BESIEGE (DISARM Series #2) Read online

  Besiege is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, and events is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012 by June Gray. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from either the author or the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote a brief passage in a review.

  First Edition. Cover design by June Gray.

  DEDICATION

  To the ones who never find their way back home:

  your bravery and sacrifice will never be forgotten.

  1 | TENDING THE HOME FIRES

  Henry Logan was gone. Just like that, the bus turned the corner and he was gone from my sight.

  Not going to lie, that was one of the hardest things I’ve endured.

  I drove his Mustang home from base with tears streaming down my face. I didn’t care. I’d just said goodbye to my best friend, my roommate, and the love of my life. If that doesn’t make me deserving of a moment of blubbering weakness then I don’t know what does.

  Even the cop who pulled me over for speeding on I-45 took one look at the hot mess and knew. “Coming from base?” he asked.

  I nodded, wiping at my face, not wanting him to think that I was turning on the waterworks to get out of a ticket. “Yeah.”

  “Deployment?”

  I nodded again. I was going to get my very first speeding ticket on the same day I lost the first love of my life. And thus, I brought balance back to the Force.

  “My step-son left today as well,” the cop said.

  “Sucks, doesn’t it?” I asked, sniffling.

  He laughed. “Not for me.” He looked at my license and Henry’s insurance card and handed them back. “I’ll let you go with just a warning.”

  Really? “Really?”

  “Deployments are tough,” he said. “Just keep it under sixty-five, alright?”

  I gave him a smile, his mercy the bright spot in my otherwise bleary day. “Thank you, officer. I will.”

  I dreaded walking into our apartment, and justifiably so, because as soon as I walked inside, the loneliness almost suffocated me, as if Henry’s absence sucked all the oxygen out of the building.

  “I can do this,” I said out loud.

  Immediately I wished I hadn’t taken the entire day off from work. It was a Friday so the whole weekend stretched out for miles in front of me, with wallowing and crying as my unwanted passengers.

  Determined not to go down that road, I changed into my running gear and went to Earlywine Park, hoping the running endorphins would do something to lift my mood.

  After an hour of running, I didn’t feel the high that often comes after a great workout. Instead I’d successfully exhausted my body so that I could barely stand straight as I took a shower, which only added to the general feeling of gloom that I wore like a second skin. That night I crawled into Henry’s bed, afraid of waking up alone from a nightmare.

  I slept on the center of the mattress, hugging his pillow to my chest and inhaling his scent. With my eyes closed, I could almost convince myself that he was sleeping beside me but almost, in this case, just wasn’t good enough.

  The next six months were going to be hell.

  Beth Belnap invited me out to dinner that Saturday night. Her boyfriend Sam had also deployed so we were in the same shitty boat with a six-month long horizon ahead of us. This was the second deployment Beth had endured and had all sorts of nuggets of wisdom to impart.

  “It’ll get easier, promise,” she said as we sipped our drinks and waited for our dinner.

  I nodded, glad to know that someone had been through it before and come out sane. “I hope sooner than later. I’m tired of crying.”

  She gave me a sympathetic look. “The first time is always the worst.”

  “Does it get easier at night? Do you miss having him in bed with you?”

  Beth raised her eyebrows. “I thought you and Henry were roommates?”

  “Oh. I guess you might not know yet,” I said, putting down my margarita glass. “But a few days after that night at Tapwerks, Henry told me he loved me and things… just kind of happened.”

  Beth laughed. “Oh my God, I totally called it. When you guys were on the dance floor I told Sam that there was definitely something going on there. You two were looking at each other with all this sexual tension. It looked like Henry was about to maul you right there.”

  I blushed, remembering when I saw Henry as more than just a brother figure once more, when he’d pressed himself into me on the dance floor and had uttered innuendo in my ear. Only seven days had elapsed since that night yet it felt like forever ago. “This past week has been… intense,” I said.

  Beth’s smile faded. “Then this is extra hard for you, being so new to the relationship and all,” she said. “I went through that with Sam’s first deployment. We’d only been dating a month before he left. It was hell.” She patted my hand on the table.

  “This past week has been a rollercoaster,” I said, trying to keep the tears in check. I took a steadying breath and tried a grin. “So when do you stop crying at the drop of a hat?”

  “The first time took about a month, for me at least.”

  I blew out a breath. “Okay. That seems like a long time,” I said. “But at least I’ll eventually stop missing him so much, right?”

  She shook her head. “I think it’s more like you just get mentally tougher, so you learn to avoid dwelling on the fact that he’s gone.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “I’m not sure. You just do it. When you start thinking about how much you miss him, just distract yourself. Put on a movie, read a book, do anything. Just don’t give any thought to how much you miss him.”

  “Does that actually work?”

  She shrugged. “Sometimes.”

  I didn’t hear from Henry for three long days, until the Monday after he left. I tried to take Beth’s advice and keep myself occupied but it was impossible to concentrate without knowing Henry had made it to Bagram Air Base safely. I was beginning to think I wouldn’t be able to focus on anything for the next six months.

