Page 53 of Never Always
I sink to my knees when I see the hole in the wall. The burning smell finally explained. The wall was penetrated. Weakened by group two doing their job, my shot was all it took. Not by all three of my shots. By one. One kill shot is all it ever takes.
Mercer sinks down next to me, arm wrapped around me. “Grange.”
I don’t answer and he says my name over and over. I cover my face and then look up to the smoke covered ceiling and let out a war cry that shakes the faulty walls.
Clenching my jaw, I stand, and even though my feet are leaden, I force myself forward to the body. To his body. My brothers move out of my way. I don’t look at their faces, don’t want any of their sympathy. I don’t want anything except to rewind the last five minutes.
A sob escapes, a tortured, harrowing sound in the still dead room. “Rexy.”
“The bullet went directly through the base of his neck where his helmet didn’t protect. It was quick, Grange,” Legend speaks matter of fact. Giving me something I appreciate, as a trained medic myself. Facts. The knowledge that my brother didn’t suffer as I took his life.
His eyes aren’t open. They’re closed, and I’m thankful for that. That he doesn’t have to look his killer in the face. The exit wound is gaping open. In and out. A simple concept. I drop to my knees, reaching out for him. I have to believe he’s still here. In this room. Waiting for me to say goodbye.
“I’m sorry. Oh my God,” I scream it. I can’t breathe. My breaths feel short. Ragged. A laborious endeavor to accept oxygen. Legend stoops next to me, trying to take my vitals, but I push him away.
“Get out,” I yell. “Everyone get the fuck out of here!” Mercer’s face is terrified. Legend backs away from me. “Protocol, Corrick. We have to follow protocol.”
“I just killed my best friend and you’re telling me about fucking protocol. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck all of you.” I punch the wall—the weak motherfucking wall that didn’t do its job. Black tar like substance comes off on my fist. I punch until my hand is bloody and I’m completely out of breath. Pulling off my gear frantically, I get to my jacket, I rip it off and lay it over Rexy’s head. I stand, breath heaving, and see my Team lingering near the doorway, pretending not to watch me fall the fuck apart. “Where are they?”
“Who? Where are who?” Mercer says, laying a hand on my shoulder. “Grange. You can’t bring him back.”
“Where is the person responsible for that wall.” I point into the room, careful not to look at Rexy’s body. “Where is the absolute fuck-up that couldn’t do his job? They had one fucking job. One. Where is the goddamn idiot so I can repay him the same courtesy? I’ll do my fucking job haphazardly too if it means he won’t breathe again.”
“That’s not going to bring him back.” Mercer’s voice is smooth, placating, but it won’t be enough. Blood for blood. I’m a man on fire. Love is taken. That’s the only fact I know about this world. I look up to the rafters, but they’ve cleared out.
When I go to run back to HQ, Mercer grabs my white undershirt. “This is probably the last time you’re going to see him, Grange. Do you want to waste this chance on revenge? On some poor asshole who missed something? Accidents happen. You know that. Friendly fire happens, brother. We all take that risk here and downrange. Go say your peace.” A tear streams down his face. He lost him too. “Rexy would want that.” Mercer’s voice cracks.
I cry. Harder than I’ve ever cried in my entire life. Mercer holds me, but the scent of the rubber clings to his jacket and it makes me want to vomit. When my chest hurts and I’m numb, I walk back to Rexy. A deep red stain mars the back of my jacket from the wound on his neck. I pull it off, then I take off his helmet so I can see his whole face.
A small photo of Maeve’s smiling face falls out of the helmet and lands into the pool of blood surrounding his head. I pick it up and wipe the blood off on my shirt. I’ll have to tell her. Rexy would want that. I eye his sidearm. The extra handgun we keep in case of emergency. It’s holstered on his hip. I let my hands travel to the gun and unfasten it. I weigh it in my hand, rub my thumb over his initials engraved in the grip. It’s loaded. This is an emergency if I’ve ever experienced one. This is too much. Insurmountable.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, laying my hand on his arm. A gesture that has always calmed me. “I’m sorry, brother. I love you.”
I cock the gun and put the cold barrel to the side of my head.
Chapter Seventeen
Tennyson
INSTEAD OF PLANNINGa wedding, Maeve planned a funeral. She had it on the same day she was set to walk down the aisle to marry him. It was snowy, like she hoped for. The service was held out by the lighthouse. She used the same white chairs meant to hold jubilant wedding guests to seat grieving friends and family. She didn’t want to have a traditional funeral in the church, and his parents agreed. It was so cold I couldn’t feel my face, feet, or hands. I stood because there weren’t enough seats. It was a celebration of life, even though he died in the most tragic way possible. By the hand of his best friend.
The details were hazy at first, coming from Clover who got information from Mercer who was so upset he could barely speak clearly. It was a morbid game of telephone. Then the chaplain and Rexy’s officer showed up to Rexy’s house to deliver the news as Maeve was unpacking her bookshelf. Officially. The whole thing feels like the worst kind of nightmare. Grange called me the day after the accident to tell me he was going away for a while and that I shouldn’t try to contact him. My heart is broken straight down the middle. For him. For what he must be enduring.
I was wrong about being strong enough to be with Grange. A SEAL. A life that is glamourized and seems exciting. I’m convinced it’s quite the opposite. It’s a game of life roulette. Maeve was right all along. I wonder how she knew. How long did it take for her to gain the intuition? Truly, I will never be capable of such a talent and that’s horrifying. Even though I know I’m not strong enough now, I made a promise to Grange, and that’s why I’m about to knock on Maeve’s door, a sick feeling rippling through my stomach.
Clover answers Maeve’s door, a makeup-free face and hair piled high on her head. She hugs me and pulls me into the house. “How are you doing, baby?”
Honestly. “Awful. I don’t know where he’s at and he hasn’t called.” I clear my throat. I get emotional merely thinking about Grange. “How is Maeve?”
“She’s sleeping now. Up all night. Sleeping all day. She’s depressed. I’m staying here with her until her sister can come. I guess she’s held up in Europe or something. Couldn’t get home quick enough.”
I swallow hard. “I need to ask her for a pretty huge favor.”
“What do you need? I can help you.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s something only she can give.”
Clover doesn’t push. She shrugs. “She may be awake. Go on in.” My feet drag as I open the door and enter the black room.
