Sergeant Mateo Russo.

Killed in action.

Taken out by an IED.

That was how the media would remember my friend. That was all most Americans would ever know about Matty.

Only the other jarheads and I felt his loss like a suckerpunch to the solar plexus.

I couldn't imagine the world of pain that his wife was going through right now, and how she was going to explain something as definitive and fucked up as this tragedy to their four-year-old daughter.

The huge gaping hole Matty-boy left behind could never be filled. Sending thoughts and prayers felt like hollow gestures when a lifetime of grieving couldn't replenish the void.

My friend was dead. Gone. Blown to bits.

Matty had only been twenty-eight. Seven months younger than me.

Aisha was now a widow. Sadie was now fatherless. They wouldn't even get to see Matty's face one last time to give him a proper goodbye.

No doubt, his funeral was going to need a closed casket.

Everybody loved Matty, and Matty loved everybody. He was one of the few genuinely decent human beings I had come across in my life.

I was still reeling. Still processing his death.

This was a risk that we all knowingly signed up for with the Corps, but it didn't hurt any less whenever the dangers of combat snatched one of our brothers or sisters in arms from us.

God, I had just spoken to the son of a bitch yesterday.

I gave the poor bastard so much crap about simping over a care package that his wife and daughter had sent him—even though I secretly envied him for it...

That shit made me think of Gracie.

She used to send me packages, too. Homemade cookies with naughty polaroids.

The cookies were long gone. I still had the polaroids, though. I kept them with me. Always. Pulled them out whenever I missed her. And whenever I needed to rub one out.

Fucking Gracie. Fucking Matty.

I couldn't afford to lose my shit. Not yet, anyway. None of us could. Not in a place like Helmand province—

Or else I would be joining Matty very, very soon.

Or worse—

I might fuck up and send another one of my guys into an early grave.

My mind was teetering on the brink of chaos, but I refused to let myself succumb to it. My six month deployment would be coming to an end in two weeks. I just had to hit the mute button—drown out all the white noise for now and hold out for two more weeks.

Stay alert, stay focused—to stay alive.

And somehow deal with the aftermath once I got out of this hellhole.

✦

After Matty's funeral, I spoke briefly with Aisha. I gave her my condolences. Told her to reach out if she needed anything. Anything at all. I figured the least I could do for Matty was to make sure that his widow and kid would be looked after.

Then, I went to Finnigan's and drank myself into a deep stupor even though I hated the smell and taste of alcohol. It reminded me too much of my old man. Desperate times, however, called for desperate measures.

I just wanted to stop thinking, stop feeling, for a few goddamn hours.

Two whiskeys and four beers later, she walked in.

Gracie.

She looked fucking gorgeous. Good enough to eat. My heart began pumping into overdrive. My cock stirred.

She came closer.

No, wait—

My face fell. My excitement plummeted.

Not Gracie.

Lydia.

Before I even knew what was happening, she ambled right up to me and plopped down in the seat next to mine.

Lydia smiled brightly at me. "Holy shit! Gray? Is that you?"

I forced myself to smile even though I felt depressed as hell. I wanted to be left alone, and I had never been super fond of Gracie's sister. As twins, they might have shared the same face, but the two of them were nothing alike. Seeing Lydia here just made me miss Gracie even more.

Still, I didn't want to be rude to Gracie's sister.

"Hey, Lydia. Long time no see."

Lydia gave me an appreciative once over. It made me uncomfortable.

"Are you still in the Marines? I gotta say, Gray, this whole 'fighting for your country' thing is a good look on you."

I took another swig of my beer and tried to ignore the flirtatious tone in her voice.

"Yeah, the Corps still owns my ass. I'm on leave right now for two weeks before I ship out again."

She pouted. "Only two weeks? That hardly sounds like enough time to unwind properly. You must be so stressed out. Poor baby."

Me? Stressed out?

I chuckled darkly.

Lydia didn't know the half of it...

Out of nowhere, I felt a hand on my shoulder. The alcohol was beginning to cloud my—mind? Yes. My mind. It was clouding my mind.

Lydia started to massage the back of my neck. It felt pretty good, but I shrugged her off.

God, I missed Gracie.

My words—felt heavy on my tongue as I tried to speech. Speak.

"It's... not too bad... once you get used to the routine."

The room tilted slightly. I blinked and stared at Lydia.

She looked just like Gracie. I wished she was Gracie. I was dying to ask about Gracie, about Gracie's married life with that asshole—even though I knew it would probably...

Detonate me.

No, no, no—hold up. It would...

Devastate me. Yeah. 'Devastate' was the word I had been looking for.

My brain became a bit fuzzier. I was pretty sure that I was slurring by now.

"So... how's my Gracie doing? Is she... still living... her best life... with that shithead?"

Lydia laughed. "Shithead? You mean, Craig? Oh, baby, didn't you hear? They called off their engagement a long time ago..."

This jolted me from my drinking—

No, not drinking.

Drunken—daze. Drunken daze. Daze? Yeah. Drunken daze.

"What? They called off their engagement?"

Lydia nodded sadly. "Yeah, Gracie can't have kids. Craig wanted kids. I think the breakup was fairly mutual. Gracie seems better off without him. I'm really happy for her, actually."

My jaw dropped. Then, it clenched.

I suddenly felt like vomiting. A potent concoction of remorse, anger, and confusion crept up my throat. The emotions tasted acidic and bile-coated.

I stared at Lydia blankly. Her face screamed Gracie to me. Gracie, Gracie, Gracie...

Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck...

What the fuck had I done?

If the universe had been planning to take away the 'happily ever after' that Gracie deserved all along—

Then—

Why the fuck had I stayed away for all those years?

My gaze bore into Lydia. Gracie. No, Lydia. No, Gracie, Gracie, Gracie...

Did that mean—

Gracie should have been—

Could have been, would have been—

Mine all along?

My heart wept and sang as though it couldn't decide whether a bereavement or celebration was in order.

I didn't know how to wrap my mind around the situation anymore—

Common sense didn't make any fucking sense anymore—

I stared deeply, longingly, into her big brown eyes, and then I did what I should have done a long time ago—

I leaned over and kissed the living daylights out of my sweet, beautiful, perfect girl.

My Gracie.