Unknown (Unknown Series Book 1) (11 page)

She giggled. As the night went on, I got to hear all the dirty details of Remy’s sorority life at UNLV and their brother fraternity with its myriad of hot, future businessmen. She was in her last year and would have her biology degree soon. Remy’s future sounded glamorous, and as much as I wouldn’t trade my job for anything in the world, I began to wonder if I wasn’t cheating myself out of something. But then, as I stood in the tight bathroom stall of the bar two hours later, holding Remy’s hair back, I realized we all had our place in life. I’d rather be the helper than the puker. Perhaps that made me boring, but I was happy. Ish. Happy-ish.

W
hen it rains, it pours. And floods. And washes away adolescent dreams.

That Thanksgiving, for the first time since the bombings on Fatal Friday, a true sense of dread had settled over the U.S. There’d been so much hearsay of imminent danger over the years. So much talk of threats and possible enemies, but it seemed like hot air because nothing ever happened. Today felt different. Every news station was abuzz. I sat with my family after our Mexican-American feast, watching the coverage. My phone sat on my lap, ringer on high in case I got called in to work.

“Tomorrow is being hailed a monumental day in U.S. and world history,” the anchor said. “Every U.S. Senator and House Representative, along with our President and Vice President are headed to Washington DC to meet with leaders from allied countries. Never before will so many leaders be together outside of a decreed summit of the United Nations: Britain, France, Spain, Turkey, Belgium, and Canada to name a few. Those who cannot join will be present via satellite. The security level of the nation’s capital is on the highest alert it’s ever been.

“For those of you just joining us, U.S. intelligence gained undisputed evidence that three undisclosed nations have nuclear weapons that are not sanctioned by the U.N., and are refusing to disable or allow the U.N. to further research. Our sources suspect the countries are Russia, North Korea, and one of the Middle East Emissaries, but representatives will neither confirm nor deny those rumors. They have, however, confirmed that our country is under a dire threat. The House speaker was quoted this Monday saying
‘Time is of the essence. We are overriding the U.N. and taking matters into our own hands.’
”

At this, my father shook his head from the recliner. “About time.” Grandpa Tate murmured his agreement. Mom, Abuela, and I continued watching in silence.

“Once the international panel has met this evening, the U.S. representatives will immediately vote on whether or not the U.S. should declare war. The meeting is expected to last through this evening, possibly into morning hours.”

There had always been known threats—countries and groups that were hostile to western culture, but it sounded like the current perpetrators were taunting us, with bombs pointed and fingers on the triggers. The news switched from the anchor to demonstrators on The Mall lawn in D.C. Some cried out for peaceful negotiations, while others hollered for the swift justice of war. And though it was all a bit unsettling, I felt a grateful sense of distance from the danger. I was glad to live in the middle of nowhere.

I stood, ready to hit the sack early, but a special alert flashed across the screen.

“Senator Bradford Navis of Nevada is being flown from proceedings in the nation’s capital back to his home state. We’ve received word that his wife has been in a car accident and is in critical condition.”

What? I pressed a hand to my heart as Mom and Abuela gasped.

“Not the senator,” Mom said.

My heart ached. Bradford Navis was young and vibrant. He took office at thirty, his gorgeous wife at his side. The two of them were clearly in love, the way they always smiled at one another, caught on camera. They couldn’t have children and it was common knowledge that they were in adoption proceedings.

“That is a damn shame,” Grandpa said softly.

“I light candle.” Abuela stood and disappeared to her guest room to pray.

I sat next to Mom, feeling too heavy to get up and go to bed now. I saw tragedy all the time, but it was always hardest with young couples and families. So full of life and energy. To see someone’s candle snubbed so soon, so suddenly, it filled me with an aching hole full of questions.

My phone buzzed with a text message, filling me with disappointment at the thought of getting called in. But when I looked, my heart rose into my throat. It was Rylen.

Happy Thanksgiving.

I grinned like crazy. He rarely texted me unless he was somewhere in the U.S., off duty. I texted Happy Thanksgiving back to him. Where was he?

Then he said:

I bolted to my feet. “Oh my gosh! Rylen’s coming over!”

Mom jumped up too, clasping her hands and beaming at me, then she ran off to straighten up the kitchen. She knocked on Abuela’s room on the way, telling her in Spanish that Rylen was on his way. Dad grinned and kicked the footrest down on his recliner.

I typed back with a shaking hand:
Yes. See u soon!

Rylen! I dashed into the bathroom, feeling giddy as I brushed my teeth, then into my room to change into something cuter and brush my hair. I was swiping on lip gloss when I heard the door open and happy voices ringing out. I ran down the hall and into the family room, stopping in my tracks at the sight of not one, but two people.

Rylen . . . damn . . . he looked so amazingly good, dressed in his BDUs. But at his side was a girl. A cute, petite, shy-seeming, Hispanic girl. Rylen gave me a half-smile from across the room. He seemed almost nervous, the way his eyes darted around to each of our faces, stopping on mine for an extra long moment before focusing on Mom. Then he put his arm around the girl’s shoulder and said, “Tate family. I’d like you to meet Livia . . . my wife.”

