I try not to show my sudden stab of anxiety; I hadn’t anticipated being interrogated by the commander herself. That’s not standard procedure by any stretch, and Towers is not one to break protocol.
Alexi drops into the rickety folding chair beside my cot with a groan, leaning back enough to make the plastene composite creak ominously. “You had us pretty spooked, Captain. You all right?” Alexi was one of the soldiers who saw me leave with Cormac from Molly’s bar. His face is quiet, his gaze frank. I know what he’s asking.
“I’m fine,” I reply, meeting that gaze. “A few scrapes and bruises, nothing more.”
He presses his lips together, frustrated. “I should’ve seen it. I just thought you liked the guy…but I should’ve realized he was one of the swamp rats.”
From Alexi, the slur’s half a joke. Even so, I find myself looking away, smoothing down a wrinkle in the blanket covering my lap. “You didn’t know. Neither did I.”
“I see him again, I’m not waiting to hear his side of things.” Alexi’s eyes are on the X-rays of my ribs hanging next to my bed.
I have to bite back the desire to correct him, to tell him that the guy in the bar isn’t the one who beat me. But what difference does it make? If Cormac’s smart, he won’t show his face here again.
Alexi leans closer. “You look…unsettled. You’re sure you’re fine? No blackouts, no…dreams?” His voice drops for that, as though he doesn’t dare come too near that idea. Doesn’t dare imagine this ordeal will be the one that finally turns the unbreakable Captain Lee Chase into a blank-eyed, violent madwoman.
“None.” I reach for a smile with dubious success. “You know I never get the dreams, Alexi.” I never get any dreams. I haven’t since I was eight years old. Since Verona.
“Hey, even you’re human.” Pause. “I think.”
“Thanks for worrying about me, LT.”
He opens his mouth, but before he can frame any words, the comms unit clipped to his belt crackles to life, making us both jump. A thick, gravelly voice—I recognize it as Captain Biltmore’s—summons him to the security office.
Alexi lifts his head, flashing me an apologetic look. “They had us all reporting to other officers while you were…gone. Temporarily. As soon as you’re up again, we’ll be back with you.”
I don’t bother to hide my smile. Alexi’s one of the few I trust enough to smile at like this, anyway. “Don’t worry, I’ll swallow my jealousy for a day or two.”
The comms unit crackles again, but Alexi clamps his hand onto the mute button with a grimace. “Make it quick, Captain.”
I grin as he gets to his feet. Biltmore’s the asshole of the month, and everyone on the base knows it. No wonder Alexi’s anxious for me to get back on my feet.
Alexi reaches down to lay his palm against my shoulder. “Lee,” he says quietly, his grin fading to something quiet and private and grave. “If you ever do need me, you know I’m here, right?”
My throat dry, I can only nod.
Alexi nods back and then slips from the room, shoving his hands in his pockets and dropping into his habitual slouch.
I exhale slowly, letting my eyes settle on the ceiling. Alexi hasn’t touched me, with the exception of sparring and handshakes, since we first served together on Patron over a year ago. He was the one who taught me I could never under any circumstances become close with someone posted alongside me. Our fling was discovered right after I was promoted, and suddenly every time Alexi got assigned some duty someone else wanted, it was because I was playing favorites, not because I was doing my job.
Alexi requested a transfer, and then I moved on to Avon with my old captain and the rest of my platoon. No one here knows we ever did more than serve together once—now, he’s simply one of my oldest friends. He’s mine, but only in the way all my guys are.
Still. Knowing he’s there—my throat tightens. I wish I could talk to him. I wish I could talk to him, to anyone, about the Fianna boy and his talk of peace, so unlike what we’ve always known to be true of the rebels. But not even Alexi would understand why I didn’t take him prisoner to face justice for his crimes.
Hell, I don’t even understand it myself.
There’s a hospital gown draped over the back of the chair, but I’m not quite willing to face Commander Towers in a dress that doesn’t close in the back. Still, I push myself up into a seated position with a groan and reach for the laces on my boots. It’s not until I’ve tossed one into the corner and am reaching for the other that something loose shifts inside the lining, and I remember the thing I found half-hidden in the mud on Cormac’s island. With everything that happened—the rebel hideout, McBride, my escape—I’d forgotten it.