Oscar
Eleven years ago
“Oscar, man, you coming out with us tonight or what?”
“I’m gonna pass. Ya’ll just get into trouble, and I end up having to drive your drunk butts home.”
“Exactly—that’s the point.” Mitchell Bryson, friend and instigator, cackled with laughter, slapping me on the back for good measure.
Every weekend we had leave, the guys harassed me, but I didn’t enlist in the army to get wasted on the weekends and hook up with random chicks. I was here because I’d married the girl of my dreams six months ago, and she’d ended up getting pregnant on our wedding night. Some luck—right?
The pregnancy was a shock, but Ivy and I were both excited about the baby. I needed a way to provide for my family, and as a kid from the wrong side of the tracks with no higher education, and parents who had died my senior year in high school in a tragic car accident, the options were limited.
The army had made sense to me at the time, but the months away from Ivy were starting to wear on me… and her. I could tell from the tone of her letters and her phone calls that she was struggling. Leaving her pregnant and alone with only her sister and mother to care for her had almost been my undoing. If I could just do my time, get some experience, then maybe I could leave the military and find a good-paying job.
Only, had I known I’d be sent overseas on my first assignment, a place where Ivy was unable to come with me, I’d have rethought my plans. I just kept telling myself, and her, that we’d be together soon.
Nine months. Nine months till I’d be back home. I’d miss the birth of our baby. I’d miss three months of his or her life. That’s something they don’t explain to you when you sign up. Promises of seeing the world and “being all you can be” are made on the daily, but no one tells you about the hard parts. The separation. The loneliness.
“Whatever, dude. One of these days we’re going to make you come out with us. It’s not good for you to stay cooped up in here pining over your woman.” Mitchell was always joking around, always trying to bring me out of my slump, but he didn’t understand. It was no use. I missed Ivy too much. Loved her too much. I was simply counting down the days until I could be with her again.
“I’ve got a letter from her I need to read anyway, and I’d prefer to do that alone. So, go. Have fun. I’ll join you some other day.” Mitchell scoffed but turned to leave with the other guys.
The letter had my name, Oscar Cortada, printed across the front in her scrawling script. Ivy had beautiful handwriting, and I savored each letter I received from her. It had been a couple of weeks, though, since she’d last written, so I planned to take my time and relish every word.
When all the guys were gone, I gently opened the corner of the envelope and pulled out the single paper inside. Usually, Ivy wrote pages and pages, so I was disappointed at the brevity, but I’d take what I could get.
I opened the letter and began to read. There were only a few lines on the page, and one sentence stood out among all the others.
Our baby died.
I started from the beginning, my heart pounding, my gut clenching.
Dear Oscar,
I should have called, and maybe I’m a terrible person for informing you this way, but I just can’t talk about it with you right now. You deserve better, but I didn’t have it in me.
Our baby died.
It was a boy. The doctors said it was some sort of chromosomal issue, but to my eyes he was perfect. Absolutely perfect.
I’ve named him Zachary Oscar.
Zachary means “to remember,” and I will never forget our son.
It was horrible, Oscar, having to go through the loss of our child alone, delivering a stillborn without you there. I haven’t forgiven you for that. Not yet. You should have been here.
I’ve decided that I can’t do this. I can’t be an army wife. Waiting. Wondering. Wishing. Hoping.
I’m leaving you.
I’m sorry to do this in a letter, but if I called, you’d just try to change my mind. I’m terrified you might succeed.
I have to get out of here. I have to follow my dreams. I can’t sit here in this house and long for your return—to weep and mourn over Zachary’s death with no one to hold me, no one to dry my tears, no one to tell me everything will be okay.
This is the way it has to be. I won’t be here when you return, but I’ll carry you and our child in my heart always.
I’m sorry, Oscar. I do love you. So much.
But perhaps love just isn’t enough.
Ivy.
The paper drifted to the ground, the letters glaring at me as if written in bright-red ink. Grief struck a devastating blow. My life ceased to make sense. Our baby, my son, gone. Ivy leaving me, gone.
The sobs came, tearing through my body with crushing strength. I was alone.
Our baby was dead. Zachary Oscar Cortada. I would never hold him in my arms. Never touch his tiny hands. Never celebrate his birthdays. Never play catch. He was gone.
And Ivy had endured it all alone.
In one letter, I’d lost my whole world. My reason for existence. I’d lost it all.
So, I waited. Waited for the divorce papers that never came. Waited for the relentless pain to end. Waited for a life to march on that no longer held any meaning for me.
***
Two years ago
Freedom. It was a term I hadn’t understood as a young man. A concept that was foreign to me until I’d joined the army and lost my identity, my individuality.
Oh, sure, I was still free as an American, but not to go and do and be what I wanted.
But finally, I was no longer bound to Uncle Sam, to do his bidding on his time. No, from here on out, my life was mine to do with whatever I wished.
Only, I had no idea what that was.
I’d never aspired to a military career. Knew when I’d enlisted I’d never be a lifer, although I had enjoyed blowing stuff up. That part had been an unexpected bonus. But Mitchell Bryson’s death during our last mission had done me in. The fun-loving guy who’d never stopped trying to get me to live a little had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Even after Ivy left me, he’d poked and prodded, tried to get me to come out of the crushing grief that had consumed me for months.
