Hidden Creed

by Alex Kava

  Jason knew Ryder was overprotective of Brodie. He still saw her as a vulnerable little sister. Jason wasn’t sure what it would take for Ryder to see Brodie for who she was: a strong woman with incredible instincts and survivor skills that they’d only gotten a glimpse of.

  “I’m meeting Ryder and the guys for lunch on the beach,” he’d told her. “Why don’t you come along?”

  It chewed him up inside to watch her eyes consider it like a brand new and exciting adventure then go off in that sad, faraway stare. He’d seen it before, so it didn’t surprise him, but he hated seeing it. He wished there was some way he could convince her to come see a piece of the rest of the world. He wished she would trust him to keep her safe.

  And he knew this was how Ryder felt. Seeing that look in her eyes, Jason found himself wanting to do whatever it took to keep her from feeling scared or abandoned ever again.

  “Maybe another time,” she’d told him when her eyes finally came back. “I’ll stay and watch Hank and Chance and Winnie.” She looked down for a second or two, and Jason thought she might be reconsidering. When she looked up, she added, “I remember really liking the beach.”

  “Maybe we could go when it’s not so busy,” he said. “We could take Scout with us. They have outdoor seating.”

  Looking back now Jason realized he sounded too eager. He didn’t want her doing something she was uncomfortable with just to please him.

  He was the first to arrive at Walter’s Canteen. The lunch crowd was thinning, but every stool at the bar’s counter was full. The owner—a barrel-chested, gray-haired man named Walter Bailey—greeted Jason. He waved off the hostess. Then he escorted Jason to a primo table back in the corner next to a window with the best view of the Gulf.

  “My favorite Army Ranger, Seaver, how are you, young man?” Walter’s rich, baritone voice made every guest he greeted feel special.

  “I’m well. How are you, Commander, Sir?”

  “It’s another beautiful day. I can’t complain. Are your boys joining you?”

  “Yes. There’ll be four of us.”

  Walter waved at the hostess again and held up four fingers. Then suddenly, the man leaned down close to Jason’s ear and whispered, “Don’t look up, but there’s a pretty, little filly at the bar that hasn’t taken her eyes off you since you came in.”

  Jason’s back was to the bar’s counter, so he couldn’t twist around without being noticed. Still, he told the man, “Sir, I think you’re pulling my leg.”

  “No, no, she’s been here before. I never forget a pretty face. Orders a shrimp salad and a bottle of Sam Adams. She’s always alone. Never left with a bloke either. And now, here she comes.” He raised his bushy eyebrows at Jason then winked.

  Walter pretended he didn’t notice her making her way across the room. Jason knew there were plenty of tables set close together that she would need to weave around. He wanted to turn and catch a glimpse, but Walter gave a slight shake of his head.

  “How about I send over a pitcher? Get you started then I’ll check back when your boys arrive,” Walter told him, patted him on the back and left in the other direction.

  “You and your boys playing poker here today?” Taylor asked.

  Jason’s mouth went dry. He stood up, bumping the table and almost sent his chair tumbling backwards.

  “No poker today. Just a late lunch. How are you?” He managed over a tongue that suddenly seemed too big for his mouth. He pointed to the chair across from him. “You have time for a drink?”

  “Aren’t you meeting your guys?”

  “I’m a little early.”

  She hesitated.

  “Unless you’re in a hurry,” he said, once again giving her an easy out. Why did he keep doing that?

  “I guess I have a few minutes,” she said. “Just until your guys get here.”

  She sat down. And Jason sat down.

  “How’s Scout doing?”

  He was stunned that she remembered then a bit flustered that she noticed he was stunned. She seemed to notice everything.

  “He’s doing pretty good.”

  Just then a waitress brought a pitcher of beer and a tray with five glasses surrounding a platter of peel-n-eat shrimp. Before Jason could tell her he hadn’t ordered the platter, she said, “Boss said the first pitcher and the shrimp are on the house.”

  She set the glasses down followed by small plates and silverware at each chair.

  “I’m Rita. I’ll check back when your other friends get here. Give me a holler if you need anything before then.”

  “Thanks Rita.”

  “You know the owner,” Taylor said with a one-sided smile that told him she was impressed.

  “For a Navy guy he’s okay.” Jason poured two glasses full and set one in front of her without asking whether or not she wanted it.

  “Lots of vets around here.”

  “This area is very military,” he said. “It has the Naval Air Station here and Whiting Field. Lots of advanced training programs for Marines and Navy pilots. It’s home to the Blue Angels. There’s also Eglin Air Force Base. And it seems to be a great place to come back to and retire.”

  “Did you grow up here?”

  She picked a shrimp off the platter, and he was pleased to see her peel it like a pro.

