Page 51 of Dead Ahead (Department of Defense)
Chapter 24
Ashley
I WATCHED THE ICE SPIN and collide in my glass, clinking against the side as I swirled it around with my straw. The day was hot, and the outside of the glass of iced tea was thick with condensation. But a cool sea breeze wafted in the large, open windows that looked out over the waterfront and the harbor with its rows of docked power- and sailboats.
The restaurant was organized chaos at the edges of my perception; sea birds calling, people talking and laughing, plates and silverware plinking, the movement of patrons and the waitstaff, the hum of the soccer game on the TV hanging off to one side of the bar.
I’d been home for about a week, but it still seemed unreal sometimes. Part of me still felt like I was back on the island, and my mom’s house, my family’s restaurant, and the vistas I’d grown up with were a hallucination or dream.
After the un-peopled silence and loneliness of the island, the sheer amount of humanity, with all its noise, light, and movement, the sheer press of people, was overwhelming. For the first few days, I’d stayed in the quiet of home, avoiding everyone and everything. I’d ventured out slowly, forcing myself to increase the time each day until I felt almost normal, like I was a part of society instead of apart from it.
But many times over the past few days, I’d woken up in a panic, dripping with cold sweat, still caught up in running with bullets flying around us, or fearing we would never get off that island, or watching the rock crash down onto the terrorist's head. It would take me a minute to realize I was at my mom’s house, where I’d been staying since my rescue, in my childhood bedroom with the whale and dolphin posters, books and stuffed animals, and swim meet trophies.
Then I’d get up and turn on the TV, scroll through my phone, or take a drive to remind me that I was here, at home, and not still stranded on that island.
“Hey, you okay?”
The voice startled me out of my thoughts, and I looked up to see the bartender, my brother, watching me as he shook a cocktail, his mouth curled into an empathetic frown.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I sighed, looking down at the hands I’d knotted in my lap, unable to meet his eyes—so much like mine—and the concerned look there.
I’d told my family as much as possible about what had happened, which had been very little. Most of it was highly classified, and the warnings thrown at me to keep my secrets had been both vague and threatening.
“You sure?” My brother placed the cocktail shaker down and leaned against the bar. I could see his gaze watching my face out of the corner of my eyes.
I kept my gaze trained on the muted flowery pattern of my dress. “Really, I’m fine. It’s only been a week. It’s just going to take me a little longer to feel normal again.”
I finally gathered the courage to look up and flash him a bright smile I didn’t feel. But I wanted to.
What was normal, anyway? Would I ever feel normal again? Would I ever get what had happened out of my head or stop waking up in the middle of the night with my heart pounding?
But, maybe more than that, would I ever get over Triton Rusev?
As average daily life had started to reassert itself, I realized pretty quickly that it wasn’t just the moment and the circumstances that had drawn me to Tri.
I was in love with him.
It was crazy, especially considering how little time we’d known each other and the insane situation that had thrown us together. But I just knew it, in my heart of hearts; I was in love with him. The way I felt about him, the way he made me feel, was unlike anything I’d known with any other man. I wanted to be with him, my body still craved him. I would fall asleep at night remembering the time between us, the conversations, as one-sided as they’d been, even the moments when we’d been content in our silence.
And the worst part was that I would never see him again. All I had was his name, no number, no address, nothing. I hadn’t even seen him since we’d been separated on the Japanese ship, hadn’t been able to say goodbye, give him my number, or tell him how I felt. Maybe Tri would have responded poorly and rebuffed my confession, but at least I would have told him. At least he would know, and I would know, and I would have some kind of closure.
But now, all I could do was wonder what could have been and sit here missing Tri. Because as difficult as it was to process and move through everything that had happened to me, the worst part was that I missed him and I had no idea how to reach him.
I had a name, and that was it. No phone number, no address, not even the base where he was stationed. Social media and an Internet lookup had been a complete bust—it was almost as if he didn’t exist, which tracked, in all honesty—and I couldn’t call up every base in the country and simply ask to speak with Triton Rusev. I’d probably be arrested on suspicion of terrorism or something.
My brother sighed, the motion and noise drawing me back to the present, and shook his head. “Just let me know if you need anything, okay? We’re all worried about you.”
“I will. Promise,” I added when he gave me a brotherly look of concern. “I just need to get back to work, and I’ll be fine.”
He shrugged, not reassured, and picked the cocktail shaker again to finish the drink. I wasn’t reassured, either. Between struggling to fit back in and missing Tri, I felt entirely adrift and unsure of what to do. Whatever I’d said to my brother, I wasn’t ready to go back to work, but I couldn’t sit here forever, either, no matter how much my mother wanted me to stay. Ever since I’d gotten back, her protectiveness had gone into overdrive, and she kept sending me links to jobs that would keep me home for good.
Sighing, I jabbed the straw into my tea a final time and slid off the stool, the glass in one hand and my half-empty plate in my other, and pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen. It was humming with activity, but in mid-afternoon, the commotion didn’t reach the levels it would in a few hours.
“George, I’m going to go home. Can you let Mom know?”
The head chef looked up from his old metal desk stuffed into the corner where he used the lull to go over purchase orders. “All right. See you, Ash.” He waved distractedly, then buried his head back into the paperwork.
Stepping to the side for a moment to make room for an incoming server, I pushed back into the dining room, ready to duck behind the bar to grab my purse. Then I froze, and so did my heart.
