Page 3 of How You See Me (You and Me Duology #2)

Hayes

S taring at the half-empty whiskey bottle on the kitchen counter—the cap, god knows where on the floor—I’ve lost track of how many fingers I’ve poured over the last hour. Four. Five. Doesn’t matter. I’m not stopping until the bottle’s dry, or I can’t feel my breaking heart. Whichever comes first.

Outside my apartment, the base sounds deserted.

Like the whole damn place is holding its breath for me.

Usually, even at this late hour, there’s something—a Humvee rolling in from a training op, someone yelling through a barrack window, boots on the gravel.

Even the airfield usually groans with distant engines, one or two birds coming in late.

Tonight, there’s nothing. At least nothing my ears and brain can process. Mom’s text hit hours ago, sneaking in without warning like tear gas—simple yet devastating—and turned the world to static.

Mom: Please call me when you can.

That’s all it said. Casual. Simple. But I know better.

She’s not texting to remind her only son to check in.

She needs to relay what the doctors warned us about all along.

The poison they’re pumping through my baby sister’s veins to save her isn’t doing its goddamn job, and we could lose her anyway.

I should sleep. Be a good Marine and face the unavoidable truth at 0600 like I’ve been trained to do.

Yet, here I am, hunched over the counter with the lights off, staring at Mom’s name on my phone, procrastinating until there’s no going back.

There’s a scented candle flickering by the sink—the previous Staff Sergeant assigned to these quarters left it here before he shipped out.

It smells like plastic pine and does shit to cover the stench of my fear.

The only thing I have left for that job is alcohol.

I only bring out the potent stuff when nothing else comes close to silencing the noise in my head.

Beer doesn’t punch me in the throat or cauterize my anxiety quite like the burn of whiskey does.

But after fifteen years in the Corps, not much does.

Except Josie .

Fuck. Josie.

Her velvety skin. The musical sound of her voice. The shape of her tapered waist in my grasp.

I didn’t mean to touch her that night. Didn’t mean to want it that badly either, but her magical eyes practically forced my hand.

Eyes so blue they shouldn’t exist outside cartoons or frozen oceans.

I’d never seen that color before. Well, except in her brother, but his don’t make me do stupid things.

Stupid things like letting my guard down with my best friend’s sister and allowing her to wander into my thoughts. Her pretty face had been tucked away where it belonged until my mother called.

Raising the glass in a lazy salute to my stupid self, I slam back the tumbler and try to let it all go—the looming news, the attraction I shouldn’t feel, the dread squatting heavy on my chest.

Then, pour another.

◆◆◆

A loud bell explodes in my skull—sharp, relentless, merciless.

It takes a few seconds to realize it’s my phone alarm, and my body boots back up in pieces—stiffneck first, a rancid, gasoline taste on my tongue, then my back screaming in protest.

Daybreak leaks through the slats in the blinds, reminding me where I am.

My base apartment—if it could even be labeled that.

It’s standard issue for officers. Beige walls that close in if I stare too long.

Tiny kitchen with a handful of cabinets, a mini-fridge, one wooden stool, and a dented two-burner stove.

A rickety twin bed that creaks every time I so much as breathe pushed into a corner.

Nothing to distract me when duty shuts up long enough for life to bleed in.

Sometimes I miss the chaos of the barracks.

Anything but this silence.

Something wet tickles my cheek. I swipe at it hard enough to sting and inspect the evidence on my fingers.

What the hell? I don’t cry.

I launch off the stool before my brain signs off on the plan. Swaying, I lose the fight with gravity and hit the floor in a graceless sprawl. My gut twists in sync, lurching with the whiskey now sloshing around and threatening mutiny.

With no other choice, I breathe through it while tapping my chest with both hands. Four taps in. Four taps out.

Breathe, Hayes. Breathe or drown.

The day has already kicked me in the teeth, and I haven’t even made the damn call yet. I wish someone would talk me off the ledge I’m lying on. Someone other than my mother and three other sisters, who have already been bled dry by Ava’s fight.

Then again, I’ve never been one to crack open my heart, so what good would a confidant do me?

I drag myself upright and grab my phone. Mom will be up—probably sterilizing every surface in the house before Ava wakes. She does that now. Obsessively. Since she can’t protect her from cancer, she battles germs like they’re tiny terrorists.

I hit Call , and she answers on the first ring like she was waiting on it. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hey, Mom. Sorry, I missed you last night.”

“Long day? You sound rough.”