Finally, I’d relented, going with him and the guys to the bars when we were free on the weekends, and I’d found a lifelong friend in Mitchell. Only, his life had been cut very short.
Our convoy had rolled over an IUD, and Mitchell and two others in that first truck had been killed instantly. The only positive was that there was no way Mitchell had felt any pain, or even known what had happened. One minute he was here on this earth, and the next he wasn’t. Immediate death. No suffering.
At least there was that.
I inhaled deeply as I made my way to my car parked in a commuter lot outside the Pentagon. I’d been debriefed and discharged and had my entire life waiting before me.
Maybe I’d go out to Hollywood and visit Ivy. Would she be excited to see me? Would she tell me to go away? Maybe there was hope for us now that I was out of the army. Could she ever forgive me for not being there for her when our son died? Or was it too late for us? Eleven years was a long time. And it’s not like I had anything to offer her. Not yet.
I’d wait. Figure out what I wanted to do with my life, and then I’d reach out.
She couldn’t be married, not legally. But she could be with someone. But if it was serious, wouldn’t she file for divorce? The idea of her with another man made me crazy. In eleven years, I’d never forgotten her. Never given up hope.
Mitchell had tried to get me to file for divorce year after year, but I always thought that if Ivy had really wanted it to be over between us, she would have taken that next step. I’d never wanted the divorce. There was no one else for me. It was only Ivy. It had always been Ivy. And it would only be Ivy until I died.
No one had interested me in all the years we’d been apart, and I’d been faithful to her, even if there was no hope for us. As long as Ivy was alive, and we were still legally married, I’d remain faithful to her.
It was a lonely existence.
I had seen a few ads with Ivy in them. She was still stunningly beautiful, with her light-brown hair and hazel-green eyes, the color of the sea. I had an entire photo album with clippings from her modeling shoots tucked inside. I felt kind of like a stalker, but it was the only link I had to her.
Exiting the tunnel under the highway that connected the Pentagon parking lot with the commuter lot, I turned to my left toward my car. Someone was leaning against it. He had an official air about him. A dangerous vibe. Observant and watchful. As if nothing took him by surprise. I stopped to watch him, but his eyes found me. His body never changed, but the intent in his eyes was clear. He was waiting for me.
I suddenly wished I had my gun on me, but there was no carrying that into the Pentagon, and the man was blocking my best access to the one in my glove box. I reached him just as he pushed away from the car and revealed his hands—clearly showing me he wasn’t going for a weapon. No doubt he was carrying, but he wasn’t making a move for his gun.
“Oscar Cortada?” he asked. He was a big man, maybe six feet four, with sandy-brown hair and light-colored eyes. He had the build of a fighter, someone you wouldn’t want to get in the ring with. If you did, he’d take his pound of flesh before you left.
“Who wants to know?”
The guy smirked and held out his hand. I eyed it suspiciously but shook it. “Levi Slater. I wanted to catch you before you left today—see what your plans were now that you’ve left the army.”
“Mind telling me how you know who I am?”
The smirk widened into a full-fledged grin.
“Yeah—sorry about just springing this on you at the last minute, but I was in the area and didn’t want to miss the opportunity to talk with you. I work for an elite security firm in Atlanta, Georgia. We need someone with your skills.”
“And what skills would those be?”
“Well, your munitions expertise is widely known. I also hear you’re a whiz with drones and gadgets. And you’re a decent fighter. We need someone like that on our team.”
“Why should I? And how do I know this is all legit?”
Levi pulled a manila envelope from the back of his pants and handed it over to me. “Everything you need to know about Shadow Force is right there. I got your name from Henry Washington, the president’s advisor. As you can imagine, the security clearance on this thing is pretty high. So I’ll have to have those papers back when you finish reading them.”
I flipped through the pages and quickly scanned the details. Everything Levi had said was true, according to the documents inside, and that envelope held a file on me. What I’d done in the army. Mitchell’s death. Yet, interestingly enough, there was very little about my personal life.
“What would I be doing?”
“You’d be a vital part of a team—a brotherhood of sorts. Fighting battles the normal avenues are unable to fight.”
“Sounds a lot like mercenary work.”
“Mercenaries work for the highest bidder. We work for the president himself.”
“Where is this team located?”
“Atlanta, GA. Your hometown, from what I read in your file. We own an MMA gym as a cover for our operation. You’ll have a room on-site, and we’ll put you through MMA training. For the most part, you’ll keep us up to date on explosives and drones. Things we can use to save lives.”
“The cases you take—”
“Are classified and off the record. We do have some control over what we do and if we take a case. We’re not the only ones the president can use.”
“Can I think about it?”
Levi nodded as he took the file back from me. I wasn’t sure why I was holding out on him. I had nowhere else to go, no prospects on the horizon. I didn’t have anything in mind for my future except getting Ivy back.
“You’ve got till tomorrow morning. I leave for Atlanta, and I’d love to have you join me.”
Levi took a card out and handed it to me. “Here’s my number. I hope to hear from you this evening.”
“Thanks.”
“Besides, what else are you going to do?”
It was the truest question I’d been asked in a very long time.