Page 72 of Crashing Waves

But Lizzie always spent those moments before a mission worrying. She was always afraid, even if she didn’t verbalize those fears. We—Sid and I—had learned to read her tells. The way she bit her tongue. The way she chewed her lip. He must’ve seen something while sitting beside her that I hadn’t, and he was taking her mind off of it with a distraction … and I had ruined it.

There’s a time and place, I reminded myself.

But what if we die?

What if there’s no time left?

***

On a sandy, deserted street in what felt like the middle of nowhere, our platoon took position. I was on the roof of an abandoned building with Sid while the other soldiers in my section, including Lizzie, were on the ground with the rest.

From where I crouched, setting up my equipment, I could see Lizzie patrolling the street. She held her gun tight to her chest, aware of her surroundings. I wasn’t her commanding officer, but I watched anyway. I watched them all as best as I could, like a mother hen keeping an eye on all of her baby chicks.

I removed my sunglasses to wipe my brow when movement from the street below caught my eye.

A bouncing ball came into view. A boy ran down the street, chasing after it. Lizzie said something to him, a kind smile on her face. He didn’t seem to reply, but grinned at her, then kept running.

“So, Serg, about what I was saying back in the truck,” Sid said, crouched beside me, binoculars in hand. “I’m—”

“Don’t worry about it, Corporal,” I muttered, still feeling guilty.

“Nah, man, I was out of line. I’m—"

“Sergeant Tailor,” the lieutenant spoke through the walkie-talkie, his voice brusque. “Are you in position?”

I took my place behind my rifle, peering through the scope. “Yes, sir. I’m in position,” I answered.

“I want your eyes on the rooftops, Tailor. Let us worry about what’s happening down here.”

“Yes, sir.”

I felt the sting of being reprimanded by a superior. He must’ve seen me focused on Lizzie and not on setting up—never mind that I could get my shit together with my eyes closed at this point. Still, I swallowed my pride and kept it from eating at me.

“So, um …” Sid cleared his throat. “Anyway, uh … I was thinking … I mean, I was wondering if, uh …”

“Just say what you wanna say, Sprague,” I grumbled, sparing a quick glance at him.

He was beside me, moving slowly with his binoculars, scanning the rooftops for enemy snipers.

“All of this talk about love and shit, I was thinking … I mean … I wanted to ask Grace—"

“Grace?” I interrupted, startled. “Grace who? Mysister?”

He moved carefully. He had great attention to detail, never letting a single movement go unnoticed, making him the perfect spotter. I watched, too, of course, but not as meticulously to avoid visual fatigue.

“Yeah,” he replied absentmindedly. “I think I, uh … I think I might be in love with her.”

What?

The back of my neck prickled with anger and irritation, and I was ready to pummel the shit out of him. He had chosen this moment to bring this up, when I was distracted by the mission.

What an asshole.

I blew out a deep breath, expelling my anger and peering through the rifle’s lens. “I’m not talking about this right now, Corporal,” I muttered through gritted teeth.

“That’s why I’ve been talking about all this love shit, man. Honestly, I wanted to get your—"

“Corporal,” I interrupted harshly, taking a fraction of a second to glare at him. “Not. Now.”

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