“Yeah. Same as always.” I rub a hand over my face, grit and stubble scraping my palms. “What’s up?”

She exhales—this bone-tired sound that digs holes in my heart. “They’re transferring Ava to Charlottesville tomorrow. The doctors are talking bone marrow transplants now and want her close to the pediatric cancer center there.”

I sit up straighter. “I’ll donate. Where do I get tested?”

“We’re not there yet, honey. They’re still pushing chemo, and think she’ll get on the list faster there if needed.” Another tired breath. She’s as worn down as me—more, probably.

“How is she?”

“As good as a nine-year-old with a rare, aggressive leukemia can be. She’s exhausted. But she tries to hide it with the tenacity of a Marine.”

“She’s tougher than most of the recruits I train.”

“Gets that from her brother.” Her voice cracks around the edges but holds. “She misses you.”

Dual tears trail down my cheeks before I realize they’d formed. I swat them away, taking my frustration out on my cheeks, and pay for it. “I’d give anything to be there with you both. You know that, right? ”

“I know, sweetheart. Have you asked your CO? Maybe he’ll authorize—”

“No.” The word comes out too sharp. Too bitter. Major Perry wouldn’t sign off on leave if I were bleeding out on his desk.

My commanding officer. The reason my promotion sat in a drawer for two years collecting dust. It took someone higher up, recognizing me, to force the submission. If there was a human version of barbed wire, it’s that prolific asshole.

“I’ll try,” I say, softer, to patch the hole I punched in her hope. “But don’t mention it to Ava. The odds of getting even a day approved are slim to none.”

“That’s too bad. She’d love a visit. But more than that, she wants you to take that road trip you promised.”

“Why would I go without her? The only reason I mentioned it was to give her something to look forward to after chemo. That trip was for her, not me.”

“I know. But . . . she’s scared she won’t—”

“Mom.”

I rake my fingers through my hair, tugging hard at the roots.

Please don’t say it. It doesn’t matter how many times I’d patched bullet wounds or dragged bleeding bodies out of firefights—none of it trained me for this.

I squeeze my eyes shut, rage flaring. Not at Mom.

At the world. The unfairness. The fragility.

It pisses me off how someone so innocent could be targeted by something so fucking cruel.

“It’s her wish, Hayes. She wants to see you live a little and have fun for a change. You’ve forgotten how to do that.”

“Mom.” I’m out of words to stop this ambush. “Fun doesn’t really fit into my life right now.”

“She made you an itinerary with little maps and stars next to places she thought you’d like.”

Damn. “She did?”

“She’s very excited about this. Talk to your superior, please.”

“I don’t want to get her hopes up.”

“Hope is what she needs right now. We all do.”

I nod, even though she can’t see it. “Okay. I’ll talk to him today.”

“Thank you. I know it isn’t easy.”

In the spirit of uneasy positions . . . “How are you holding up?”

“I’m good. Your sisters are helping when they can.”

“What about money?” I check the clock. I’m running out of time.

“We’re fine, honey. Don’t worry. We have insurance, and I picked up some design work—book covers for indie authors. It’s fun. Keeps my mind busy.”

“That’s great, Mom. I’m glad.” Standing, I grab clean cammies from the closet.

“And your father is helping.” The confession comes across quick and cautious. She knows it’s going to set me off and is bracing for it .

“Excuse me?” I throw the uniform onto the bed and start pacing. A different kind of anger, now bubbling in my gut, needs an outlet. “Helping how?”

“He pays for most of her medical bills.”

“But he’d have to be involved to get those.”

“Correct.”

“Seriously, Mom? You’re talking to him? Is Ava?”

“Hayes—”

“I’m sorry. I can’t deal with this right now. I need to go.” I lock it all away—my opinions, emotions, years of pent-up frustration—before I say something I’ll regret.

“Okay, honey. Be safe.” Disappointment laces her audible sigh. The one thing I never want to be for her.

I soften my tone, guilt taking hold. “Tell Ava I’ll call her tonight. I love you.”

“Love you, too. And please talk to your CO. Maybe you’ll catch him on a good day.”

Those don’t exist, but she doesn’t need to hear that. She deserves to hold on to this hope. It’s more than I have.

◆◆◆

I move through my morning routine like a man gearing up for a battle he's already lost.

Every step on the trek to Major Perry’s office is weighted with not only the things I had to bury to show up today but also the words he won’t allow me to express.

“Enter,” he responds to my knock, and I step in. He doesn’t even glance my way. “Make it quick.”

“I need to talk about my leave request before—”