The Man I Want to Be Read online

  She braced for it. That initial exhilaration of him filling her. The inescapable sensation of pure bliss. Slowly, he pressed forward, gliding himself to join with her. Kenna took in every blessed second, every inch, savoring the feel of him. All of him. As soon as he was in, he paused and looked down at her.

  And that was the moment she knew. She wouldn’t be able to leave this island without him. He was hers. And she was his. She couldn’t go back to her life in Chesterville, knowing what they had. She couldn’t go through each day not being able to reach out and touch him. She’d never be the same again.

  Kenna loved Bryan so much it hurt. She couldn’t endure another decade without him. She wouldn’t survive. Tears started to well up, but she forced them aside. She didn’t want to ruin this moment.

  “You okay?” he said, tracing a finger across her temple.

  “I’d be better if you started moving,” she said, swallowing her emotion. “Please.”

  With the sound of the ocean in front of them and the moon looking down overhead, Bryan began to move, giving her what she needed in that moment. All of him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Fuck it was hot. The sun, the sand, everything radiated with a putrid, humid air that nearly suffocated him. They were out on another scouting mission. Another day riding in a scorching metal box the Army called a Humvee, looking for the enemy. Though, who the enemy was had become harder to tell since they hid among the people of Baghdad. Hiding so well that there had been incidents at least once a day without any clue of when and where before it happened.

  They were traveling in a group of three today—Tyke’s vehicle operating as the lead, with SFC Cole’s and SGT Pearson’s vehicles following.

  The butt of Tyke’s rifle rested against his shoulder, the barrel pointed out the window as he peered through the scope at the vast landscape ahead of them. Nothing but wasteland, more wasteland, and a bunch of goats and mountains that led them to the next town in this shit-hole country. The terrain was rough, the Humvee suspension doing nothing to dull the constant bouncing from large rocks and debris scattered along the dirt road. Tyke sat shotgun beside PFC Bradley Hall, a twenty-two-year-old redhead on his first deployment.

  One of Tyke’s buddies, SGT Scott Warner, was singing in the back seat, a regular occurrence over the past few weeks. The kid had been struggling with homesickness, and since this was his third tour in two years, Tyke didn’t mind. Even if Warner had the singing voice of his tone-deaf grandmother. Today’s choice was the cult classic, “I Will Survive.”

  “Give it a rest,” SPC Heath McIntyre groaned from the seat behind Tyke. “Either that or pick a new damn song. I’m so fucking sick of that one.”

  Warner stopped long enough to address McIntyre. “Don’t tell me you don’t like Diana Ross. ’Cause if that’s the case, I’m gonna get Tyke to throw your ass out right now.” And he started back up, but louder and even more off-key this time.

  PFC Hall swiped a camo-sleeved arm over his clammy forehead, keeping his other hand on the wheel. Without taking his eyes off the road, he said, “Diana Ross doesn’t sing that. The Supremes do.”

  “The Supremes?” Tyke laughed. “What the hell are you smoking? The Supremes were out in the ’60s, man. That song was a hit in the late ’70s.”

  Hall shot a quick look in Tyke’s direction. “Diana Ross was in The Supremes, wasn’t she?”

  “Yeah. So?” Tyke focused out the window toward the short cement buildings in the underdeveloped town about a mile ahead of them. “It’s still not her.”

  “You mean to tell me all this time I’ve been thinking it’s her, and it’s not?” Warner sounded like Tyke just kicked his puppy.

  Tyke swiveled to glance at Warner in the seat behind Hall. “Aww, did I just crush your dreams, Scottie?”

  “Yeah. Kinda,” he said, throwing a dejected look out the side window. “Who the hell is it then?”

  “Hell if I know,” Tyke said.

  “Then how do you know it isn’t Diana Ross?” The sound of clicking and snapping went off as McIntyre tinkered with his rifle in the back seat.

  Tyke’s chest bounced on a quick snort. “ ’Cause I’m a savant with shit like that.” He wasn’t. And he didn’t really care who sang the song, he just liked ragging on the guys.

  “I’m just sayin’,” McIntyre went on. “If you don’t know who it is. How do you know it definitely isn’t Diana Ross? Wasn’t she, like, huge in the ’70s or something?”

