The One That Got Away

Chapter 6

Monique’s mother, Honey, prayed for her every night; especially since she turned eighteen, up and enlisted without so much as a by your leave. She’d never really gotten over the miscarriage and Honey just hoped and prayed that this wasn’t a roundabout way of committing suicide. She was relieved each time she got a letter; Monique had talent with gadgets and she was posted in maintenance. It was a relief not to have her at the front lines though that didn’t stop her from worrying. Her husband Jean tried to be stoic about it; he talked about how proud he was of his daughter, enlisting to serve. And she knew he was. But he was also worried sick about her, just like Honey was. They prayed every day for her to be injured just enough to have to come home.

Monique was actually on the East Coast; at an army base. She was dealing with the death of one of her regiment mates, Emily Brown. She and her other friend Enzo as well as the late Emily had each other’s backs in Afghanistan. And now they had ended their tour; but only two of them survived.

*****

Enzo was relieved when Monique’s armor finally cracked.

Training together had become routine for them in the years since she joined the army. They were back at it after Monique’s tour in Afghanistan, and Enzo was eager for more days like this now that he was done with the army for good. Just mindless physical activity, mental stimulation via her university courses and escape from reality in the sheltered environment of military life.

By now Enzo knew Monique’s hand-to-hand style inside out; after all, he’d watched it develop. This wasn’t it. Her defensive blocks were getting aggressive. Her offensive hits were turning sloppy and frantic. She was breathing hard, with a hitch behind each inhale that said it wasn’t just from exertion. And Enzo recognized the look in her eyes—a tearful kind of desperation that seemed to shrink her down in defeat and puff her up in anger all at once.

To be honest, Monique looked a lot like he’d felt so many times since Emily’s funeral. There was a rawness to her grief that he hadn’t seen yet from behind her mask of practiced calm, and yeah, seeing it now was a relief.

Enzo wanted to be her punching bag and have that give her what she needed, but all the nights he’d spent abusing his gym equipment had only left him frustrated that the effort couldn’t take away the sting of losing Emily. Grieving was one thing, but letting grief spiral was another, and Monique… right now, she was spiraling.

So when her next punch came, he dodged to the side and wrapped a hand around her wrist. “Monique, hey, let’s hit pause for a minute.”

She bristled and pulled back, but kept her stance up, ready. “No, I’m good. I can keep going.”

Enzo flashed a cheerful smile to defuse the challenge in her eyes. “Oh I know you’re good, Rocky,” he assured her. “I need a break. Just for a bit.”

Monique shot him a skeptical glare. “You?” Her free-floating anger was winning out against the tears he’d seen building a moment ago—they’d all but vanished. Hell, that was probably the point.

“Yeah, me,” he drawled, mustering his best caricature of the Derek Enzo charm to give her something besides anger to focus on. He met her glower with a cocky grin, sliding his shirt up over his abs. “I’ve gotta be careful—I overdo it at the gym and all of this gets a little too ripped.” Her incredulous stare spurred him on. “It’s a real problem. The ladies can’t handle it.”

“Right,” Monique scoffed, but a reluctant smirk crept across her face as she did. Her shoulders relaxed. Enzo gave himself a figurative pat on the back and sent Monique an exaggerated wink for good measure.

“Now you get it. I live a delicate balance.”

Monique rolled her eyes fondly and followed Enzo’s lead as he shed his gear, but she turned away when he settled himself on a bleacher nearby. She wished she could just sit down and join him, but her heart was still pounding; her chest was still aching… She was too restless to settle. The lull in their conversation, which should have been nothing, was making her more uncomfortable with every beat that passed.

The problem was that everything around her felt off lately. Distorted, like she was experiencing her world from behind a wall of warped glass. When she was stuck in Afghanistan recovering from injuries inflicted in the line of duty, all Monique had wanted was to come home—to finally see her family again; start a new beginning. It was all she could imagine that might stop the gnawing ache she’d felt ever since she had walked out on her husband and began running from the pain it caused.

But she was home now, and that ache sure hadn’t gone away.

She knew Enzo’s gaze was following her as she paced. It was intent enough to cut through the fog her mind was lost in, and the scrutiny made her want to squirm. She spun around to meet his worried eyes.

“Grab me that water?” he asked, covering for being caught in a stare. Monique obliged, but ignored him when he gestured to a seat nearby, silently inviting her to join him. The familiar lump in her throat was growing too heavy for a conversation, and she couldn’t blink away the burning sting in her eyes. Instead of sitting, she sent Enzo a dismissive smile and turned away again. Or at least that was the goal. The way the smile pulled at her cheeks felt a lot more like a grimace.

Monique’s only escape plan was to hit the mat—to duck away from Enzo’s watchful eyes and find a way to tire herself out. Anything to make her mind shut down so she could rest.

She’d always hated push-ups. That seemed like a good, distracting place to start. At least it did in theory—or better yet, in an alternate universe where she’d never had to recover from a fu*king explosion—because in practice the action sent a flare of pain through her shoulder. It was sharp enough to make Monique wince, but not enough to make her stop. The shoulder had mostly healed and it was her reason for discharge which was a good thing – she was sick of war- but it still twinged a bit when she pushed her limits. She hoped Enzo hadn’t seen her flinch.