  On Monday morning, at some godawful time, my cell phone began to ring. I was instantly alert and cried into the phone, “Henry?”

  “Hey, Els!” His voice felt like heaven; it caressed down my back and loosened the knot of worry around my heart. “We made it. We’re here.”

  I sat up, glad to finally have some time to talk. “I’m happy to hear that. It’s so good to hear your voice.”

  “You too. How are you?” he asked.

  “Absolutely miserable,” I said.

  “Listen, I have to get going. Other guys have to call home,” he said. “I love you, Elsie. I miss you so much already.”

  “I love you too,” I responded, and much too quickly the call ended. I hugged his pillow to my chest and for the first time in so many days, I finally breathed a tiny sigh of relief. Henry was okay.

  Four days down, a bajillion more to go.

  The first week of deployment was definitely the toughest. The imbalance to my routine was terrifying, and I often fumbled around like I’d forgotten a step. At night I sat in the apartment, feeling so lonely I thought I’d go out of my mind and watching those sappy romcoms that Henry refused to sit through certainly didn’t help—in fact, had the opposite effect.

  My body also physically ached from missing him, a feeling that was wholly new to me. After Jason died I missed him intensely but I never felt an ache in my bones, as if I was walkin
g around with a missing limb—like I was currently experiencing with Henry.

  Then it started to get better. Thankfully.

  After that initial month, I finally started to sleep in my own bed again—partly because I missed my pillowtop mattress, but also because I knew I couldn’t sleep in Henry’s bed forever. It was high time I put on my big girl panties and sleep in my big girl bed.

  Henry called as often as he could, which amounted to a five-minute call every four or five days, but he e-mailed almost every day. He mostly talked about the base and his job, but sometimes he’d write out long, graphic emails detailing what he wanted to do to me. Those emails would get me so aroused I eventually had to go into the back of my closet and break out my stash of battery-operated buddies.

  The best part of Henry’s emails were always at the end, where he’d write that he loved and missed me, that he couldn’t wait to come home to me. I didn’t think I’d ever tire of seeing those words.

  In the third month, the emails stopped. So too did the phone calls. I called Beth in a mild state of panic, and she confirmed that she hadn’t heard from Sam either.

  “But they’re probably just on a base comm lockdown or something,” she said. “They do that from time to time.”

  She promised she would call if she heard anything, so I sat on my hands trying to remain cool. I waited with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, that little ball of dread growing with each passing moment.

  One night while I was trying to distract myself with a Firefly marathon, my cell phone rang with an unknown Oklahoma number. The caller turned out to be David Novak, Henry’s buddy from another squadron on Tinker.

  “Hey Elsie,” he said. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m okay. Trying to keep busy. You?”

  “Doing good. Just got back from a TDY in Vegas.”

  “Sounds rough.”

  “Oh, it was. All that sun, booze, gambling, women. I’m exhausted.” He laughed. “Anyway, Logan asked me to check up on you before he left. So this is me checking up on you.”

  My heart warmed at the thought. “That’s sweet. Thanks, I’m fine.” I bit my lip, wondering if I was crossing any boundaries, but ultimately decided the question needed to be asked. “Although, I did want to ask if you’d heard of anything from Bagram.”

  Dave was quiet for a long time. Too long.

  My heart began to beat at double speed. “Is Henry okay?”

  He cleared his throat. “Well, it hasn’t been released to the media yet. So I can’t tell you.”

  “It?”

  “There was an incident.”

  The hair rose on my arms. “But is Henry… is he okay?”

  Dave sighed. He was in the same squadron as my brother, knew that Jason’s death hit me hard. “Yeah. He’s fine.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief all the way down to my toes. “Thanks, Dave.”

  “Just keep an eye out. I’ll be able to tell you more about it once the media starts squawking.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  “So hey, a bunch of us are going out this Friday. Do you want to come?”

  “Sure why not.” That’s one Friday that I wouldn’t have to spend alone.

  “The other guys are bringing their girlfriends, so you won’t be the only girl,” he said.

  I smiled, the first real one in so many weeks. “Sounds like fun.”

  ~

  Dave insisted on picking me up on Friday night and I accepted, not really eager to walk around Bricktown in the dark by myself. Everyone was already there when we arrived, and they greeted us with drunken shouts and cheers. I played fast and loose with the alcohol, glad that for once my thoughts were not being monopolized by a certain tall, dark, and sexy man.

  “Hey, did you see on the news today?” Kelsie, the wife of one of the Captains, asked as we sat around the booth. “The base was attacked.”

  Dave nudged me with his elbow, letting me know that this was what he had been referring to.

  “What happened?” I asked. “I haven’t had a chance to watch the news.” Honestly, I’d been avoiding any coverage on Operation Enduring Freedom for fear of picking up more unfounded fears. Remaining ignorant about the goings-on in Afghanistan meant less ammo for my nightmares.

  “A suicide bomber drove a passenger van with a VBIED to the gate and shot the poor guy on duty,” Kelsie said.

