Page 97 of Ripple Effect
Leaning my head against hers, the tears that flow between us spark more memories. Of being on board theLassen. Being helpless to do more than listen and advise while knowing my wife was being tortured on board theSea Force. I tune in as I realize she’s started talking about what happened.
Shit.
“…being dragged from the bar down two flights of stairs to the pool deck—afraid to scream, afraid not to. Praying someone was finally coming to save us. Praying to die before if they weren’t.”
God, Libby.
“The moments of ‘worst’ began to bleed together. Food and water deprivation—not that I’d eat or drink anything after the way they’d slaughtered everyone. Then there was the sensory overload. We’d be blindfolded; then they’d take it off. Light and dark. The beatings we endured were terrifying. The thing is? It was nothing in comparison to what was in my mind.”
“And what was in your mind?”
“All my regrets. And giving up on my marriage was the biggest one. Over and over in the dark, I prayed Cal would find happiness one day.”
And I’m done. I bury my head into the curve of my wife’s neck, feeling her courageous heart. But somehow, I manage to get out, “That never would have happened without you.”
67
Calhoun
Year Six - Five Years Ago from Present Day October 23 0023 Hours GMT
There’s barely enough light from the red glow in the transport carrying us to rendezvous with the destroyer in the Atlantic to make out the shapes of the bodies of the other people on my team. Some are doing a final check of their gear; some are sitting with their heads tipped back in the zone. All of them are probably thinking I shouldn’t be on this helo, that I’m a damn risk to each and every one of them. But there’s no way I’m going to sit on my ass waiting for information about Libby.
Between my time in the Navy and my time working for Alliance, I’ve been on hundreds of missions with some of the men and women in this bird. Not a single one holds the importance this one does because I failed at being a husband long ago.
Holding up my hand, I finally realize the moment for what it is—my truth serum. Even though I never was susceptible to that shit in my training, I understand now how others can be. The way your heart starts pumping into overdrive; the urgency to talk to anyone about anything because if you don’t, your mind is going to go crazy.
The most important uniform I’ve ever worn is the band on the third finger of my left hand. The most critical vows are those I spoke in front of my friends and family tying my life to my wife’s. And the most treasured promise is the one that came along with telling Libby I love her.
The tragedy is having to fly a thousand miles in the middle of a nightmare to admit everything everyone’s been saying to me about her is right. I mistook Libby, soft and sweet, as someone who needed to be sheltered and coddled. She needed my protection, my strength.
The reality is just because her core of steel is hidden beneath a blanket of softness makes it no less strong. I should know. How many times since the day the papers ending my marriage were served to me have I tried to talk to her? Most notably, when I tried to corner her at Deja Vu where Libby stood in front of me calmly telling me she didn’t “give a damn about me and my reasons. Take them, and Iris, and go find somewhere to fuck them both,” right before she slammed the door to her office in my face.
How did I not realize she had to be as strong as me to withstand a “businessman” who’d take off for parts of the world unknown for indeterminate amounts of time. And not once, until she wanted to surprise me on our anniversary, did her faith in me waver. Libby’s love was steadfast until she was certain mine wasn’t. My surprise shouldn’t be that she filed for divorce, but that she didn’t want a damn thing from me.
Then again—my hands clench into fists in the dark, my wedding ring pinching beneath the glove on my left hand for the first time—I know why she didn’t. Anything she asked for would require her to be bound to me.
Memories of the week I was served my divorce papers two months ago bombard me as thewhomp-whomp-whompof the blades take us closer to our destination.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Cal, but you’re a fucking idiot if you don’t find a way to fight this,” Sam told me.
I shoved off the couch in the common room and yelled, “Don’t you think I know that? For God’s sake, Sam, she’s the best part of my life.”
Iris regarded me coolly. “We’ve all heard that, Cal, but you never let her in. And you had plenty of time to.”
I shook my head. “She can’t handle this kind of life,” I protested. “Just because I’m protecting her doesn’t mean I don’t love her.”
“It means you’re a damned fool,” she growled at me. “The Elizabeth Sullivan who I just encountered isn’t weak; she’s a woman. And women in love are the strongest and most dangerous creatures on the planet. We’ll do anything to nurture those we love, and we’ll do anything to harm those who threaten them.” Iris rubbed her cheek.
I still can’t believe my wife took a swing at her. “I apologize again…” But Iris cut me off.
“Do you have any idea what I’d do if I thought Sam was screwing around on me? If she ever forgives any of us for this, I’m going to have to teach her to hit though; she hurt herself in the process.” Iris glared at me like this is my fault, not the imagination of my wife. My ex-wife if she gets her way.
Which she won’t.
“We’re bound by an oath…” I started to say, but before I got another word out, my partner and his wife were laughing in my face.
“And you could have got her cleared, Cal.” Sam’s face sobered up. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he began.