  “Not Pensacola, but close by.” He didn’t like to be reminded that his family was only two hours away and that he rarely visited. “What about you? Is Virginia home?”

  “Good memory. No, it was just a convenient place to be for a while.”

  “And Pensacola?”

  “My husband’s from here.”

  “Oh,” he said sipping his beer and making sure he didn’t say something stupid, but keenly aware that she had said “husband” not “ex-husband.”

  “And no, he’s not in my life anymore.” But that was all she offered.

  She popped the shrimp into her mouth and started peeling another. Jason now understood Walter’s wisdom. Somehow the man had noticed that Taylor might still be hungry. What was it he said? She usually had a shrimp salad and a bottle of Sam Adams.

  “So why did you move here?” he asked.

  “To be closer to my son.”

  He could feel her watching him now, scrutinizing his reaction to this piece of information. He caught himself measuring his sips. Keeping them from turning into gulps, which was what he really wanted.

  “What’s his name?” he finally asked.

  The simple question warranted another one-sided smile, and he felt like he had cleared some invisible hurdle.

  “William.”

  Chapter 61

  Recovery Gardens

  “I’m not leaving,” Kayla told the receptionist. “Not without seeing my husband.”

  “Ma’am, as I said before, your husband is not allowed visitors during this phase of his recovery. It’s important to respect the process.”

  “I just need to make sure he’s okay.”

  Finally the woman seemed to give in. It had been almost thirty minutes of back and forth with too many interruptions of buzzing doors and ringing phones. She pushed her chair back and turned to the computer to her right. She tapped at the keyboard. Without looking at Kayla, she said, “I don’t see your name as a contact, ma’am. Just his doctor.”

  “I was with him when he checked in.”

  “Even if he was allowed visitors, you’d need to be on his contact list.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I’m his wife!”

  “I don’t make the rules.”

  “Can I talk to his doctor?” Kayla asked, trying to tamp down the anger and frustration. Although being calm had gotten her nowhere.

  “Dr. Winslow isn’t in today. I’m sure you could call his office.” She started tapping more keys. “Give me a minute. I can give you that phone number.”

  The door buzzed and one of the visitors Kayla had seen going in a half hour ago was now coming back out. Before it closed Kayla grabbed the door and darted through.
<
br />   “Ma’am, you’re not allowed to go in there.”

  But the receptionist was sectioned off from the hallway that led to the rooms. Instead of hurrying down the hall, Kayla immediately ducked into a restroom. She leaned against the door and listened. Sure enough, footsteps ran by.

  Surprisingly, there were no alarms going off.

  Of course not. That would send the patients into a panic.

  Then Kayla heard someone clear his throat behind her. A deep, distinctly male someone.

  “You realize this is the men’s restroom?”

  She turned to find a man washing his hands at the sink. He had feathery, silver hair and glasses at the tip of a bulbous nose. He was wearing green scrubs.

  She figured she was busted. That certainly didn’t take long. She was never much of a rebel.

  “Are you a doctor?” she asked.

  “Are you a patient?” he countered.

  “They won’t let me see my husband.” She could hear the desperation in her voice, and for once, it was genuine and not manufactured.

  “Who’s his doctor?”

  “Dr. Winslow.”

  The man snorted and said, “It figures.” He finished drying his hands like her presence hadn’t interrupted him.

  Finally he turned to face her and asked, “What’s your husband’s name?”

  “Eric. Eric Hudson.”

  “Do you know his room number?”

  “No.”

  He frowned at her.

  “They said I’m not on his contact list.” The hiccup of emotion in her voice scared her now. “I brought him here. I sat right next to him when he filled out the papers.”

  “Did they happen to mention who is on his contact list?”

  “Only Dr. Winslow.”

  This time the man let out a long sigh. He was obviously irritated.

  “Come with me,” he said, and he took her elbow, but in a gentle manner.

  Still, Kayla thought of it as leading the sheep to its slaughter. The bastard was going to turn her in. But instead of turning back toward the reception area, he gestured for her to go with him down the hallway. They came to an office, and he pointed for her to go in and take the chair in the corner. Then he slid behind the messy desk.

  Kayla searched the room as he pushed up his glasses and swiveled to the computer. The nameplate on the office door was Dr. Albert Phillips. Amongst the clutter were several photos of him with a woman. Some of the photos included three handsome grown men.

  “What did you say your husband’s name is?”

  “Eric Hudson. He checked in early last week.”

  Dr. Phillips chicken-pecked the keyboard with his index fingers.

  Kayla scooted the chair closer to the desk. She couldn’t see the computer screen, so she watched his eyes. Only now, did she realize she was breathing heavy. Her heart pounded against her chest so hard she was sure it would leave a bruise. It sounded ridiculous, but that was what it felt like.

