned from beside me.

“You think?” I quipped, shoving a new magazine into my gun, reloading.

We’d been trapped here for days, and slowly, they’d been picking apart the squadron. There were only a few of a us now. I’d been begging for air support, but we never got it. Our backs were against a large boulder, Bullet just a few hundred feet away, crunched down behind the Humvee, shooting at the fuckers shooting at us. Above us, the sky was bright blue, not a cloud in sight as gunshots rang out, grenades going off two clicks away, the smoke and flames rising up members of my team screamed for mercy.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I closed my eyes, clenching my jaw.

“Joe, Pickings, and Rogers are dead!” Bullet shouted at us, pulling his gun back to reload. “We have to get out of here!”

I looked over to my friend again, the sad truth weighing down on me.

We weren’t getting out of this.

There was no way in hell, not without the air support we needed.

But I wasn’t going down as a coward. I, along with Chip and Bullet, would go down fighting.

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