Page 28 of How Much For A Broken Heart?

“Jesus, Ryder, leave the kid alone.”

“Hey, Doc Jen.”

A figure leaned over me, little more than a silhouette against the light. I could feel hands on me, clinical and probing, pressing my abdomen, sending jolts of discomfort through my already aching body, all alongside a soft female voice. The touch was necessary, I knew, one of the checks to assess my condition, but knowing that didn’t make it any less invasive or painful.

“Do you know where you are?” she asked, cutting through the fog in my head. I knew the doc was performing the standard cognitive checks, but grappled with the question as if I were working out complex chemistry.

Where was I?

“Hospital?” I managed to croak the word out as a question, my throat dry and my voice barely a whisper.

“Good. Can you tell me your name?” the doctor continued; her tone professional with more than a hint of empathy.

What did she ask again?

My name?

Aubrey? August? Which one was I today?

Was this real life? Or was this the mirror world I’d dug so deep into?

I’m out. I’m safe. Ryder is here.

“August,” I replied, the effort to speak making my head spin.

The doctor proceeded with her examination, shining a light into my eyes, checking their reaction to the stimulus. The light felt like needles piercing my pupils, and I recoiled. Everything was too much—the lights, the poking, the incessant questions, and I was exposed and vulnerable to any asshole coming in and killing me where I lay.

Although dying was my main objective, because then, the images and sounds in my head would stop. Dying could be a blessing.

I could hear the doctor speaking, her voice a steady stream of medical jargon and instructions to other people I couldn’t see. Words like vitals, recovery, and observation floated through the air, and I heard another voice, male, but not Ryder’s, someone medical from the comments they made.

As the doctor continued her checks, I hated the pain, the helplessness, the dependency on others, but most important of all, I didn’t have my gun.

Where the hell is my gun?

Chapter Eleven

RYDER

After Doc left, I watched August. He was restless and his movements became increasingly frantic. He was reaching out for something, grasping at the air, his brow furrowed. I hooked my hand under his, trying to provide some comfort, but it was clear that wasn’t what he was seeking.

In that moment, it struck me just how vulnerable August was. Stripped of his usual defenses, lying in a hospital bed, he was a shadow of the formidable Navy SEAL I knew him to be. His weapon, which had been a constant companion and a source of security for him, was locked away, leaving him exposed in a way that went beyond the physical.

The realization hit me—what August needed in his agitated state was a semblance of protection, something to anchor him to the sense of safety that had been an integral part of his identity. I pulled out my HK45, emptied the chamber and removed the cartridge, ensuring it was safe.

I, then, placed the weapon in August’s searching hand, curling his fingers around it. The effect was almost immediate. His restlessness eased, the lines of tension in his face smoothed, and his breathing became more regular. It was as if the mere presence of the weapon, even in its neutralized state, provided the comfort and security he was seeking.

August had a warrior’s spirit.

The door opened, and I glanced up, catching Doc Jen’s eye, both of us focusing on the gun, but she nodded as she came in—as a former combat veteran, she would know the same as I had.

“Ethan wants you to head over to Swim Central,” she said and crossed to August’s side, picking up the tablet with his file. “You know where that is?”

“Southeast, I got it.”

“Just keep walking, you can’t miss it.” Then, she gestured to my leg. “And?”

“Sore, but it’s all good.” I’d refused the good pain killers, keeping the pain at bay with low-strength meds, but again, there was no argument from Doc Jen, although she insisted on the anti-inflammatory pills, threatening me with amputation if I didn’t listen.

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