Billionaire Daddy and Nanny 2(15)

I laughed. “Yeah, training has a way of doing that,” I said. “They know how to fire you up, but good.”

He nodded. “They do,” he replied. “But I'm not that guy anymore. If anything, being around so much death and destruction has made me realize how precious life is. And how much I actually have to lose. In a weird way, all this killing and death has made me a little more human – it's definitely made me more sentimental and crap.”

“I'd say,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You sound like a fuckin' Hallmark commercial mashed up with a motivational speaker. In other words, you sound like a first-class little bitch.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Mason laughed. “I'm serious though. Everything we've gone through over here has made me really realize how much I love and appreciate Carrie.”

I was giving him a ration of shit, but on the inside, I couldn't have been happier for him. He deserved to be happy. To feel loved and appreciated. Mason was one of the good ones and deserved nothing but the best.

“I know you're serious, brother,” I said. “And I really am happy for you. Carrie's a good girl. You two make a great couple.”

We normally didn't talk about shit like that. We kept it to video games, hot women, sports – you name it. We didn't get sentimental. That wasn't our way and it hurt too damn much. Especially since my girlfriend and I had broken up before I'd shipped out. She was somebody I really cared about, but she wanted someone who was going to be there for her, all the time, at her beck and call. She was upset when I told her that I was leaving and I couldn't be that for her. I had responsibilities and she couldn't understand that.

I'd asked her to wait for me. Told her we'd be able to keep in touch all the time. I promised that when my tour was up, that I'd be there for her twenty-four/seven. I would never leave her side if she didn't want me to. But she wasn't willing to wait for me. Wouldn't even consider it.

To say that it hurt, would be an understatement. I remembered feeling like I'd been kicked in the nuts by a mule.

“You'll find someone someday, Drew,” he said quietly. “No doubt about it. And she'll be somebody worthy of you. Somebody who can put up with your stupid ass.”

“I already have, Mason,” I said. “I've found that woman. And my God, is she fuckin' amazing in the sack.”

“Oh yeah?” Mason raised his eyebrow, curious.

“Yeah. It's your mom. She is an absolute mattress stallion and we couldn't be happier together,” I said, turning the conversation back to the same inane shit we always joked about. “Which means that you're going to need to start calling me Dad.”

Mason shook his head and smiled, “Whatever makes you happy, Drew. Whatever makes you happy,” he said. “Although I know you're full of shit because my mom has a little taste – which automatically rules your tacky ass out.”

I woke up drenched in sweat, Mason's face still emblazoned in my mind. That's the way to remember him, they told me. I remembered him happy. And he was never as happy as he was when he talked about Carrie and the future he planned to have with her. A future that would never materialize now. All thanks to me.

I saw Carrie at his funeral – but she didn't know the full details of what happened. There were elements of our missions we couldn't talk about. And it killed me to know that she didn't have the full story. But then, if I had told her the full story, she'd have killed me herself, I had no doubt. She'd know it was my fault that Mason was dead every bit as much as I did.

During the service, she was overcome by grief and fell to her knees, sobbing as f her entire world had fallen apart. And in a way, it had. All because of me.

All because I sent Mason ahead of me when I was supposed to be the one on point. All because I didn't think to check the area before I'd sent him on ahead.

And Dr. Emerson wanted me to believe it wasn't my fault?

Bullshit.

But as I stared at my ceiling, feeling lost and confused, I yearned to talk to her about everything I was thinking and feeling in that moment. I wasn't sure why, and perhaps my reasons were more personal than for therapeutic, but I just wanted to hear her voice. I wanted to hear what she had to say.

Because I hated living like this. Every single day was hell, and perhaps my Captain and everyone else was right about me needing help. And if anyone could help me, I thought that it would be her. There was something about her was just – special. I couldn't put my finger on it. But she made me feel comfortable. She made me feel like I could open up and that it would be okay. She made me feel like she'd listen to me without judging and that she genuinely had my best interest at hear. She was good at what she did.