“You’re nothing like your dad.” She leaned back to look at him, a dent marring her brow. “You don’t hurt the ones you love. You protect us. That’s the exact opposite of your dad.”
He wasn’t sure how, but somehow, Lena had just flipped all his self perceptions upside down. It was confusing.
“You make me out to be better than I am.”
“You know what Dad said to me before he died?”
“What?”
“He said, ‘Take care of Dallas, Lena. He needs you.’ Dad wouldn’t have said that if he thought you were a monster.”
Dal absorbed her words. Had Mr. Cecchino really said that?
“I think that was Dad’s way of giving us his blessing. He had to know how we felt about each other.”
“What if I hurt you someday?” he whispered. “What if I lose my temper and turn into my dad?”
Lena snorted. “You’d never hurt me, Dallas Granger. But you might beat the shit out anyone who does. Even if it is just a goat.” She snuggled up against him. “I kind of like that.”
God, he loved this girl. If he lived long enough, he was going to marry her. He knew that as surely as he knew his shoe size.
She kissed him. It was a long, soft kiss mixed with the salt of tears. Dal wasn’t sure if the tears belonged to him, to Lena, or to them both.
He grieved for the remembered pain she wore in her scars. He grieved for the loss of Mr. Cecchino. He even grieved for his own parents, whom he’d never had a chance to love.
“There were times when I wanted to kill my dad.” How ironic he was now being given the chance to do just that. “Even when I was little. I’d get so mad I’d go outside and throw rocks or kick trees. I’d plot ways to fight back. But he was always bigger and stronger than me.”
“It’s time to let him go, Dal. It’s time to let both of them go.”
Dal kissed her one last time before getting to his feet. Resolute, he grabbed his Soviet-issued machine gun and strode around the corner of the barn. Lena was by his side.
His parents went nuts at the sight of them, redoubling their efforts to break through the fence. He walked straight toward them, no hesitation in his steps.
Younger versions of himself walked beside him. The eight-year-old with the black eye. The eleven-year-old with the dislocated shoulder. The fourteen-year-old with the cracked ribs.
They fanned out around Dal like an army. They wanted revenge. They wanted retribution.
All Dal wanted was peace. Peace for himself, peace for estranged parents, and peace for the fucked-up little kid who still lived inside him.
He went right up to the fence and pointed his gun at his father’s face. The feral rictus of his mouth was the same one that had raged over him as a kid. Some people were monsters before the Russians got here.
Dal pulled the trigger. The shot echoed through the night. It rippled through time, back through the younger versions of himself. It sent a shockwave through his body.
His dad dropped to the ground, dead.
Unlike the night when Dal first dared to throw a return punch, his mother only blinked. She barely spared a glance for the dead man beside her before once again attacking the fence. She was as singleminded in her devotion as she had always been.
Dal shifted the barrel of the gun and fired a second time.
His mother fell across the body of his father.
For the first time in his life, Dal’s parents were quiet and at peace with one another.
Chapter 46Not Forgotten
THE DAY AFTER THEIR mission into Bastopol, Leo found himself on a ladder at the back of the cabin. Behind him were the breathtaking views south of Pole Mountain.
It was early evening. The fog crept in, steeping the land below them with fluffy white. It was almost easy to imagine the world wasn’t a horror show beneath those clouds.
Nonna stood nearby with a small tray. On it were eight shot glasses and a bottle of grappa. Surrounding the ladder were Dal, Lena, Anton, Bruce, Jennifer, Jim, and Tate.
Everyone had made it back from Bastopol in one piece. Tate had taken a bullet in the leg, but Nonna had stitched him up. The rest all had their fair share of cuts, scrapes, and bruises, but considering what they’d been through, Leo considered them lucky.
“You’re off center,” Anton said. “Lean a little to your left.”
Leo leaned to the left, sinking his knife into the wood. As everyone watched, he carved three names into the wall.
Giuseppe Cecchino
Adam McCarthy
Lars Guerra
Beneath the names were the words, Not Forgotten.
It wasn’t a statue or a monument in a town square, but it would do. It would keep the memories of their friends and family alive.
Leo hoped to God he wouldn’t have to add any more names to this list.
When he finished carving, he dropped to the ground and stood beneath the memorial. Everyone else spread around him in a semi-circle.
“Tonight, we gather to remember our fallen,” he said. “We didn’t ask for this war, but it came to our doorstep. Every single one of us has faced this invasion head-on. Some of us have lived to fight another day. Others will live on in our memories.”
“Never forgotten,” Anton said.
“Never forgotten,” Leo agreed. “The names of our fallen will be honored here.” He looked up at the list of names carved into the wood. “Let’s go around and share a memory of everyone who’s given their life for this fight. I’ll never forget the first time I bit off the head of a worm in an apple. I was eight. Dad laughed so hard he snorted soup out of his nose.”
Smiles went up around the group, but no one laughed. Leo understood. After everything they’d seen and done in the last few days, life didn’t seem to have any humor left. He was glad he shared the story anyway. It was cherished memory.
Dal spoke up