  “VBIED?” I asked.

  “Vehicle Borne Improvised Explosive Device,” Dave said. “The fucker was killed before he could get on base, but he managed to detonate the bomb and take out the gate and a large portion of the fence. A few of the buildings nearby also sustained damage.”

  My heart was pounding wildly even as I told myself that Henry was fine. Still, at least one person had been hurt in the attack “Were there any casualties?”

  I looked up at Dave, who was nodding solemnly. “One airman was shot and killed while another lost his leg to flying debris.”

  I covered my mouth and realized that my hand was trembling. It could just have just as easily been Henry at the gate that day.

  Dave noticed my immediate change in mood and began to rub my back. “Do you want to get some air?” he whispered.

  I nodded and tried a polite smile for the rest of the table. “Sorry guys. I just need a few moments.”

  “You okay?” Kelsie asked.

  I swallowed hard, feeling the familiar tightness in my chest. “My brother was killed in Afghanistan,” I said and excused myself before they could ask questions.

  Dave accompanied me outside, standing awkwardly with his hands in his pockets as I paced the sidewalk.

  “You should go inside,” I told him, taking deep breaths to calm my nerves. “It’s cold out here.”

  He smiled crookedly. “I’m not about to let you stand out here by yourself.” He kicked at a discarded bottle cap on the ground. “I’m sorry about your brother. Jason was a really good guy.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, he was.”

  “He was so proud of you, you know.”

  I looked away, wanting to hide the tears that were threatening to fall. “He talked about me?”

  “Yeah, all the time,” Dave said. “Logan too. He’s always talking about you.”

  That brought an unexpected smile to my face.

  Dave came closer and rubbed my shoulders, a touch that seemed comforting at first, until it went on a little too long. I frowned up at him and opened my mouth to ask what he was doing when he bent down and touched his lips to mine.

  I pulled away as if electrocuted. “What—”

  Dave held his hands up and took a step back. “I’m sorry.”

  “What were you doing?”

  “I think I was trying to kiss you.”

  “I know that,” I said. “But why?”

  “Because I like you?” he said, the end of the sentence lilting up as if he was asking a question.

  I paused, wondering if Dave was a slimy jerk or if he was just not aware of the situation. “You do know that Henry and I are together, right?”

  His eyes widened, giving me the answer. “Shit. I didn’t know.” He stuck his hands back in his pockets. “Fuck. Sorry. That jackass should have told me.”

  I couldn’t have agreed more. “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Honest mistake. It’s his fault for not telling anyone.”

  “My mistake, really,” Dave said with a wry grin. “I should have asked you out sooner.”

  2 | HOMECOMING

  The emails resumed, but they didn’t sound the same. Gone was the intimacy of his words, replaced by nonchalant, almost robotic descriptions of his life there. I asked about the attack during one phone call but he suddenly had to end the call, and since I didn’t want any more abrupt ends to the calls, I never brought it up again.

  The third, fourth and fifth months all blurred together. Keeping busy was not the problem; it was trying to keep my mind from straying back to Afghanistan that was tough. Beth’s tactic of self-distraction was hard to appl
y when everything around me reminded me of Henry.

  I read a ton of books, caught up with a lot of friends, ran a lot, and probably wasted too much time on the internet. I spent many hours at the office, trying to lose myself while away the lonely hours of the night.

  Then the final month came and, I swear, time slowed. I felt like I was moving in slow motion, that no matter how I distracted myself I’d look back at the clock and find that only few minutes had elapsed. It was so much worse than the first month.

  The anticipation was killing me. He was so close to coming home yet still thousands of miles away. In preparation, I tidied up his room, vacuumed every nook and cranny of the apartment, and dusted every surface. I filled the fridge with his favorite food and beer, going so far as buying the bottled olives that he loved so much.

  Finally the most special Wednesday of the entire year arrived. I jumped out of bed with extra spring and took an extra long shower, humming to myself about my boyfriend being back, hey la, hey la. I dressed carefully then drove to base a whole hour before they were scheduled to arrive. They checked my license at the visitor center, handed me a pink slip and let me drive through the gate with a knowing smile.

  I stood at the designated waiting area with the others. Our excitement was a living, breathing thing, so palpable you could almost reach out and touch it. We looked at each other—wives, girlfriends, family, and friends—with unconcealed excitement bursting all over our faces. Some people had created welcome signs; others held balloons and flowers in their hands. I only had the hopeful heart pinned prominently on my sleeve.

  Everybody cheered when the bus appeared from around the corner. We cheered when it drove into the parking lot, and we cheered when it pulled up in front of us—but we were deathly silent when the bus hissed to a stop, as if shushing us.

  We held our collective breaths when the door opened, and I swear it must have taken five minutes for the first person to step down off that bus—but when he did, a woman squealed from somewhere in the crowd. My eyes remained glued to the bus door as airman after airman stepped down. My heart lurched in my chest every time those tan boots came into view; I thought I’d pass out after about the tenth guy who wasn’t Henry.