Dizziness overcame me. The room was silent as a beat of shock settled over us. Mom shot a worried glance at me, but at the sight of my stony face quickly looked away and recovered with a beaming smile. And then my parents converged on them, making happy sounds, giving hugs, asking questions that I couldn’t hear through the storm in my ears. My entire Thanksgiving meal threatened to make an ugly reappearance. I vaguely felt Mom’s hand on my shoulder, pulling me forward, casting another anxious look at my face before she plastered on that smile again.

I went forward numbly and gave Rylen a quick, weak hug around his waist. I tried to pull away, but he held me.

“Wow,” I said quietly to his chest. “I . . . congrats.”

I couldn’t look at him. I felt like I had no control over my body. I knew I should be smiling. Hugging with gusto. Showing excitement for them. But my body and heart fought against those basic rules of propriety. The girl was so close, right there beside us like an unwanted elephant in the room.

“Hola,” I heard the girl say in a small voice. Rylen released me and I gave the girl a robotic hug, kissing both her cheeks. I managed to whisper in return, “Hi.”

“You Amber?” she asked.

I pulled back and nodded. My eyes were burning. I wanted to run from her sweet face. She gazed at me with nervousness.

“Ry-
len
tell me . . . of you.” She seemed to struggle for the words in English. And the way she said his name, putting the emphasis on the second syllable of his name, making it sound like something different, something uniquely hers . . .

“Yeah?” I said. I had no idea how I was still standing there. Especially when Rylen put his arm around her again and pulled her closer in an awkward side embrace, as if trying to make her more comfortable. This girl seemed nice, however I felt a vileness toward her that made me ashamed.

“Yeah,” Rylen said to me. “Liv’s gonna be staying at my dad’s until I can get us housing at my permanent duty station.” His eyes raked me, searching me. He sounded uncertain, which I knew was because he couldn’t read me, but he kept going. “I was hoping you might be able to help her out when I have to go away. She’s twenty, so you two are close in age.”

No, this wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. He wanted us to be besties.

His eyes bore into my unfocused ones as if he were pleading with me. Or apologizing. I couldn’t read him either. I nodded without words, and Mom was suddenly at my side, speaking for me.

“Of course, Ry!” She smiled and acknowledged Livia, speaking to her in Spanish. “You are welcome here any time. No need for an invitation. We’ll give you our phone numbers—”

“Already done,” Rylen said. Though he never spoke in Spanish, he always seemed to understand the gist of what we said. “I got her a phone with everyone’s numbers programmed.”

“Perfect! Now, tell us where you two met.”

The girl looked up at Rylen.

“Guatemala,” he said. “She’s from a really small town near where we were doing drills.”

The girl smiled, that nervous air never leaving her. “I know . . . little English, pero I learn.”

“My mother is originally from Mexico, and she’s still learning English,” Mom said with a laugh. She motioned to Abuela, who had come into the room at some point and stood with her hands twined in front of her. Abuela came forward and kissed both of Livia’s cheeks, then moved away, watching the girl carefully. Then Abuela looked at me. I tried to smile, to reassure her, but my half-hearted attempt only made her eyes droop further.

“So,” Dad said. “Where is your new duty station?”

“Nellis,” Rylen answered.

God, that was so close. For a second I felt joy—I’d dreamed of him being stationed near us for so long, but now—oh, God, now . . . I didn’t know if I could handle it. How could he be married?

Dad laughed. “You gonna be checking out all the aliens over at Nellis?”

Rylen laughed too. “I sure as hell hope not.”

“You hungry?” Dad asked. “We’ve got plenty of Thanksgiving leftovers.”

“No, Mr. Tate, but thanks. We ate.”

A lull of silence passed. I felt Rylen’s eyes on me, but I couldn’t look straight at him. The room seemed to spin like a funhouse maze. Or a nightmare. Or a torture room. The ache inside of me—the attack on my emotional state—felt like it would glitch my entire nervous system.

“So,” Grandpa said. “How’d you meet?”

“My unit had some business in Guatemala.” Rylen paused and glanced down at Livia. She gave him a soft smile and then dropped her eyes. “We met outside of the market in town.”

That was it? Typical Rylen and his typical private nature and lack of details. Not that I really wanted details.

“The ceremony in Guatemala was quick, just enough for the government to allow her to leave, but we still have to get a U.S. marriage license and make it official here.”

“Ah, a wedding!” Mom clasped her hands.

“Nothing big,” Rylen said, shifting his stance.

So, they weren’t technically married. Well, in his eyes I’m sure they were, but not
legally
. Ugh, my stomach was a wreck.

“Have you told Tater?” Mom asked.

“Yep. Gave him a call as soon as I got stateside. But I asked him not to tell.”

I let myself look up again. At him. At her. This was real. This was happening. This wasn’t something small. She wasn’t some random girlfriend. She was his
wife
, and Rylen was loyal to a fault. It’s what I loved about him. And this girl, Livia, was from a culture where women weren’t likely to seek divorce the moment things got hard. She was probably in this for the long haul. This was permanent.