Page 67 of Danger Close
Inside, the machines were too loud.Beeping.Hissing.Whispering warnings in a language of decay.Marsh lay still against white sheets that looked more like a shroud than a blanket.His face was pale, drawn.His left side wrapped in layers of gauze and surgical tape where his leg—his goddamn leg—should’ve been.The stump at mid-thigh spoke volumes.
Ricky stood there for a second.Just ...breathing.
Then he moved.
Dragged the chair closer.Sat.Leaned forward and stared at the man who had once taught him how to dismantle a sniper rifle with a blindfold on and a hangover.
“You son of a bitch,” Ricky whispered.“You think this is how it ends?”
Marsh didn’t stir.Didn’t flinch.
“I know you can hear me,” Ricky ground out, “so listen the fuck up, because I’m only gonna say this once.”
He wiped his hand down his face, refusing to acknowledge the wetness he encountered, trying to keep his voice from cracking.Failed.
“You don’t get to tap out.You don’t get to lie there and let go because it hurts.You’ve been through worse.Hell, you dragged me out of worse.”
A beat.A long one.
“You remember Khasham, 2018?”Ricky’s voice dropped.“You sat next to me all night, covered in someone else’s blood, and told me I was gonna be okay.That I mattered.That I belonged.”
His hands curled into fists.
“So, here’s the deal, Marsh.You don’t get to make me believe in myself and then quit on me.You don’t get to build this place, make a goddamn family out of warriors and orphans, and then peace out because it’s too hard.”
The machines beeped.Steady.Rhythmic.Taunting.
“I’ve seen you fight through hell.You were bleeding out and you still called in my position, got me the fuck out of there.And now?Now you’re just ...lying here?”
Ricky’s throat tightened.He leaned in, forehead nearly resting against Marsh’s forearm.
“She’s here, man.Sophia.She’s safe.She’s asking questions about you.She wants to know where the big guy with the grumpy voice has gone, and you know she has to be talking about you.You can’t let her grow up thinking her uncle Marsh just gave up.”
A breath.
A broken, shaking breath.
“And I need you, too,” Ricky whispered.“God, Marsh, I need you.You were there when I didn’t know who the hell I was.You’ve seen me at my worst.And you never walked away.”
He reached for Marsh’s hand.
Cold.Too cold.
“You stay in this fight.You come back to us.”
He swallowed.
“Because I’m not doing this without you.We are not the Pathfinders without you.”
The silence that followed felt like a scream.
“Van,” Ricky whispered offering up a prayer, “send him back, brother.We barely survived losing you, we can’t take another hit.Please, brother, please—”
Then ...a twitch.Barely there.A flicker in Marsh’s fingers.
Ricky’s heart stuttered.
The monitors shifted.The rhythm steadied.Just a little.Just enough.
