7. River

7

RIVER

F our years ago

The rotor wash whips my face as the Black Hawk descends, the deafening roar of the blades drowning out the chaos below. Through the swirling dust, I catch glimpses of the war-torn city—crumbling buildings, plumes of black smoke, the sporadic flashes of gunfire a grim tapestry of destruction. Nothing paints a bleaker picture than the kids running around in tattered clothes, their bellies popping out of their otherwise skeletal forms. My throat itches with pain. I grip my M4 tightly, allowing the cool metal to offer a sliver of comfort to the sweat slicking my palms.

We hit the ground running, not unlike a well-oiled machine of destruction. Gunfire resounds in my ears, the sharp reports of our rifles punctuated by the deep booms of distant explosions. We move with practiced precision, weaving through the labyrinthine alleyways, each of us a cog in a deadly machine.

"Contact left!" someone yells, and we pivot, unleashing a torrent of lead into the enemy position. The acrid smell of gunpowder stings my nostrils as bodies fall. But there's no time to dwell on the casualties. We're the tip of the spear, and we keep pushing forward.

Moving quickly, we breach a compound, grenades blooming in fiery bursts, clearing the way for our advance. The air is thick with the stench of blood and cordite. I witness a young soldier, no more than a kid, clutching his stomach, his face contorted in agony.

A medic rushes to his side, but it's too late. He's gone. Another name to add to the ever-growing list.

My team and I fight our way through the compound, room by room, the walls echoing with the thunder of gunfire. We clear each room with lethal precision, moving closer to our objective.

The enemy commander is hiding out in the main hall, cowering behind a makeshift barricade. He raises his hands in surrender, but the glint of madness in his eyes is enough to tell me he's rigged the place with explosives. His hand hovers near a detonator strapped to his vest.

"Don't do it!" I shout, aiming my rifle at his head.

He smiles. This is the face of a man who has nothing left except retribution through death of the worst kind. Nothing I say will stop him. "You're too late," he sneers, thumb pressing down on the detonator.

"Get down!" I scream, diving for cover as the room erupts in a blinding flash. The explosion throws me against a wall, pain radiating through my body. When I come to, my ears are ringing, my vision blurry. I stagger to my feet, what remains of my team converging around me.

"Everyone okay?" I croak, my throat raw.

"River, we've got multiple injuries!" shouts Blaze Martinez, her voice strained.

I look around, taking stock of the situation. Corporal Hawkins is down, blood pooling beneath him. I rush to his side, heart pounding.

"Hawk, stay with me, buddy," I urge, pressing my hands to his wound. He coughs, blood trickling from his mouth.

"Can't…feel my legs, River," he gasps, eyes wide with fear.

"Doc! I need you here now!" I scream, my voice breaking.

Lieutenant Samuel Anders slides in beside me, his hands already working, but one look at his face tells me everything I need to know. The chances are slim.

"I'm sorry, River," Doc whispers, continuing to work, but the light in Hawk's eyes is fading

"Tell…my mom… I…" Hawk's voice trails off, eyes glazing over.

"I will," I promise, choking back the tears. "I will."

"Marshall is down," whispers Blaze from behind my shoulder. "But we can't linger, River. We need to keep moving."

I nod, swallowing the grief threatening to overwhelm me, and push back up from the floor. Bruised and broken, we barrel forward, reaching the reinforced door. Specialist Johnson sets the charges, and we brace ourselves. The explosion is deafening, but it does its job. We rush in, weapons ready, only to be met with a sight that tears at my soul.

Hostages, men, women, and children, huddle together, their eyes wide with fear. They're bound and gagged, bruises and cuts marring their bodies. The enemy had them here as insurance, leverage against any assault. The thought makes my blood boil.

"Secure the room!" I order. What remains of my team fans out, checking for any lingering threats. I kneel beside a little girl, her doe-eyes pleading. I cut her bonds, and she collapses into my arms, sobbing.

"You're safe now," I murmur, though I know my words are scant comfort. We start freeing the rest, moving quickly but carefully. Each freed hostage feels like a small victory, but I know we're still in the lion's den.

"River, we've got movement outside!" one of my men calls out. I glance through a shattered window. Enemy reinforcements. A lot of them.

"Set up a defensive perimeter," I command, my tone harsh with urgency. "We hold this position until extraction."

My team snaps into action, securing the hostages in the safest part of the room and taking up positions. The first shots ring out, the enemy testing our defenses. We return fire, a brutal exchange of lead and will.

I see them coming in waves, relentless and desperate. We hold our ground, every second feeling like an eternity. As the firefight rages, I catch sight of a boy, no more than twelve, clutching a small girl to his chest, shielding her with his body. Their eyes meet mine, and I feel a surge of heat course through my blood. I won't let them die here.

