Malik
Of course she’s a cute kid. She’s a product of Jimmy and Anna, and they were an extraordinarily good-looking couple. I’d only met Anna once before the mission, and that was at a Jameson get-together for drinks the night before we flew out. I’d been working and training with Jimmy for almost a month, but I’d never met his wife before that night.
I know all about the little girl facing me on the screen of Anna’s phone. From the moment I’d been rescued by my Jameson teammates, I couldn’t stop asking questions about everything. I made Cage recount to me in painstaking detail everything he knew about Jimmy and Sal’s deaths so I could compare it to my own recollection. How they died and how their bodies were recovered. Sal bled out from a bullet wound to his femoral artery while Jimmy died from a shot to the neck.
The guilt for those two deaths is crushing to me, and there’s nothing I can do to assuage it. Perhaps that’s why I’m overly curious about Anna and her baby, Avery. How does a woman survive losing her husband and bearing his baby all within a matter of weeks? As I stand before her right now, seeing an easygoing, welcoming smile on her face, I have to think it might be somewhat of an act.
It makes it a bit awkward for me.
Over the last two weeks, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. At first, I was mostly resting. Then a hell of a lot of eating, trying to nourish my body. Spending time at home with my parents in Montreal was exactly what I needed as I come from an incredibly close-knit family that knows me inside and out. There was no hovering or overcompensating. I can’t even imagine the pain and grief my parents and siblings have been through, but they didn’t fuss over me as they knew I would have hated it.
My siblings came in at separate times to check in on me. Max and Lucas both play professional hockey, so they snuck in for a visit when they played Ottawa. My sister Simone and her husband Van—a retired hockey player for the Cold Fury—came in for an entire week, but, like my brothers, they weren’t in my face bemoaning the fact I’d been a prisoner in the Middle East for five months. Van and I played a lot of Xbox together, and Simone cooked all of my favorite foods. My parents stared at me a lot, but I couldn’t really blame them. I’m sure they’re having as hard a time as I am believing I was actually rescued.
But then, it was time to return to Pittsburgh.
To my job.
It was the only time my parents got vocal, expressing their concerns. While they hedged it in terms of “maybe you should stay and rest some more,” I know they’re scared I’m going to go back out on a dangerous mission and die.
I totally get it, but they also know one thing about me. I never run from fears, and I don’t hide from “what if’s”. I confront things head-on, and the only way I know how to put Syria behind me is to put Pittsburgh and my job right in front of me.
I made a slight detour though, flying to New York to visit Sal’s family. He wasn’t married and didn’t have kids, so it was a somber visit with his aging parents who were incredibly stoic about his death. They were quite surprised to see me on their doorstep, but they welcomed me in. We spent an afternoon talking about Sal. I didn’t know him all that well, but I would have given my life for him. They never asked me what happened the night he died and I was taken prisoner, which is a good thing. I haven’t been debriefed yet, and I wouldn’t have been able to give them any details. I’m glad I didn’t have to tell them it was my fault he died along with Jimmy.
And as I stare at the picture of Jimmy’s daughter, Avery, I wonder if there will come a time in her life where she’ll know my role in her father’s death. Anna may or may not choose to tell her the details, and I have no clue exactly what Anna knows yet. She’s a little bit different seeing as how she works here and would presumably be privy to some details.
Regardless, until I get my official debrief with Kynan, I can’t tell her what I did or didn’t do out there in the desert. I can only hold my grief and guilt in tight for now.
My gaze lifts from the photo of Avery to Anna. She’s an incredibly lovely woman with golden hair and unusual blue-gray eyes that seem to change depending on the lighting. In the bar the night we all had drinks, I thought they were a dark cornflower color, but under the fluorescent kitchen lights, they seem almost silvery with a hint of sky blue.
“So… you work here now, huh?” I ask, which is about as lame a greeting as there could ever be. I know she works here because I asked Cage about her, needing to reassure myself that I hadn’t destroyed her when I let her husband die.
“Yeah,” she says with a light laugh, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear and setting her phone down. Her expression turns a bit sad, and she drops her gaze for a moment. “I just had to be a part of all this after…”
Her words hang heavy in the air, and a knot forms at the base of my throat.
