Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
In the moment, not half of the impressions had registered properly. I remembered now I had hit something when Jake had pushed us into the water. Yeah, the edge of the fucking boat. I’d hit my lower back against it before we’d tumbled over.
Juarez and Dunn had escaped with cuts and bruises, but I had a vague memory of hearing them shouting that the currents were too strong. Maybe. Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me.
I’d felt a moment of panic near the end too. The life jackets that’d once kept us too close to the surface—we’d needed them afterward when I couldn’t push Jake above the water without sinking myself. My lungs had burned; my eyes had stung.
I ate on autopilot, my body screaming for food while the rest of me had zero appetite. It was weird. The food tasted really good, but I couldn’t see it past the memories of what’d happened today. The absolute determination and terror in Jake’s eyes when he’d come at me to shove us into the water; I’d seen the Marine in him right then and there. The man who would run into a burning building to save his loved ones. The one who’d put his life on the line to serve his country. Those men and women were still scared shitless, and they did it anyway.
Of course, my dumb work brain had to take notes too. For Currahee. We had to highlight this. How every moment of danger left its marks—and left the soldiers and jarheads to process things on their own time.
The image of Jake lying on the floor of the pursuit boat—that was the worst one. We hadn’t been in the water that long, so when I remembered him pale and lifeless, I was sure my mind generated pictures that were more gruesome than reality. Nevertheless, real enough to me.
One thing was clear after today. If Jake died, my life would be over too.
“Do you mind if I take a bath first?” I asked, throwing a pizza crust on my plate.
“’Course not. I can hang our belongings to dry. My wallet was makin’ squishing sounds last I checked.”
I mustered a tired chuckle and stood up. Ouch. I propped a hand at my hip and suddenly knew what it would feel like to be eighty.
Just how much debris had knocked into us without my even realizing it?
I went into the bathroom and turned on the water, making sure it was real hot. Then I emptied the little body wash bottle in there, ’cause I was that guy. I took a bath maybe once a year, and it’d gotten much easier since my boy had joined us. Now I just used his extra sudsy soap. I needed my bubbles. They smelled good.
While I waited for the tub to fill up, I tugged off my socks, my hoodie, and my sweats. Then I walked out of the bathroom again and dumped all the things in the bag on one of the beds.
“Buddy, can you call the front desk and ask them to bring up toothbrushes?” I searched through all the items, some of which could probably be thrown out. Cords, batteries—thank goodness the memory cards were protected. Jake’s dead phone, our wallets, and who wouldn’t want a damp Band-Aid. There. I found the roll of surgical tape so I could get rid of this weird finger brace. The doctor told me I could just tape my fingers instead. “I think I saw one of those mini-marts next to the lobby.”
“Sure thing.”
“And toothpaste.” I grimaced and held up my pack of gum. Still wet. But that was how saltwater taffy had been born, so who knew, maybe we were sitting on a million-dollar idea here. “I could just go down there later. I wouldn’t mind raiding the shelves for deodorant and chips too.”
“Hey, you go take your bath. I’ll head downstairs and shop.”
He was sweet. I thanked him and returned to the bathroom—
“Jesus. Roe, wait.”
I paused in the doorway and glanced back at him. “What?”
He strode toward me hurriedly and had his eyes glued to my back. “Ain’t nothin’ minor about that bruise.” He touched my lower back gently, and I twisted my body in an attempt to see what he was seeing.
It wasn’t the best angle for me, so I went over to the large mirror in front of the sink and—holy shit. It had not been that dark earlier. You could clearly see where I’d hit the edge of the boat. Practically a straight line, right over my ass and right below where my vests had ended. About three inches wide. Throughout the day, the mark had turned an angry purplish-red color. Or reddish-purple?
The rest of my back was free of bruises, thanks to the life jacket and tactical vest. But my arms, my legs, and my thighs were blotchy with faint bruises and scrapes. And my cheek… I leaned closer to the mirror and carefully pulled off the dressing. I didn’t need it anymore. A weirdly small wound, yet deep. Definitely a sharp point of some debris that’d punctured my skin. Some bruising around it too.