"Cover me!" I shout, charging toward them. Bullets zip past, one grazing my arm, but I push through the pain. I scoop them up, carrying them back to the safer part of the room.

"Stay low, stay quiet," I tell them, pressing their heads down. "We'll get you out of here."

"Enemy is breaching the compound!" another soldier yells. My heart races as I realize we're running out of time.

"Fall back to the extraction point!" I order. "We need to move, now!"

We gather the hostages, ushering them through the corridors we cleared earlier. The sounds of battle grow louder, closer. We move quickly and carefully, each step taking us closer to safety. I glance back, ensuring no one is left behind.

As we reach the extraction point, I hear the thunderous roar of the Black Hawks returning. Relief washes over me, but it's tempered by the knowledge of those we lost.

"Get them on board!" I shout over the noise, helping the hostages onto the choppers. The kids I rescued cling to me, their eyes wide with fear and trust. I hand them to a medic, who offers a reassuring smile.

As the last of the hostages are loaded, I turn to my team. "We did it. We got them out."

But the cost hits home way too hard this time. I've lost some of my best friends. Hawk is…was…his widowed mother's only child. Marshall has a wife and a baby girl back at home. I'll be the one delivering news of their deaths. I scratch my throat, hating the phantom itch stationed persistently in the hollow space at the base of my neck.

Back at the base, I walk straight to General Thornton's office. He looks up as I enter, surprise etched on his weathered face.

"River, what can I do for you?"

The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. "I'm done, sir. I'm putting in my papers."

His eyebrows shoot up. "What? Why? You're one of our best."

"I can't do this anymore, sir," I say, my voice shaking. "I've seen too much, lost too much. I'm not the same man I was when I enlisted."

"War changes everyone, River," he says gently. "But you're a damn good soldier. You've saved countless lives."

"At what cost, sir?" I ask, the bitterness in my voice evident. "I've lost friends, brothers. I've seen things that no man should ever have to see. And for what? To prop up a corrupt government in a country that doesn't want us here?"

He sighs, leaning back in his chair. "I understand your frustration, son. But this is the job we signed up for. It's our duty to serve our country, to protect the innocent."

"I've done my duty, sir," I reply, my voice firm. "But I'm not a machine. I'm a human being, and I've reached my limit. I need to go home. I need to try to heal, to find a way to live with the ghosts that haunt me."

A long silence hangs in the air. Finally, General Thornton nods. "I won't stand in your way, son. You've earned your rest. But remember, you'll always be a soldier. Once you've been to war, it never leaves you."

"I know, sir," I say, a lump forming in my throat. "But I'm hoping I can find a way to make peace with it."

I salute, turn, and walk out of the office. As I step back into the harsh sunlight, the weight of my decision hits me. I'm leaving the military, the only life I've known for what feels like an infinite age. I'm leaving the brotherhood, the camaraderie, the adrenaline-fueled rush of combat. But I'm also leaving behind the pain, the loss, the constant fear of death.

I'm going home. Maybe, just maybe, Bella will have forgiven me by now. If there is any hope left in this mad world, it is with her.

The Present Day

Never, not once in this lifetime of mine, did I think this day would come. I hoped, of course, because that's all a scoundrel like me can do, but to see her standing in front of me, not a ghost, not a dream, but in skin and flesh? God forgive me, but I have never stopped loving her, even though she looks like she'd love to smack me across the face. I wouldn't blame her if she did.

"River," she says, voice and eyes cold.

My legs are uncharacteristically wobbly as I clear my throat. "Hey."

Her brows shoot up to astronomical heights. "Hey?" She smiles, but I can see it's not touched by her usual warmth—although, what do I know? I haven't seen her since we didn't say goodbye all those years ago.

After returning to Whispering Pines, I opened a detective agency, which is doing decently, considering people in this town are very orderly and crimes are relegated to the level of spying on neighbors, parcels getting misplaced, and someone's cat getting stuck in someone else's home. I approached her father, but he told me his daughter had left for the city. It broke my heart, but I'd broken hers first, so I guess I deserved all the loneliness that life had cast my way.

"Um—"

She shakes her head violently and turns the full force of her frigid stare on Marcus, who backs away with a, "Whoa, there."

"I'm leaving," she says coldly. "I haven't unpacked my bags, so if you can just help me take them back to my car, I'll be out of your hair."

"Hmm," replies Marcus, his tone completely conversational, like he's not being stared down by a very angry young woman. "I'd love to help you, but I'm afraid you're not leaving."