“I bet that sounds silly, huh?” she replies, eyes coming back to me with an attempt at an easy smile.
“Not at all,” I reassure her, then figure this is as good a time as any to say the most important thing that needs to be said. I give a cough to clear my throat. “Um… listen… I’m really sorry about Jimmy. I can’t imagine how hard it’s been on you.”
I brace, thinking tears might be coming, but I’m surprised when her expression softens, her fingers playing along the edge of her phone as she averts her eyes. “It’s been tough on you, too. I’m really happy you’re back. It sort of makes all of this a little more…”
Again, her words trail off as if she’s not quite sure what any of this means. I know the feeling…the loss of direction and wondering what the hell fate was thinking when it cooked up these circumstances.
After what seems like an eternity, she lifts her head and meets my gaze again. I don’t know this woman at all, yet, because of what happened in the desert, she and I have a thread tying us together. It seems like a monumental moment, and I have no clue how to acknowledge that.
Instead of saying something vague or trying to redirect the conversation into safer territory, I have a moment of brutal candor. “It’s hard to talk to you.”
Anna blinks in surprise before she frowns.
I shake my head, holding a hand up to explain. “It’s just… I’m alive and Jimmy’s not. I hope you know that given the chance to do any of it over again, I would have traded places with Jimmy in a heartbeat.”
Straightening, Anna regards me with alarm. “I’d never ask that of you. Or anyone for that matter. And you can’t be thinking like that. Be grateful you’re alive. You have to celebrate that, Malik. I know I do.”
Yeah… that’s easier said than done. Poor Anna, who’s struggling with the death of her husband and raising a baby on her own, won’t ever understand how I’ll never be able to get past Jimmy’s death.
Managing to pull off a smile acknowledging her words, I punctuate it with a dip of my head, hoping it’s enough to put her off the scent of grief and guilt.
I nod down the hallway past the kitchen to where the individual apartments are located. “I’m going to be staying in one of the apartments for a while. Kynan just gave me the key, so I thought I’d get settled in.”
There’s a bit of finality in my tone, indicating the conversation is over. Nodding, Anna grabs her coffee. “Yeah… sure. I didn’t mean to hold you up, and I have to get down to work. Demanding boss and all.”
I watch as Anna grabs her purse, another donut, and her cup of coffee. Another smile, to which I lift my chin, and she’s gone.
And weirdly, even as difficult as it was to talk to her, it was the most honest conversation I’ve had since my rescue. A part of me wants more.
♦
Getting settled in my new apartment took all of five minutes. I’d only had to dump my clothes in the drawers and poke around the kitchen cabinets to see how well supplied it was. When I first came to Pittsburgh to start at Jameson, I had not had time to find permanent lodging. I was sleeping on an old Marine buddy’s couch who lived on the outskirts of the city. And then I was chosen to go directly to Syria for the hostage rescue attempt. It didn’t seem like a fast transition to me, having left 2nd Recon in the Marines to rescue an ex-fil in the Middle East. To be honest, it seemed like old hat to me.
Now I have no clue what the future holds, but for the immediate time being, it’s Jameson, which makes this offer of an apartment nice and handy. I could have stayed with the same buddy as before, but honestly… I kind of want some privacy and alone time.
Regardless, I’m here to get back on that metaphorical horse and be a valued asset to this company. It’s essential I succeed here because all I’ve had so far is failure, which says way too much about me that’s hard to accept.
A knock on my door startles me, mostly because I’ve been living in a hole in the ground for five months. The concept of closed doors and boundaries is a bit foreign.
I move through the small living room to unlock the door, swinging it open. Kynan stands there. I silently invite him in by moving away from the threshold.
“You settled in okay?” he asks as he enters.
“All settled and ready to rock and roll,” I reply, shutting the door and twisting the lock. That’s not habit in any form, but caution. Or maybe it’s just pure love of the fact I have an actual door that locks.
Kynan goes directly to my couch and sits, nodding toward a chair that is set perpendicular to it. The apartment is small but lushly appointed. The furniture is high end, there’s crown molding in every room, and the appliances are top of the line. It’s the nicest place I’ve ever lived on my own.