  Warner was quiet in the back seat. Too quiet. When Tyke turned to look at him, the kid shrugged. “What? I have no clue what happened in the ’70s. Unlike you old fuckers.” He sat up straighter and grinned. “I’m a ’90s baby.”

  The car erupted in laughter as McIntyre smacked Warner in the back of the head with a loud whap.

  “Hey, man!” Warner said, dodging another swat from McIntyre.

  “We’re not that much older than you, dickhead.”

  “How do you know the song then?” Hall asked with a brief glance in the rearview mirror.

  Warner shrugged again. “Doesn’t everybody know it?”

  The Humvee was silent as the men slid quick looks at one another. And then all four men broke into the next line of the song.

  Laughter bubbled up inside Tyke like it hadn’t done since he’d been deployed. His shoulders bobbed, and his cheeks hurt from stretching them so wide. Goddamn, he loved this crew. A bunch of pranksters but also good guys. He trusted them with his life.

  The laughter quieted, but Warner continued to hum to himself.

  “I expect a new song tomorr—” McIntyre started.

  The Humvee rode over a bump, causing the front driver’s side corner to rise into the air before an ear-piercing explosion and a bright flash of light and fire. The wheels on the driver’s side of the vehicle blasted off the ground, flipping it onto its side, then sending the Humvee sailing onto its roof with a crunch. Tyke tumbled, his right shoulder slamming into the front passenger door. The Humvee continued its roundabout motion until it landed back on its wheels, the shift in force making Tyke wobble violently from his left to his right before gaining his equilibrium.

  His ass end came up over his head, his legs dangling awkwardly around his shoulders. Funny, since that was similar to the move Kenna wanted him to try in that stupid yoga class she’d forced him to attend back home. Couldn’t do it then, but hell if he could do it now.

  He righted himself just as a high-pitched, nightmarish whistle blew past them at what felt like a million miles a minute. A rocket-propelled grenade exploded into SFC Cole’s Humvee behind them. Tyke watched in horror as the vehicle ignited in flames. Men from Pearson’s group immediately leaped out, taking cover behind their vehicle, where they began to shoot in the direction of where the threat was coming from.

  Tyke was frozen in place. The harsh realization of what had just happened trapping him in his seat.

  Four men gone. Just like that.

  More will die if you don’t get out of here.

  Right.

  He shook himself, allowing his adrenaline to take over, helping him focus on getting his men to safety.

  Tyke scrounged for his radio. “Zero, this is Bravo one,” he said to the team back at camp.

  “Come in, Bravo one.”

  “We’re taking enemy fire. Repeat—active enemy fire. We need QRF ASAP. Bravo two is down, and Bravo three is engaging incoming hostiles.”

  “What’s your location, Bravo one?” Zero said.

  Tyke offered the coordinates, praying like hell there was a quick reaction force in their immediate area.

  “Everyone okay?” Tyke asked his guys while he waited. “Hall?” He glanced at the driver.

  Hall’s chin rested on his chest, head turned to the driver’s window.

  “Brad?” Tyke gave him a firm shake on the shoulder, which caused Hall’s face to sweep from left shoulder to right. Tyke got a clear view of thick, red blood smeared across Hall’s cheeks, nose, and mouth. And his
eye. Jesus, there was a hollow black hole where one of his eyes had been. The other stared blankly at Tyke.

  Fuck.

  “Warner! McIntyre!” Tyke barked, turning toward the back seat.

  McIntyre groaned behind him as shouts in a language he didn’t comprehend drew closer to their vehicle.

  “You still with me, McIntyre?” Tyke slid a quick glance in the guy’s direction but reached for Warner.

  Another groan from McIntyre and an unfocused look at Tyke.

  “I’m getting you out in one second, buddy. You got it? Just one second.” Tyke turned to Warner, who wasn’t moving.

  “We gotta get outta here, Warner,” he said, extending a desperate arm toward the kid. “You hear me? We gotta go!”

  The clatter of footsteps approaching. More shouting. Bullets blasted around them.

  “Zero!” Tyke screamed. “Zero! I need a status. We’re under fire!”

  “Charlie unit is three clicks from your location and en route. ETA ten minutes, Bravo one.”

  Ten minutes was the equivalent of a lifetime.

