Page 43 of Mended Hearts

“Get him on that bird!” I order and take back off in the opposite direction.

Then out of the dust and smoke, I see the contraption flying toward my vicinity, and this time I’m not singing Yankee Doodle Dandy. I hear screaming all around me as I fly backward. Pain soars through my body as I drop to the ground. I can’t pinpoint the source. My ears are ringing, and my vision is blurry as I try to look around to get a sense of the madness that encompasses me.

I’m not dead and I need to get back to my men. No one will be dying on my watch. That much I know. I roll to my side and scream out in pain. I can faintly hear Pool yelling for help while shooting back at the enemy. I need to help. I have to help. I attempt to shove myself to my feet, but my arm gives out beneath me. The pain is sharp. A burning sensation seeps up my arm as I fall to the ground. My stomach rolls, and I force myself to move to my other side so I can at least hold on to my injured arm, possibly salvaging whatever is left. I grip my elbow, pressing it against me. I don’t want to let my hand drift down. I don’t want to feel what I already know.

The pain is unbearable. I can’t keep my eyes open as I struggle to breathe through the searing agony. I lie on my back, welcoming the pain.

God, let it take over me.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

ECHO

He’s injured. That’s all I know. The severity is unknown. I pace back and forth, waiting for the plane to arrive. I need to see him, touch him…know he’s okay. The uncertainty of it all holds my heart and mind in a vice grip. People start filing out through the secured exit. It has an automatic command that says,‘Don’t Stop’to keep people from pausing or turning around mid-exit, and I fight the urge to belt out‘Get it, get it’every time someone walks through.

Fewer and fewer people funnel through and worry seeps in that I had the arrival information incorrect. I take a few steps closer to the glass wall that separates us from the rest of the airport, wanting to see farther down the gate area. A man in camouflage walking with a cane and a slight limp and his left arm in a sling slowly fills my vision. My heart races, leaping for joy as I see Brian in the flesh. A singe of pain squeezes it at seeing him injured. I want to run through the exit and help him as he struggles to keep his bag tossed over his shoulder and slightly trips in the process.

Why isn’t anyone helping him?

Now I see why he’s the last to make his way out. He doesn’t want anyone to see him struggle. He walks through the exit withhis head hanging low, and my heart hurts at the idea of him not even wanting me to see him in this condition. I run the few steps and cautiously throw my arms around his neck. He winces, but I don’t retreat. Instead, I hold a bit tighter until I feel his body relax and his head falls into the crook of my neck.

“I’m so glad you’re home,” I whisper.

“Yeah, me too.” He lets out a shaky breath against my skin, causing a ripple of goose bumps to form. Keeping one arm around his neck, I use the other to gently rub along his back. His body lightly trembles and I’m unsure if it’s from the weight he’s having to bear on his cane, or the weight of what he’s been through causing it.

I pull back and cup his face in my hands, lifting it from its downcast retreat. “Hey,” I lightly say, getting him to make eye contact with me. “Let’s get you home.”

He nods, mouthing‘home’like he never expected to see it again. That realization slams into my chest so hard my knees almost buckle. But I manage to keep my wits intact for the sake of this man standing in front of me. This once strong, no fear man of mine who seems like a frail shell of who he once was. I might have been unsure of what direction my life should go a few months ago, but here in this moment, I know I’m right where I need to be; taking care of the man who made it his mission to take care of me thirteen years ago—what seems like a lifetime ago. Perhaps this is my sign to leave that life where I left it.

“Do you want me to carry that for you?” I touch the strap that’s over his shoulder.

“I got it.” He grips the strap tighter as if it’s going to keep it in place. I want to take his cane and have him use me as his crutch instead, but I have a feeling he won’t accept the offer.

“Okay. Is this it or do you have more?”

“Of course I have more,” he bites out. “You packed it or have you forgotten?” His eyes are narrow slits as he waits for my response.

I slightly jump away from him, my eyes big as saucers with shock. His demeanor seems cold, and I gulp back the urge to cry at his sharp tone.What in the actual hell?

I shake my head and place my hand on his that’s holding the cane. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” I apologize, attempting to sympathize with his current situation.

His face softens and the boy I’ve known my entire life returns. “I’m sorry,” he quietly says. Turmoil swirls in his eyes, and I wish I could isolate all the different emotions. Not that it’d help him deal with them, but it’d help me decipher how to handle him.

I lean in and push my lips to his, saying what I’ve wanted to say since I first ran up to him. “I love you, Brian.”

His shoulders sag like those words gave him permission to drop the weight of the world he’s been carrying. Then his bag falls down his arm, stopping where his hand meets his cane and causing him to stumble forward. Instinctively, I place my arms out, grabbing the sides of his arms to steady him.

“Dammit, Echo,” he bellows, and I release my grip, realizing my mistake. “My arm is in a sling for a reason.” He grunts, steadying himself as he adjusts the bag back into place. His stubborn ass is going to be the death of me, but this new attitude he seems to have might be its competition as I’ve never been known for holding my tongue.

“I didn’t want you to fall. It was instinct.” I shrug. I don’t apologize this time, but I also don’t say what I really want to.“Next time I’ll just let you fall on your face.”Because I’m sure that would go over really well.

He starts walking toward the direction of the baggage claim, and I fall to his side, in silence. This isn’t the coming homeI envisioned, but I’m just so grateful he didn’t come home in a casket. So many soldiers and their families pay the ultimate sacrifice, and I just can’t even imagine being in that situation.

We stand and wait behind the other passengers as the conveyer sounds and begins to move with luggage. I watch as a few children peek around their parents’ and eye Brian. I smile as he keeps his eyes trained ahead with a stoic look, not paying any attention to his surroundings. Once the crowd thins out, I break away and move closer to watch for his duffle bag. He belittled me earlier when I asked if he had more. I know he always has a duffle bag because I’m the one who usually packs it for him. I figured they might just ship it back versus him have to tackle one more thing with his injuries. I spot the olive-green bag and pull it off by the hand straps. I turn around to Brian, who’s watching me with furrowed brows like he’s trying to figure out how he can carry this huge bag. Grasping the handles with both hands, I carry the bag in front of me, stopping in front of him.

“It’s okay to have help,” I admit, hoping he realizes it’s an act of reassurance and not belittlement. He nods, and a throat clearing to our side shifts our attention. An older man stands near us, looking at Brian in awe as if he’s reminiscing.

He stands a bit straighter, in an attention stance, before raising his arm to his forehead, saluting Brian. It’s in that moment I take notice of the veteran hat adorning his head.

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