Page 50 of Defending What is Mine

Chapter Twenty-Six

Jack:Present—February (One day after his transfer stateside)

Feeling utterly depressed by the sight of what passes for lunch in this place, I swirl pieces of corn through the mashed potatoes as I question how a hospital could serve a slice of turkey this dry. The Army wouldn’t even serve this. And to top it off, no plastic knife—just a spork. I mean really, a spork? How the hell am I supposed to slice through gray turkey with a fucking spork, let alone slit my wrists? This day sucks balls.

Depressed, I push the tray away, but perk up when I hear whispering outside my room. Is that…? I tilt my head to aim my ear toward the sound. After a few seconds the voices stop and I jump in my bed when I hear two firm raps against the door. And then I hear him.

“Jack? You awake?”

I’d recognize that slow, purposeful drawl anywhere. “Chet?” I stare at the door in disbelief as the knob turns and it pushes open. There, standing in the doorway is none other than my hardly-ever-leaves-the-ranch-let-alone-the-great-state-of-Colorado oldest brother. “What the hell are you…?”

My tongue twists into knots and the breath rushes from my lungs as he steps into the room, revealing her. She stands meekly behind him, her head lowered.

I swallow hard. “Sam?”

Her cheeks are flushed when she looks up. “Hey, stranger. Long time, no see.”

Oh, God how I’ve missed that face.

The reality of her being here overwhelms me, until our eyes meet and every cell in my body urges me to reach out for her. To pull her into my arms and lose myself in her beautiful, soulful eyes. Sam offers a smile, but it’s not enough to hide the sadness and hurt underneath. I know that pain is because of me. I’ve become the man I set out to save her from. I wanted to be her shield. Her protector. A man who never let her down. Knowing I’ve failed her, that I’ve hurt something so fragile, breaks my heart. She’s an oasis in the desert. The respite of a cool breeze from the relentless summer sun. The healing touch of a mother’s kiss. She’s all of it, and so much more. My eyes begin to well with tears and I have to look away to hold it together.

I run a hand through my hair but it’s no help, almost as soon as I look away, I look back. I can’t not look at her. This will be the last time I ever see her and I need to memorize every detail.

Her frame is mostly obscured by a heavy winter coat, but after noticing her snug-fit jeans I wonder—and if there’s any justice in the universe, the answer would be yes—if she’s wearing my favorite pair. “What are you doing here?” Aware of the harshness in my tone, I shift my focus back to Chet. “I mean both of you. Of course.”

Bullshit. Of course, I don’t mean both of you.

I knew why he was here as soon as I heard his voice. In a word—Mom. Sure, she’s the sweetest little old lady you’ve ever met. That’s one version of her. But I know another version. The real version. And I know she had him looking for flights before she left Germany. He’s her enforcer—the big guns. Any time one of us boys got a little too stubborn, or hard headed, or dug our heels in about something she knew would hurt us, she always called in Chet. Even when Dad was alive. It’s one of the things I always admired about him. Now I can’t help wondering if it’s because I’d never had him aimed at me before.

Of course I meant Sam when I asked why she was here. I expected her to be pissed and hurt and to never want to speak to me again. I never—not even in my wildest fantasy—expected to see her here.

“What, uh…? I, um. What I mean to say is…”

Sam steps into the room and quietly closes the door. “What are we doing here?” she asks, overtly motioning between Chet and herself with her hand. “Yeah, you said that, already.” I want to smile at that hint of heat behind her words. It’s her tough, inner-momma bear showing its claws. God, this woman’s just about perfect.

“Good to see you too,” Chet interrupts before I can clarify.

I let out a groan as I prop myself up with a pillow, cramming it toward the small of my back while trying to avoid the line of staples along my side. That’s when I notice the outline of my legs through the blanket and realize how exposed I am. If you know what you’re looking at, you can clearly make out where one stops…prematurely. All I can think about is how there is literally nothing but a hospital blanket separating my greatest failure from her.

Anxiety consumes me.

I need them to leave.

Now.

“Oh, Jack. I’ve been so worried. Are you okay?” Sam’s voice lilts with genuine, heartfelt concern.

“No.” I laugh. “I’m fucking anything but okay.” Hard words, aimed with precision, intended to wound. I can’t look at her. Not with what I know is coming. Eyes closed, I tilt my head to the side and rub my neck. “Look, I appreciate that you put your lives on hold to fly out here and check on me, but we could have done this over the phone. I’m not exactly in a place to entertain guests.”

“You asking us to leave?” Chet slowly grinds his teeth. “We came straight from the airport.”

Sam gently places her adorable, rose-colored mitten on Chet’s arm. “Jack? Is that what you’re asking?” She clears her throat. “Do you want us to leave like, come back later this evening? Or do you want us to leave like, go straight back to the airport?”

Without opening my eyes, I answer. “I’m asking you to leave as in leave. I don’t care how you do it. What’s the fucking good in dragging you down into hell with me?”

“Stop being an ass,” Chet grumbles.

I turn to my left and open my eyes, staring back at myself through the mirror on the wall. “Screw you, Chet.” I run my fingers through the scruff on my face and neck. “Look at me. My face hasn’t seen a razor in…hell, I don’t even know how long.” I lean forward and pull back my hospital gown, exposing the bruises covering my torso, and the long, jagged line of staples on my side. “Don’t pretend to understand what I’m going through, brother.” My eyes lock on his through the mirror. “Don’t pretend you know that ‘everything’s going to be okay,’ because you fucking don’t know. Not this time. Not about this.” I turn my focus back on my reflection, cataloguing the pathetic state I’m in. “Nobody does.”

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