I take a seat, only perching my ass on the end and folding my hands before me, elbows to my knees. Expectantly, I look at Kynan.
“We’re going to debrief at 0800 tomorrow,” he says bluntly.
I nod, maintaining eye contact. Last thing I want to do is to go through what happened, but it’s an essential part to every mission. It’s where we learn from our mistakes, officially document what happened, and bury those things that can’t be publicly known even to the government that hired us.
“Not a problem,” I say. “I’ll be able to get my written report done pretty soon after that.”
Kynan nods in return, rubbing his hand thoughtfully along his jaw as he studies me. Finally, he says, “I’m going to have Corinne sit in on it.”
My jaw tightens slightly. “That’s not standard protocol.”
“Maybe not in the military sector, but it is in my own private company,” he replies without any give to his tone.
Fuck.
Corinne Ellery is Jameson’s resident psychiatrist. I had to interview with her and do some personality testing before I was offered a job here. I’m not stupid… I know he wants her there to evaluate how I’m dealing with my captivity.
“On top of that…” Kynan continues, and I can tell there’s more coming that I won’t like. “For the foreseeable future, you’re going to undergo counseling with Corinne. Until such a time she feels you’re ready to go back into active duty, you’ll ride a desk.”
“You got to be fucking kidding me,” I snarl. “I don’t need a shrink, and I’m fully capable of getting back into the thick of things.”
“Denial,” Kynan replies, and he doesn’t say anything else.
Just that one single word, which he seems to believe describes everything about me.
“I’m not in denial,” I grit out. In an attempt to not appear so bent out of shape about this—and to prove I’m really okay—I slouch into the comfy chair and try to appear relaxed. “I’m well-rested, gaining weight, and completely at peace with what happened to me.”
“What about with what happened to Jimmy and Sal?” Kynan asks, and I can’t hide my body’s involuntarily flinch or my slight grimace. I can feel it, and I know he can see it. It’s the equivalent of a person getting their ribs broken, adamantly maintaining they are fit for duty, and someone giving them the slightest poke so the person doubles over in pain and reveals their weakness.
Not giving me a chance to defend myself, he merely rises and says, “If you want to work at Jameson, you’ll go to counseling with Corinne until she feels you’ve adequately explored your feelings regarding your captivity and the mission going south. I don’t care if you like it—I just want you to do it. I’m eager to have you back on full duty. If you don’t want to do it, I’ll give you a nice severance, then we can shake hands and part ways. Those are your only two choices.”
Goddamn, the man is a hard-ass. Yet… I can’t help but respect the fuck out of him. The military has always taken a more hands-off approach to mental health awareness and action, which I never used to agree with. Funny how that changes when the spotlight is on me.
A little over two weeks ago, when my plane landed in New York, I had expected my family at the gate. And there they were… my parents and all three of my siblings.
But standing with them was Kynan, which was a surprise. However, it was his way of showing he considered me family. He stayed only long enough to give me a bro hug—one of those hands-clasped, slap-on-the-back kind of thing—and to spend a few moments in the airport with my family and me as we moved through the terminal. He parted ways with us outside, promising to see me back at Jameson when I was up to it. I’d later learned he put my entire family up in a fancy hotel so we could have some time together before hopping flights to our next destinations.
The man cared—of that, there was no doubt.
And I have something to prove, so leaving Jameson isn’t an option.
“Fine,” I reluctantly agree. I push out of the chair, even extending my hand to him. Kynan shakes it, an expression of what looks like pride shadowing his face.
“I know it’s difficult to face this shit,” Kynan says after we release hands. When he turns for the door, I follow him there as he continues talking. “But trust me… you need to process this and the healthiest way to do it is by talking to a professional.”
“Understood,” I say.
“See you tomorrow morning for the debriefing,” he says, then clasps my shoulder. “I’m really glad to have you back with us, Malik. You’re a vital member to our team.”
After Kynan leaves and I lock the door behind him, I lean against it and think about Corinne Ellery. She’s a savvy woman. An excellent doctor. How much can I get away with while talking to her?
Or, in other words, how little can I say while still getting declared fit for duty?