Free Rome: A Marked Men Novel by Jay Crownover Page B

it.
    Luckily Nash hadn’t been home, because this nightmare, when it woke me up, was violent enough that my
    own screaming had jolted me awake. I was sweating and shaking and getting a drink sounded awesome. I
    didn’t do it, though, I just lay there and let the images that had been too harsh to sleep through roll
    endlessly through my head. I knew logically that if they didn’t go away, I was going to have to get help, that
    I probably had bits and pieces of PTSD courtesy of the desert and too many years at war. I wanted to think
    I was tough enough to handle it on my own, that it would just fade away with enough time, but I wasn’t so
    sure anymore.
    I swung my legs out of the bed, thinking a nice predawn run would get my shit back on straight, when
    my cell phone suddenly rang from the desk where I had it on the charger. Icy fingers of dread raked down
    my back. Early-morning calls like this never led to anything good. It rang four times and was going to get
    sent to voice mail before I talked myself out of being scared enough to answer it. I didn’t recognize the
    number, but it was long and the connection was barely audible and broken, so I knew immediately that it
    was coming from overseas.
    “Hello?”
    “Master Sergeant?” I barked out a bitter laugh and propped myself on the edge of the bed. I noticed
    absently that my hands were shaking.
    “Not anymore. What’s up, Church?”
    Dash Churchill was my sergeant first class, and I recognized his slow Mississippi drawl even across the
    bad connection and with my mind being sleep-deprived. We had moved up the ranks together and served
    in the same unit for the last six years. We were soldiers first and friends second, but I trusted him implicitly
    and knew that if he was calling with no consideration to the time change and the fact I was no longer his
    commanding officer, then shit had to be bad.
    All I could make out was a garbled bunch of words, stuff like “bad intel,” stuff like “FUBAR mission,”
    things like “outgunned” and “hidden explosives.” I heard “insurgents” and “loss of life” and my brain went
    haywire. I went immediately into commando mode, trying to get him to give me just the pertinent details,
    only to get shut down by things like it being classified and on a need-to-know basis.
    I swore at him and had to refrain from throwing my phone at the wall. With gritted teeth I asked why he
    called if he wasn’t going to tell me anything. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest I could feel each
    thump, each beat in every tip of my fingers.
    “Three KIA, four in serious condition getting airlifted to Germany. They were ours, just thought you
    would want to know.”
    The line went dead and I let the phone fall from numb fingers. I put my head in my hands and tried to
    stop myself from freaking out. I wasn’t in anymore, they weren’t my men anymore, it wasn’t my mission
    anymore, but none of it seemed to matter. If they were in my unit then I knew two things: they were too
    young to be dead, and if I hadn’t been such a mess, both physically and mentally, maybe I could have stuck
    around and prevented it.
    I couldn’t stay in this house. I couldn’t be alone with just my wayward thoughts for company, so I
    changed into track pants, put in my earbuds, and went running. It was either that or cash the bottle of vodka
    and be useless the rest of the day. I ran until I couldn’t see the blood and bodies anymore. I ran until my
    muscles burned and my lungs felt like they were turned inside out. I ran until there was so much sweat on
    my face no one could notice the moisture building in my eyes was anything but exertion. I ran until my
    heart thudded and hurt for another, more tangible reason.
    When I got back to the Victorian, I took my time in the shower and contemplated calling Brite to tell
    him I had zero motivation to be at the Bar today, but then the idea of just sitting alone in the apartment with
    silence and too much