Sol Strike (Battlegroup Z Book 3) Daniel Gibbs (readict books .TXT) 📖

“Dvora, we’re both married. I thought happily too.”

Tears began to fall down her face. “Maybe we are.” She rubbed her eyes, trying to wipe the tears away. “I go to bed every night, wondering if I’ll wake up again. Or worse, if I’ll come to floating in space and dying a horrible death in my last few seconds.” Feldstein twisted her mouth. “I don’t want to die alone.”

Justin shivered and shook his head. “I understand how you feel, because I have the same nightmares and fears.”

She shrank back. “You think less of me now.”

“Not at all. Dvora, you’re an incredible person, and under different circumstances, I’d have courted you quite hard.” He forced a smile to his face. “But it would be wrong. I know that I couldn’t live with it, and I don’t think you could either.”

“We live with killing people every day.” The words came out hollow, almost without life force behind them.

“Yeah, and how’s that working out for us? Think about how much more broken we’ll be inside if we do something we both know is wrong.”

Feldstein crossed her arms. “For a guy who adamantly claims he’s not religious, you sure do have a moral code, there, Justin.”

“You don’t have to be religious to know right from wrong.”

She stared at him, the seconds ticking away. “Do you want me to transfer out of the Red Tails?”

“Why would I want that? I hope we’re still friends, because there’s no one else I’d rather have watching my back out there. You’ve saved my life twice, Dvora.”

“Yeah, but—”

“We both had a moment of weakness.” Justin touched her hand. “I came very close to kissing you.”

“You did?” Feldstein cracked a small smile.

“Yes.” Justin tried to collect his thoughts. “What’s that theory about there being different universes for every choice we’ve ever had?”

“Uh, physics isn’t my strong point,” she replied with a chuckle.

“Well, I forget the name, but it’s one of the leading theories of how the universe was created.”

“What’s that got to do with us?”

Justin smiled sadly. “Because if it’s accurate, somewhere out there, maybe we met each other at the right time, and everything worked out.”

“That’s a… nice notion. But not applicable to the here and now.”

“Yeah. We’re going to have to be careful going forward. Above all, we can’t be alone together.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t trust myself, knowing I have a weakness toward you.” At her frown, Justin pressed on. “That’s not because of you. It’s me.”

“This is going to be weird, isn’t it?”

“Probably for a while,” he admitted. “But in time, we’ll get back to what we were—good friends and nothing more.”

“Best friends,” Feldstein corrected. “I thought of you as my best friend. I hope I still can.”

“One day at a time.” He finished his tea. “We should probably go. On duty in four hours.”

“Are we okay?”

“We’ll be okay.” Justin stood. “Let’s try to put this behind us and not speak of it again.” It would be far more complicated than it sounded.

Feldstein nodded. “I’m going to hang out here for a while and enjoy my coffee.” She again wiped her eyes. The tears had stopped, but her face was still puffy and red. “Good night, Justin.”

“Good night, Dvora.”

Justin turned and walked out of the mess, head spinning. As he made his way back to his stateroom, Justin pondered his actions. It had felt good to release some of the emotion that had built up. However, that release was overshadowed by the shame he felt at coming close to dishonoring his commitment to his wife and daughter. Am I a good person? What’s wrong with me? The questions plagued him as he climbed into bed and tried in vain to sleep.

At 0500, Justin’s alarm blared, waking him from the restless sleep he’d drifted into an hour before. He sat on the side of the bed, trying to clear his mind. At least I didn’t wake up in the middle of my Sabre exploding again.

The previous night’s events flooded back into his brain as he started his morning routine like an automaton. After he pulled on his workout clothes, Justin made his way to the gym. He felt simultaneously angry and ashamed. Instead of using the exercise bike and stair climber like he usually did, Justin settled in front of one of the punching bags.

Blow after blow, Justin took out his anger and frustration on the fifty-pound leather sack. He uttered a guttural roar and kicked the bag so hard that it almost slid out of its holder. Before it could swing out too far, Justin delivered another kick followed by a series of jabs.

“Hey, cool it off over there,” someone called.

Justin turned to see Major Nishimura, the Marine commander. “Just exercising, sir.”

Nishimura trotted up and stared at him. “Right, and I’m the pope. I know what anger release looks like, Captain.”

Justin realized they were alone. He hadn’t been paying attention when he walked in, but he was glad no one else had seen him. “Yeah.”

“Why don’t you finish your program and grab a shower, and we’ll get breakfast together in the Marine mess.”

“It’s okay, sir. I should probably head out, anyway. I’m going to need more than one cup of coffee before I’m ready for duty.” Justin stepped away from the punching bag.

“Not so fast. I wasn’t asking, Captain. That’s an order. We’re having breakfast in the Marine mess at oh seven hundred.”

A Marine couldn’t order a fleet pilot to do anything, regardless of rank, but Justin bit his comment off before it came out. “Uh, yes, sir.”

“Good. Finish your routine, and I’ll see you in a bit. Oh, and take it easy on the equipment. It’s as old as I am.” He stalked off toward the group shower.

Justin completed a workout set that included weights and twenty minutes of treadmill time. It took forty-five minutes and left him drenched in sweat. By the time he hit the showers and changed into his flight jumpsuit, it was 0650, which forced him to