One in a Million (Book 3 in the Four of Us Trilogy)

34 | Stupor

Whiskey's supposed to drown the memory

I've gone from one to one too many

And the thing that really gets me

Is how your memory drowns the whiskey.

-Jason Aldean, "Memory Drowns the Whiskey"

eighteen hours later

Fallujah, Iraq

Miles

I lay on the dingy mattress, staring up at the ceiling. It had been a day since the video had been posted on YouTube, and I hadn't heard anything from my platoon or from the assholes who were holding me hostage.

That's not to say they didn't come near me. They did—and often. It seemed like every hour that they'd come over and hit me, kick me, or berate me. Or all three at once.

But I had heard nothing about the negotiations.

I knew I only had one more day left.

Every single part of my being was terrified. I had absolutely zero doubt in my mind that they would kill me if they didn't get the information they wanted. I had tried to think of every way to get out of there, but I was trapped. There was no way I was getting out on my own; as much as I hated it, I was at the mercy of the United States military. I trusted them, but I didn't enjoy being helpless.

My thoughts turned to Rachel once again as I closed my eyes. The idea of her waiting for the Skype call that never came, and then that knock at the door she had surely gotten.

Thinking about her pain and confusion hurt me far worse than any of the cuts and bruises these fuckers had given me.

Tallahassee, Florida

Rachel

"I'm freaking out here," I said, leaning my head on Brittany's shoulder.

Brittany, Alex, and I were at Alex's apartment watching Netflix and pretending to study. But of course, I wasn't able to concentrate and kept getting them off track.

"I know, Rach," Brittany said, turning her head and kissing me on the forehead.

"I can't stop thinking about it... it's been 24 hours, you guys. They only have 24 hours left before..." My voice cracked, and I shook my head. "I can't even say it."

Brittany held up her hands. "Don't say it." She stood up and clapped her hands together. "I know what you need."

I cocked my head to the side and rolled my eyes. "I don't want to get drunk, Brittany. Every time I get drunk with you, I get sick. I don't want to vomit today."

Brittany laughed and prodded my foot with hers. "Come on! Just a few shots!"

"No, Brittany. I don't think that's a good idea," Alex warned.

"Come on, why not?" Brittany whined.

"We don't exactly have a good track record when we're drunk," he gently reminded her.

"Oh come on, Alexander," she said, putting emphasis on the last two syllables of his name.

I spoke up as I rolled my eyes. "Stop arguing. I can settle this." They both looked at me expectantly. "Alex, you get the shot glasses; Brittany, you get the Fireball."