Stealth and shadows on his side were more important now than ever. He needed to remain light on his feet. The general essence of him as a human being needed to dim. No one should sense his presence until it was too late. Hence, me training blindfolded.
“Eleanor, go take a lap,” I called out for her snide remark.
She groaned, “I’m not going anywhere until you call me Elie,Ryland.”
“That’s two laps, fifteen burpees, and fifty push-ups.”
Elie mumbled something about me being unreasonable considering the heat when a sharp pain snapped my jaw. The impact of Abel’s punch sent me to the floor of The Ring. He straddled my lap, pinning my back to the ground, unable to move. Elie cheered off to the side as a thanks. The sound of her running off on the gravel followed.
A few jokes at my expense circled The Ring at the sight of their Lieutenant downed. If I was still justRiley,I’d laugh with them, but I couldn’t do that. Instead, I kept the scowl on my face that let them know this was no time to laugh. As quickly as they had stopped, their sparring commenced once more.
“That’s not his name, ya know!” Abel called after Elie.
“I know,” she replied, the smile evident in her voice. “Just don’t care.”
I flipped Abel onto his back, blindfold or not—it took little effort given he couldn’t put his full strength into the move. “Dead.”
“I had you. That’s not fair!” He grumbled. His left hand rested on my wrist, unable to put the amount of pressure required to shove me off.
“Which part? You getting distracted by Elie’s nonsense or using a move that requires the use of both arms to make the kill?”
We’d been working on his options, what would give him the greatest chance of making a kill with limited hand-to-hand combat. Instead of remembering his training, he’d let Elie distract him. It was interesting, watching him interact with Elie and Reina. The contrast in his behavior with both. Reina was comfortable around Abel for the same reasons Abel felt at home around Elie. One reminded the other of the youth they were forced to forgo in order to survive. That angst they’d forced themselves to bury deep to do what it took to make it to Monterey’s gates.
“Uh, both?”
“Both will get you killed,” I surmised, pulling off the blindfold and extending a hand up. “Then again, there’s always what Reina’s been working on.”
Abel dusted off his all black training clothes, shifting his arm into a more comfortable position. “She thinks I’m broken.”
I tossed him his water, making sure he kept his wits about him. “She said that?”
“It was implied.” A tense chuckle erupted in between sips from his canteen. “Every day, she’s asking me to stick my arm in some mold, poking and prodding. Testing and, sometimes, pretending it doesn’t hurt, that the pain would be worth the result. At first I was thankful for the help—wanted it honestly. But now …”
“Reina is doing what she thinks is best,” I said. It was instinctive to stand up for her. Reina’s heart was in the right place—she didn’t want to lose anyone else. “I am teaching you whatIthink is best, but only you know what’s best foryou,Abel.”
He paused, glancing down at his arm. His fingers twitched. The deep wrinkling around his eyes made it obvious it took effort to do so. Abel would never hold a weapon in that hand again. Not without Reina’s help. He was lucky to be alive, as was I.
Sometimes, the small blessings were the only win we could hold on to. The rest was another twist in the game called life. How we dealt with it, how we responded, that’s where the difference was made. That was what determined the lens in which we saw the world through.
Jaded and frail, or a warrior. A soldier. A survivor.
Abel’s response started off as a stutter before it firmed up, becoming the voice of a man ready to take on the world.
“I think I need to know how to live my life without it. It’s a kind offer, and I love Reina for working hard on it. And maybe I’ll want it in the future. But for now, I want to explore the person this war has made me. The Abel I was meant to become. I’mUmbra Mortisand it’s ‘bout damn time I acted like it.”
“Oh.” I smirked. “I’ve created a monster.”
Amaia
Two best friends. Two fiancés. Two fathers.
One mother. One “brother”.
They’re all dead, yet I’m expected to keep going.
I slid Sloan’s journal into the drawer of my desk, fingers trembling as they laced through my curls. The seat across from me creaked under Abel’s weight, the legs loose after I’d lost myself in a moment of weakness.
I hadn’t meant to scare him. He’d been through enough. His reasoning had been sound. I could not blame him for this. I could only blame Sloan, and that bitch was dead.