  Warner’s eyes were closed, his head ticked an inch to the left. Then the right. A confused mumble of words Tyke couldn’t make out as a deep-red trail of blood spilled out of the corner of Warner’s mouth.

  Tyke did a quick scan of the kid’s condition, his heart hammering in his chest as gunshots sounded like booms from a cannon.

  Blood. A lot of blood. Everywhere.

  And then the ambush started. Bullets rained all around their vehicle, clanking and zipping through the metal like it wasn’t even there. Screams in the native language pelted from their left.

  Tyke ducked in his seat, yelling for his men to move as he lifted his rifle and fired back.

  The enemy was messy in its tactics but effective in probability. The sheer quantity of bullets propelling their way was bound to do damage given enough time.

  They had to get out now.

  Opening his door and throwing himself out, Tyke used the Humvee as a shield to maneuver toward the back passenger door where McIntyre sat. He forced the door open and reached in.

  Tyke threw McIntyre’s arm over his shoulder and hauled him out. “You okay?” Tyke did a quick scan of the other man’s disheveled camo-covered body.

  Brave soldier he was, McIntyre nodded. “Something’s jabbing my side, though.” He tried to reach for it and winced.

  Tyke glanced down at a piece of shrapnel the size of a mailing envelope lodged into McIntyre’s oblique. “Shit,” he said under his breath.

  “What?” McIntyre asked, his light-blue eyes pleading with Tyke. “What is it?”

  “Nothin’, buddy. You’re good.” Tyke gripped the guy’s rifle. “I need you to use this. I need cover to get Warner out. You up for it?”

  McIntyre coughed, blood still trailing down his slightly stubbled cleft chin. “Yeah. Yeah. I got you, man.”

  Tyke paused, giving him another once over. McIntyre’s rifle shook as he lifted it in to position. The other man shuffled to the back end of the vehicle, using the corner for cover. Then he let out an animalistic growl and began firing.

  “Go!” he screamed. “I got you!”

  Tyke jumped into the Humvee, tugging at his friend by the shoulders. Warner mumbled incoherent sentences about Diana Ross and stuff about his girlfriend back home in Kentucky.

  “I know, Scottie,” Tyke said. “I’m gonna get you out, and you’re gonna go see her. Just stay tough, okay?” Tyke ignored the sear of pain in his own shoulder, and the pitiful yelp Scottie made as Tyke yanked him out of the Humvee and guided him on to his back on the dirt road.

  Warner’s face shined with sweat and grime. His expression contorted in pain as he fisted his side where a large patch of dark blood stained his shirt. “It hurts. Fuck, it hurts. Tyke, you gotta help me. Help me, man. I gotta go home and see my girl.”

  Tyke’s mind immediately went to Kenna. Fuck, he missed her. It had been months since they’d been able to video chat. Weeks since he’d called.

  “We’re gettin’ married, Sarge,” Scottie said. “Did I tell you that?” He gave a lopsided grin. “I asked her last week. She said yes. When I go home, we’re making it official.”

  Tyke swallowed his emotion, remembering an almost-identical conversation he’d had with Kenna. He’d promised her he’d come back. They’d get married. Start a family.

  He’d promised her.

  They had to survive this. He never made a promise he couldn’t keep.

  “You will,” he said to Warner. “I’m gonna get you patched up real good. You’re gonna go home to your girl. I promise. We all are.”

  “Even Hall?” Warner asked. “Where’s Hall?”

  Tyke didn’t comment. He was beyond words. Instead, he reached for the med kit. Opening it, Bryan retrieved the anti-coagulant and bandages. He ripped Warner’s shirt open and poured the white powder on his wound.

  Blood seeped from under Warner’s body into a dark, red puddle on the road. Tyke did his best not to look. He closed his eyes and shoved away the anger surging through him.

  “Ammo!” McIntyre yelled. “I need ammo!”

  Shouts erupted behind them, Pearson’s team seeming to lose ground against a force that was three times their size in quantity.

  “Zero,” Tyke yelled into his radio to base camp. “Where the fuck are those reinforcements?”

  “On the way, Bravo one. Three minutes. Just hang tight.”

  Any longer and it wouldn’t be an issue.

  Tyke divested himself of his rifle, tossing it in McIntyre’s direction. The guy picked it up and looked back at Tyke with a look of forfeit. “We’re not gonna make—”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Tyke barked. “Yes, we are.”