Bella's eyes widen and her brows continue shooting up until I'm surprised I can still see them. "What did you just say?"

"I must follow up with an apology," Marcus says swiftly, "although the weather isn't really my fault. But did you not follow the news on the way here? We're experiencing this decade's worst snowstorm."

"That's a load of crap," says Bella, her voice rising to a high pitch. "You're saying that because you want me to be stuck here."

Marcus continues looking at her like she is a very interesting test subject. "Bella, while you are incredibly beautiful and I do enjoy the pleasure of charming women, I assure you, I'm not trying to keep you here."

Bella stomps her feet on the floor and shakes her head. She then proceeds to flap her arms about her and hurl out a string of sophisticated curse words. Then, she takes a deep breath. I'm impressed. "All right," she says between gritted teeth. The vein standing out on her forehead tells me it's taking a huge effort for her to appear this calm. "Let's say we are having a snowstorm. This place always has those, so why should it stop me?"

"Um…normally, it wouldn't," says Marcus, nodding sagely. With that, he gestures to the window, wordlessly inviting Bella to look out.

Bella's old Honda is already mostly covered wet, dense snow. The snow is coming down with a vengeance now. It’s hard to even see through the flurries.

I walk over to the window beside the one where Bella is standing.

The snowstorm rages with—there's no other word for it—an otherworldly ferocity. I look up at the invisible sky as she unleashes her wrath in a relentless barrage of white fury. The snow whirls and twists, driven by howling winds that shriek through the pines. The wooden frame of the cabin groans.

Decades-old trees, tall and stoic, bend and sway, their strength slight against the storm's might. The branches of a thin oak, heavy with accumulating snow, snap and fall.

My breath fogs up the glass as I turn my head sideways to get a glimpse of Bella. Her eyes, wide with horror, reflect the fury of the storm outside. Her viridian eyes reflect the lightning outside, and her whole body releases a quiet shiver. Snowflakes slam against the window, each one a tiny explosion of ice and cold. For a long moment, the wind is the only one of us with a voice.

Then, a fresh gust of wind blasts the house, and we all jump back from the windows. For a split second, every detail is crystal clear—the snow-laden trees, the swirling vortex of flakes, and the resignation in Bella's face.

"I need to make a call." She pulls out her cell phone and shrugs. "I don't have any service."

"Wait." Marcus vanishes for a minute and returns with a satellite phone. "I'm presuming you need to call home."

Bella takes it and makes a call. I don't get to hear what her father is saying, but I see her relief as she speaks to him.

Once she's finished, she hands the phone back to Marcus and nods bleakly at him. "I'm sorry for being so uncivil. Apparently, the world has decided I am to stay here and suffer."

"The world has played a part, yes." Marcus smiles enigmatically. "But why must you suffer? This cabin is stocked with all the essentials. We have a full fridge, access to clean drinking water, a room for your office needs, although…" He stops talking and coughs.

Bella's eyes narrow. "Although what?"

I'm being ignored throughout this conversation, but I'll settle with simply looking at her.

"It happens that your arrival at the cabin coincided with the roof in the guest room leaking." Marcus sighs and runs a hand over his hair.

"So," Bella cuts in, her voice beginning to rise once more, "you're saying I don't have a bedroom?"

"There's my bedroom, of course," Marcus responds.

"I'm not sleeping in your bed," snaps Bella angrily. "I can stay in the living area." She nods at the sofa. "That will do." She glances over at me with renewed annoyance. “Unless you’re staying on the couch of course.”

Marcus doesn't say anything for a bit and watches Bella like I do. I can see that he's smitten. Somehow, it doesn't make me jealous. The man is one of the best friends I have ever had.

“I slept in the office last night,” I say, holding my hands up in surrender.

She harrumphs and looks back at Marcus.

"You don't need to sleep on the sofa," he finally says quietly. Bella opens her mouth, but he raises a hand to plead for a minute to finish what he has to say. "Although I am certain you are more than capable of slugging it out a few days in the living room. It isn't about your capabilities, but my own. I'm not about to let any guest of mine stay here when there is a fully functional bedroom upstairs. You take the bedroom, and I'll use the sofa. God knows, I sleep here after a drink on most nights, anyway."

"What about your clothes?"

"I can get some things from my room and keep them out here.”

Bella gives him a long, hard stare and then, heavens be merciful, finally smiles. I haven't seen this smile in years, in what feels like a lifetime. I missed her. I miss her.

"Thanks," she mutters. "You don't need to pile your clothes here. You can come and get them when you need them."

"Thank you, Bella," Marcus replies with a dip of his head. He finally acknowledges my presence by walking over and slapping my shoulder. "What do you say we finish this tour?"