Delilah's Tears

Chapter Five

James

What a long fucking day. It's hotter than Satan's balls out there, and we're weighed down by fifty pounds or more of gear. My dusty, dirty clothes are doused in sweat. I doubt there's a shower on the planet that could get me clean enough. There's probably sand imbedded in my ass crack for fuck's sake.

"Coury!" The lieutenant bellows across the compound, stomping toward us as we're climbing out of the jeep.

"Yes, sir." I pitch upright, wondering what fresh shit is about to hit the fan. Quickly I run through the events of the past forty-eight hours, coming up empty. Can't think of a damned thing which would put this kind of a scowl on Brady's ugly face.

"Come with me." Without waiting, he spins on his heel and beelines to his makeshift office tent. Great. Whatever sweet hell he's about to unleash can't be good. A solo chewing out never is.

"Sit, soldier." He lowers himself into his chair, and crosses his arms on top of the desk waiting for me to obey orders. Once I'm seated to his satisfaction, every line on his face relaxes. My gut seizes up. "No good way to tell you this..."

"Sir?" I grip the arm rests of the chair as my heart pounds, adrenaline racing at top speed.

"JD." Fuck. He never calls me JD. I'm sweating all over again. "I'm sorry to tell you...Your brother John is in the hospital. Seems he had some sort of stroke. Son, it doesn't look good. Your sister-in-law is waiting to hear from you. We're processing papers to get you home ASAP, but it may take a few days to get you outta here."

Hornets have taken up residence in my head. The buzzing grows louder and louder as the sonofabitch talks. I hear him, but he's making no sense at all.

"Sir, I'm not sure I heard you right. What you're saying...it doesn't make sense."

"Soldier, pay attention." His gruff tone is back in force. He slaps a hand down on his desk, stirring me from my stupor. "Your brother had a stroke. He's in a bad way. Get out of your damned head and call his wife. She's apparently a huge mess."

I bolt to my feet. Fuck! Delilah! "Jesus Christ. I've...I've gotta call Delilah. John? Jesus. Am I dismissed, sir?"

"Get outta here." He waves me off and I don't waste a minute hauling ass to the barracks where I fire up my laptop and place a FaceTime call to Delilah. I nearly plowed over Duane when I busted in.

"Hey, man...where's the fire?" The grin on his pasty white face freezes when my glare back at him is hotter than the damned desert sun.

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up." I stab at the keyboard, praying that, whatever the hell time it is in California, Delilah answers my call. She does. She looks like a train wreck.

"D-doll. Oh, D-doll. Talk to me, baby." A dozen sledgehammers smash at my heart when she starts crying, hiccuping, and wailing. I'd give both my balls and the balls of every guy in the platoon to be there and wrap her in my arms, make this disaster go away.

"James." My name crackles on her lips. I peer at the room behind her on screen. Their bedroom. She's not at the hospital. That's good, right? Just as the stony muscles in my shoulders start to relax, she gasps out the next few words, then totally breaks down. "Oh, James. Oh, God. John died this morning. Please. I need you."

I cannot fucking breathe. I may never breathe again. John is dead? What kind of fucked up dream am I having?

"Delilah. Tell me. Tell me. That can't be right, baby." She's wrong. Maybe she's having a lucid nightmare. Maybe I am. It's the only explanation which makes any damned sense.

Someone enters the room. Delilah's mother and father come into focus, her mom wrapping her in a blanket. Her dad, Hank, takes the laptop and leaves the room. Once in the hallway, he focuses on me. He looks like shit, too.