  “Leave me, Sarge,” Warner said with a hand latched onto Tyke’s arm. “I’m only pinning you down. You and McIntyre got a shot to escape. Get outta here.”

  “Not leavin’ you,” Tyke said through locked back teeth.

  “You have to,” he responded. “Go. While you still can.”

  There was nowhere for them to go. They were still about four hundred yards from town and about a mile from the mountains. They were sitting ducks, and the enemy knew it.

  “Fuck!” McIntyre curled himself behind the Humvee, clutching his shoulder. Bullets continued to rain around them, pounding against the metal vehicle.

  “Sarge,” Warner said in a strangled voice. “Leave me. Go.” A single tear trailed down Warner’s cheek as his jaw worked. “Tell my girl I died doin’ something that mattered.”

  Tyke’s hands fisted as tightly as his lungs squeezed. These were his men. His friends.

  His family.

  And he’d failed them.

  Scottie’s eyes cleared, and a look of determination passed over his features. “This is the only way.”

  “Always gotta be the hero, don’t you, Warner?”

  The kid coughed out a laugh. “Get outta here before I change my mind.” He brought his hand up, and Tyke clasped it, helping him to stand. Tyke propped him against the Humvee.

  “You sure about this?”

  Scottie nodded, hugging the rifle to his chest, a fresh trail of blood running out of his mouth along his throat.

  Something hit Tyke. Something fast and sharp. In the top part of his right thigh. It jolted him back. Excruciating pain exploded through his entire midsection and down his legs. It spread, making him double over and gasp as if he were suffocating.

  “Sarge!” Warner yelled.

  “Tyke!” McIntyre shouted.

  The last vision he had was red. Red hair spread out like a waterfall over a pillow in the dim light of the early morning. The morning he made his promise to Kenna to come back to her in one piece.

  Instinct now telling him he’d have to break his promise.

  …

  “How are you feeling, Sergeant?”

  Tyke blinked against the light overhead, finding it odd that the sun was so bright and yet he wasn’t sweatin
g. For once, he was cool and comfortable and felt like he was lying on a marshmallow.

  When his vision adjusted, he noticed white walls and a young man in a white lab coat.

  “Where am I?” Tyke tried to sit up, but a pain in his lower stomach forced him back down.

  “Take it easy, SGT Tyke.”

  “W-what happened?” He scanned the room frantically. “Where are my men? Where’s Warner? McIntyre?”

  The doctor, who looked like he couldn’t have been much older than Tyke, glanced toward the doorway, where a steady bustle of footsteps and chatter passed by. “You all had quite an accident. You’re lucky you made it out alive. Very lucky.”

  It was the way he said it that had Tyke on edge. With the corner of his lip pinched in and his balance slightly off-center. Like the guy was finding a way to lessen the blow of whatever he had to tell Bryan.

  “You lost a lot of blood. Took quite a hit.”

  “Quit fucking with me, doc.”

  The doctor cleared his throat. “The bullet. It went through your upper-right trochanteric region, hitting the primary bilateral transection of the spermatic routes.”

  “My what?”

  “It hit you in your upper-right thigh and damaged your spermatic cord. You won’t be able to have children. It’s irreversible. I’m sorry.”

  Tyke bolted upright, ignoring the impending pain his lower body should’ve caused. But there wasn’t any pain. At least not the kind he expected from a bullet.

  He glanced around, taking in the blue horizon, scent of the ocean, and the woman next to him.

  The beach. He was on the beach in Mexico. Not on the sand in Iraq.

  Scrubbing his face, Tyke laid back down and tried to slow his racing pulse.

  Christ. It had been years since he’d had that nightmare. He thought he’d finally gotten over it. No such luck, it seemed.

  Kenna mumbled next to him, a soft, melodic noise, and she cuddled up to him, fitting her shoulder up under his. She snuggled her face into his neck, and he sighed. He actually sighed. He couldn’t believe it. It felt so right and so good to have her wanting him. Needing him. He was going to hold on to it until he had to walk away again.

  Last night was the most incredible time of his life. The sounds she made. The way her body fit his. It was almost indescribable. Unmatched to anything he’d ever find again. But the nightmare he’d just had was a constant reminder that he couldn’t have what he most desired. Life had other plans, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.