Ryker McCabe doesn’t do emotions. After being tortured for fifteen months in a Taliban prison code named Hell, he escaped. War stole his entire family. Even the very few who lived abandoned him.
Wren Kane lost her brother to a Russian Mafia boss, and to fulfill Zion’s dying wish, she needed help. Ryker was the only one who could give it to her.
Ryker and Wren find their happy ever after in On His Six. Months later, while on a mission, Ry pulls out pen and paper, fearful he might not return.
* * *
Little bird,
I don’t know what we’re walking into here. Without West’s skills, we could be in trouble. I don’t know this woman coming with us, and though Ford’s vouched for her, she could be batshit crazy. Scratch that. She has to be to want to go into that hell hole.
When we used to deploy, we’d always write a letter to our family. In case we didn’t come back. The first few, you think you’re invincible. You don’t put much into those.
Then, someone gets hurt. Or you lose a man. And then, they get serious in a hurry. You say all the things you wished you’d said before you left. All the things that you think will bring your family comfort.
I won’t write one of those letters to you. This isn’t something I want you to get if I don’t make it back. This is something I need you to read when I do.
So, here goes.
You wish I’d talk more. Don’t give me that face. You do.
I don’t know how.
I’m trying to learn.
This…a letter…it’s easier.
You saved me. The way you see right through me? Always know what I’m thinking? I worry about all the darkness I’m forcing on you. All the nightmares. Fuck, I don’t even know how you can stand to look at me half the time.
“You’re magnificent.” That’s what you’re saying right now.
I’m not. I’m a monster. And I’m not just talking about my scars.
Sweetheart, even if everything goes perfectly on this mission, people are going to die, and I won’t regret killing them. I have to if I expect to get the target out alive. And I will get him out. No question. We never leave a man behind.
Every time I walk away from you, I’m fucking terrified that when I come back, you won’t be able to look me in the eyes. That it’ll finally be too much for you. I couldn’t survive if my darkness smothered your light.
You hear so much over comms. Too much.
Want to know what you’re saying right now? “Horsepucky. I’m not a child, Ry.”
No, you’re not. You’re brilliant. Brave. Strong. You’re my wife, and I thank whatever higher power is up there that you agreed to marry me. That you don’t let me hide when all I want to do is keep my darkness far away from you.
The first time I kissed you, I didn’t want to stop ever again. But I was terrified I’d break you. Letting you go that night, by the window at the Boston Fairmont, was the hardest damn thing I’ve ever done. Harder even than breaking out of Hell Mountain after being shot, crawling over rocks and snow, and falling down a cliff, just to get to safety.
I did it, but only after I memorized everything about you. Your taste. Your scent. How it felt to wrap my hands around your ass. And when I walked away, I saw the hurt in your eyes. You thought I didn’t care.
Sweetheart, nothing could have been further from the truth. I cared too much. I always will.
You were the first person outside of doctors I ever let see my scars. All of my scars. And then you didn’t run away. You hugged me, and fuck, little bird. Your cheek against my chest, knowing you could feel every burn, every scar that will never heal and seeing that you didn’t care? Nothing has ever meant as much to me than that single moment.
I’m on my third piece of paper now, and you’re going to get this and wonder who hit me over the head.
No one. After all that shit with Dax, I knew I had to make a choice. Let you in, or risk losing you forever.
I kept a secret from you, little bird. I started talking to someone again. Not often. Every few weeks. Fifteen months of Hell, being tortured within an inch of my life just so I’d talk? It made me a shitty conversationalist. But I want to be better. For you.
This…it’s a start. I’m not ready to say any of this in person. Fuck, I don’t know if I ever will be. But I’m journaling again. And maybe…this is a way to let you in.
There’s so much I wish I could tell you. Like how much I worry about you. How…
Fuck it. If I’m going to do this, I’m not going to do it halfway. After Hell—after those assholes carved me up and turned me into…this—I didn’t want anyone else to have to look at me. I spent months sleeping in the warehouse. Only going out at night. Staying away from as much of society as I could. Figured I’d spend whatever life I had left making sure no one else had to suffer like I did.
Before I ended up in Hell…I was different. I’ve never told anyone this. Not even Dax. But I wanted kids, sweetheart. Then they turned me into a monster and broke that dream like they broke so many bones. I scare kids. And I should. But these past few months, I’ve wondered. What if…?
We never talked about it. And with this job, this life…I don’t even know if we should. But a little one with you—with your hair, your smile? Your brains? I’ve wondered. What would she think of me? Would I even be able to hold her? Or would she be too scared of me?
Stop worrying I’m being forced to write this under duress. I’m not. I just don’t know how to say the words. So many times, I’ve tried. They won’t come.
If I thought you’d be able to hear me with how loud this plane is, I’d call you right now and try again. I will be better for you. Because you won’t accept anything else. I love that about you.
I love so many things about you. Those…I think I could manage to say out loud. So I will. When I get home, I’m going to tell you. Every day.
Until I almost lost you, I’d given up on having a family. Any sort of family. And now, I have my brothers back. And my team. But most of all, you. I love you. You’re my light. My hope. My heart.
I’ll come back to you. I don’t have a choice. Because nothing in this world means more to me than you.
Ryker