Page 51 of Waiting for Redemption

Dominic Slater, 35, Marine Raider, killed in Iraq on Thursday during the Raider’s attempts to stop terrorist attacks.

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!

“No. No, no no,” I whisper, tears fill my eyes instantly as I run to the sink and heave into it, emptying my stomach of all the whiskey I’ve put away over the lasthowevermany hours have passed. I can feel my chest caving in, almost as if it could touch my spine.

I can’t catch my breath, and my mind won’t wrap around the fact that Dom is gone.

“We could really use someone with your skill set man.”

“We ship out next week.”

“GODDAMMIT!” I slam my fist down on the counter. “FUCK.” I swipe my arm across the surface, clearing it of every single glass and appliance.

What kind of sick torture is this?

I thought my not being there as a potential setback would keep them safe. That they would be better off without me. But now Dom is gone and God only knows what’s happened to the rest of them; I’m wondering if I should have fought the decision made for menotto return to my team.

I can’t go back now.

I wouldn’t dare show my face after leaving them like that.

I thought I could start over by coming back to Nashville—make something of myself here and leave the tragic past in the past. I thought I had a chance at a future with the only woman who’s ever made me see past the moment we’re living in, and the little boy who made me believe I could be a man worth looking up to. And I lost both of them too.

There’s nothing left for me here.

I could move and start over somewhere else, but all of my mistakes wouldn’t just suddenly disappear. My past would still haunt me and I would end up leaving more damage in my wake as I crash through life like the fucking wrecking ball I am.

I’m done. I can’t keep fucking doing this.

I’m done acting like I have a shot at something better. There is nobetterfor me. Just what I’ve already destroyed and what I’ll ruin next.

Suddenly an eerie sense of tranquility rushes through my blood like ice, and I know how to make it stop. Just like any other mission.

Eliminate the threat, and protect the innocent.

I take a deep breath, pick up a notepad and pen, and begin writing. I fold the paper and write Tucker’s name on it, take my dog tags off and place them on the table next to it, and grab my SIG from the safe. I stare at it a few moments before doing something I told myself I wouldn’t.

I pick up my phone, click into my texts with Ruby and the photos of Hendrix and I illuminate on my screen. My heart feels like it’s being smothered under the weight of all my regret. With shaking hands, I send one last text to the person I will miss the most, and I place my phone face down on the coffee table. I sit on the couch, a numbness taking over my entire body as I think back on my life.

I think about Tucker, and how he was so young when our dad died and he had to start taking care of things, ofme,when he was still just a kid himself. The way he has always dropped everything to come bail me out of trouble or sent someone to look after me when he couldn’t. I wonder what his life will look like without a brother he feels the need to parent more than befriend.

I think about the guys on my team, tears burning across my face when I think about how they all must feel right now. We served well together, but in the end, I let them down. Another wrong choice under my belt, and now Dominic is gone.

I think about the group of friends I’ve acquired over the last couple of years, simply from being in Tucker’s life and the way they immediately considered me part of their family.

But ultimately, I think about Ruby. From the moment I stepped foot in Chattahoochies, she was like this magnet trying to pull me out of my darkness. Her kindness and confidence, the way she’s takennoneof my bullshit and has always been a safe place for me when I’ve been at my most vulnerable. I give myself a minute to remember how it felt to have hope. That I might actually make her mine, that the feeling of kissing her wouldn’t be a memory I had to replay but a habit I would create. That taking Hendrix to the park, and cooking together would become a regular part of my life, and not something they would have to remember me by.

They’ll all be better off without me in that way.

I’m doing this for them.

Closing my eyes, I take in one final breath.

No one tells you what to expect in these last moments. It’s not fear or panic I feel, but peace and quiet serenity. Knowing I’m finally making a choice that won’t ultimately ruin someone else’s life is a sort of freeing feeling. So as the cool rim of the gun’s barrel makes contact with my temple, I don’t fear the end of my seemingly doomed life, I welcome it.

Click.

Almost immediately my front door flies open, while I sit with my gun still pressed to my skin. My eyes are locked on nothing, but through blurred vision, I can see a figure that looks almost like Tucker moving in slow motion through my peripheral. He’s saying something but I can’t hear him over the ringing in my ears from the adrenaline. I slowly bring the gun down to my lap and finally hear his voice break through.

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