Page 50 of Indirect Attack
“Yeah, let me just tell Mom I’m leaving.” My gaze swept the entryway, but she wasn’t there.
“She left,” Ben said, already heading toward the door.
“Oh.” I knew she was having a night out with my dad, though she hadn’t told me where, but it was odd she would leave without saying goodbye.
Ben was holding the car door open for me as I closed and locked the front door and headed after him, heels crunching over the gravel in the driveway. I thanked him as I slipped into the passenger seat, a thrill swirling through my chest as he leaneddown and gave me a sound kiss on the mouth before closing the door.
For as long as I could remember, I’d felt butterflies when Ben was around. The feeling had only increased as our relationship had grown. There were moments I wondered if it would ever fade, but it was going strong all these years later, which made me think it was there for the long haul. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Ben dropped into the driver’s seat and started the car. He reached over as we started down the driveway, his fingers twining in mine.
Spring had fully sprung, and the trees were resplendent in their blossoms and soft, early greens. As we passed the field between our houses, I could see the apple tree under which we’d spent many hours reading and talking as kids enveloped in white, almost like a cloud. It would be a good apple crop in the fall, and both of us would finally be home to see it.
I squeezed Ben’s hand, looking over at him and smiling at the thought. He smiled back, then returned his attention to the road while I looked back out the window. We were now passing his parents’ house, and I expected to see Mr. Rusev out front working on his truck or the yard, or Mrs. Rusev in her garden. Instead, I saw Triton, Herman, and Sam piling into a large SUV with rental plates. Sam was wearing a suit, and Tri and Herman were wearing their respective dress blues, their enormous numbers of medals and ribbons visible even from this distance.
“What are your brothers doing home?”
I could have imagined it, but I thought I caught a wince as I whipped my head around to look at Ben. But if he had, he covered it quickly. “Oh, since I’m finally home, they thought it would be a good chance to make Mom’s day and all come in for a visit.”
“Oh.” That made sense. “Where are they going? They’re all dressed up.”
“You know Herman. Always dragging us to a new place. Probably some fancy dinner place in DC.” Another evasive answer.
We drove in silence for a time, hands still intertwined. The scenery was familiar from childhood but gave no hints of where we were going.
“Will you tell me where we’re heading yet?” I finally couldn’t stand it anymore.
Ben’s smile was enigmatic and mischievous. “You’ll see” was his only answer.
“Fine,” I huffed good-naturedly.
“But it’s about half an hour away, so get comfortable.”
And that was the only thing he’d say about it.
Chapter 23
Ben
I HOPED I LOOKED CALM, but it was a lot of work keeping it all together. My heartbeat fluttered, and I was worried Jasmine would see the underarm stains through my suit coat. It was a damn miracle the sweat wasn’t pouring down my face so hard it looked like I had been caught in a rainstorm.
At first thought, my idea had seemed like a great one. But now, every mile ticking away on the odometer bringing us closer to the spot, I wasn’t so sure.
Would Jasmine like it? Would she be surprised? Thrilled? Disappointed? Angry? Whatever happened, I would have witnesses. That, too, had seemed like a great idea, but now I wondered if it was the worst part of my plan.
When I’d run my idea past everyone, they’d all said it would work—my mom, my brothers, Jasmine’s mom and dad. Even my dad had perked up at the idea, his little-seen Russian enthusiasm leading him to break out a bottle of his favorite vodka, the one that rarely saw the light of day, and he invited me to drink, an even more rare occurrence.
Jasmine’s mom had even teared up at the idea when I’d gone to speak with her parents, and both had heartily given their blessings. His dad was happy to have me as part of the family,an opinion heartily endorsed by excited barks from the family’s dog. All the enthusiasm from the Davis family had meant a lot to me, even after I’d screwed up and hurt Jasmine so many times.
But Mr. and Mrs. Davis had been like second parents to me growing up, their home the place I could find solace and quiet from the demands of my family and my father. Knowing I would truly be a part of their family—if everything worked out, anyway—made me so happy I’d even surprised myself.
Beside me, Jasmine was singing and bouncing to the radio. I could tell she’d gotten bored about fifteen minutes into our drive. She was fidgeting in her seat partly out of boredom, partly out of, I was sure, restlessness at not knowing where we were going. At first, she had fiddled with the radio until she’d found music she liked. Then she’d started singing quietly, growing louder the longer the drive went on. Now she was dancing in her seat, and despite my nerves, I couldn’t help but get caught up in her enthusiasm.
But it wasn’t just her enthusiasm at that moment, but profound gratefulness that she was entirely herself now, the spark fully back in her eyes.
Jasmine hadn’t been herself for a time after the attack and her kidnapping. She had tried to hide it, to pretend everything was okay, but I could tell it wasn’t. I didn’t miss when Jasmine would shy at shadows and loud noises, especially at the dig site. She would come to find me when I was heading up the guard of the site for reassurance, and though she never said anything, I could tell. I would find Jasmine rubbing at her wrists where I could still see faint scars, a line between her eyes as she lost herself in memories. And she would wake up in the middle of the night, still caught up in her nightmare, crying out with tears streaming down her face. Those nights, it would take me time to calm her and bring her back into the world.
I was relieved when she asked for access to the psychologist on base and started going regularly. As time passed, the moments she lost herself in thought began to grow less intense, her nightmares fewer and further between, and she grew visibly more confident. Now, nine months later, I couldn’t see a trace of fear, and she hadn’t had a nightmare in more than two months.
