Page 50 of The Captain
“Everything?” she asked, her voice softer, like she was testing the word.
I nodded, my throat tight. The glow from Lily’s vision pulsed, urging me forward. “Everything.”
She didn’t move, didn’t speak, just watched me, her gaze steady but guarded. I took a breath, the marsh air heavy in my lungs, and let it out.
“I had a daughter. Lily. She was …” My voice caught, and I swallowed, forcing it steady. “She was the most important part of my life. Her laugh, her smile—she was everything. But I lost her. I was deployed, halfway across the world, when it happened.”
Camille’s face softened, her arms loosening.
“How did she die?” she asked, her voice quiet, the French lilt barely there.
I looked at the horizon, the last sliver of sun bleeding into the water.
“It was like today. A little girl in the ocean, a distracted mother. Only it wasn’t a phone. I found out later my ex was … distracted by some guy she was screwing. Didn’t see Lily go under. Didn’t see the rip take her.” My hands clenched, the memory sharp as a blade. “I wasn’t there. I was always gone—missions, training, promises to be back soon. And that thought, that I could’ve done something, has haunted me every day since.”
Tears welled in Camille’s eyes, catching the dying light. She stepped closer, her hand hovering like she wanted to touch me but wasn’t sure.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice breaking. “I didn’t know.”
“It’s not your fault,” I said, meeting her gaze. “You couldn’t have known.”
She nodded, wiping at her eyes, and I saw it—understanding, the pieces clicking into place. The beach, the girl. She got it now, and the weight of her judgment lifted, just a fraction.
But I wasn’t done. I needed her to know the rest, to see what had changed me.
“I saw her today,” I said, my voice low, steady. “Lily. Out there.” I gestured toward the darkening marsh, its surface reflecting the sky like a mirror. “I swam out, ready to let go. I was done—done with the pain, the guilt, everything. I prayed to see her, and I did. She was there, Camille, smiling, like she used to. She reached out, and I saw it all—her birth, her first laugh, the way she’d run to me when I came home. Every moment. It broke me, and it put me back together.” I paused, my chest tight with the memory. “She told me she was okay. Said it was my turn now. Poked me right here.” I touched my chest, over my heart, and smiled, a small, broken thing. “Then I woke up on a Coast Guard chopper. Same crew who pulled me out once before. And now I’m here, with you.”
Camille’s eyes widened, tears spilling now, but she didn’t look away. “You saw her?” she asked, her voice a mix of wonder and disbelief.
“Yeah,” I said. “And I’ve been running on autopilot since she died. Just … existing. Missions, ops, the next fight. But I’m done with running like a robot. I’m not ignoring what she said. It’s my turn to live.”
She tilted her head, studying me, her exhaustion still there but softened by something new.
“What does that mean?”
I shrugged, a grin tugging at my mouth, the first real one in hours. “For now? It means, if your team can handle things, I’mtaking you back to your place and doing all the things I can’t stop thinking about doing to you.”
She laughed, a bright, surprised sound that cut through the dusk like a flare. “That’s what your daughter meant?” she asked, her eyes sparkling, teasing.
I laughed, too, and it felt good, like shaking off rust.
“Honestly? I don’t know. But it’s top of mind right now. The rest can fall into place as it comes.”
She nodded, serious now, her gaze steady. “Give me five minutes.”
I watched her walk back to the facility, her stride purposeful, her team already moving inside, their voices low and urgent as they triaged the animals. The glow in my chest burned brighter, Lily’s words a quiet hum under my skin. I leaned against a post, the blanket slipping to my waist, and waited.
The marsh smelled of salt and mud, the air cooling as the last light faded. I thought of Lily, her smile, the way she’d poked my chest, and for the first time, the memory didn’t hurt. It was just there, a light I could carry.
After a while, Camille came back out, her face still tired but different—lighter, like she’d shed something, too. She walked straight to me and stopped close.
“I need to tell you,” she said, her voice low, a hint of a smile. “Ryker was looking for you. I just texted him, let him know you’re back to liaising.”
I raised a brow, my grin widening. “Liaising, huh? That what this is?”
She grinned back, her eyes glinting with that fire I couldn’t get enough of. “I’m not sure. You better show me soon, before you forget how.”
I laughed, the sound rough but real, and gestured to her SUV. “Get in, ka-MEE.”