  His forehead furrowed as his eyes darted back and forth over the screen. He wiped a hand over his jaw. Then tapped some more. When he finished he sat back in his chair. He crossed his arms over his chest. He was frowning again.

  “Your husband had a relapse.”

  “A relapse? What do you mean? How can he relapse in here?”

  Dr. Phillips sat forward. He leaned in, placed his elbows on the desktop and tented his fingers over his lips.

  “They found him unresponsive. He may have overdosed.”

  “What are you talking about?” And now Kayla didn’t recognize her own voice. “How could that happen?”

  “Sometimes they find a way to sneak in drugs no matter how careful we are.”

  “Are you serious? They wouldn’t even let me in. You can’t possibly be talking about my husband.” But she remembered his panic, the paranoia, and now she felt sick to her stomach. If he were scared and desperate would he take something, anything to feel better?

  Dr. Phillips was quiet now, staring not at the computer screen but somewhere down toward his shoes. When his eyes came back up to hers, the look was painfully unnerving. It was sad and apologetic.

  All the anger and frustration seemed to drain from her. She felt a sudden chill. Her skin was clammy, and her stomach churned.

  When he said nothing, Kayla asked in almost a whisper, “Is he...dead?”

  Chapter 62

  Walter’s Canteen

  Pensacola Beach, Florida

  Jason poured the last of the beer and lifted the pitcher when he caught Rita’s eye. He pointed to the empty platter, too, and she nodded. He did all this without interrupting Taylor. Without interrupting, but not without her noticing. Her eyes always noticed, and between her eyes and that one-sided smile, Jason could tell he was scoring points.

  “He lives with his grandparents.” She was talking about William. The subject—and the beer—seemed to open her up. “My in-laws. Mike and I met in Afghanistan. I was two months pregnant by the time I got back to the states. I’m not even sure how it happened. I was always so careful. It’s amazing how vodka makes you feel safe and invincible from everything.”

  She looked out the window as if searching for answers. Jason stayed quiet. Waited. Hoped Benny and Colfax would be late.

  “Mike still had a year left. We did the quick justice of the peace thing to make it legal when he was home on leave. He went back and two months later he was dead. He never even got to meet William.”

  Jason reached across the table with his real hand, hesitated then put it over hers. She let him.

  “I went back to work after William was born. I had all this experience, right? One of the Army surgeons I was deployed with started a surgical center in Panama City.”

  She ran her fingers through her hair but kept her other hand safely tucked under Jason’s. “I knew he was bad news. He’s a lot older than me, so I was always turning him down when we were in Afghanistan. But we actually made a good surgical team. He kept offering me a job. Big money. More than enough for me to take care of William. So we packed up and moved.

  “He was doing mostly reconstructive and cosmetic surgery. You’d think that would be sort of therapeutic, right? Restoring lives after spending so much time just stopping the hemorrhaging.”

  “It didn’t work out?” Jason asked.

  “There was a lot wrong with it. Including the part that he was married.”

  He could feel her searching his eyes as if looking for judgment. If she saw anything, Jason figured it would be that he wanted to pound the guy.

  Evidently satisfied, she continued. “You know the biggest problem? For some reason I thought we’d be helping, you know, veterans who were disfigured or kids born with deformities. But it was liposuction and collagen injections, tummy tucks and boob jobs. Cutting into perfectly healthy tissue just to look better.”

  “What did you end up doing?”

  Now, she pulled her hand away. He kept his in the same place pretending not to notice.

  “I was so completely lost back then.” She sat up straight, her entire body language going from her relaxed and humble confession to anxious and uncomfortable. “William started spending time with his grandparents in Pensacola. I started spending my spare time hating myself.”

  She didn’t even meet Jason’s eyes now, and he wondered if the married surgeon had been the one occupying that spare time. He really wanted to pound the guy now.

  “When William’s grandparents offered to take him for a longer while, I was...I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I was relieved. I thought it would be the best thing for him. God knows, I needed to leave.”

  She paused and her fingers started folding her napkin. Then she continued. “So I left him with his grandparents, and I went back to Virginia. I figured I would get settled, work through some of my demons then bring William up. I got a job working in trauma. I thought that would help. But I went back to coping the way we all did in Afghanistan.”

  She shrugged and found his eyes, aga
in. “You know, vodka, whiskey, whatever someone managed to find. Isn’t that what you guys did? How did you manage?”

  She gestured to his prosthetic. Jason realized she was looking for a break.

  “It couldn’t have been easy,” she added.

  “For a while I had what I called Option B.” He sat back then pulled his hand from the middle of the table and wrapped his fingers around the beer glass.

  “I was being very smart and cagey,” he allowed a slow grin to mask any other emotions that might show up on his face.

  “I saved up all the different prescriptions the doctors handed out,” he told her. “They gave me a lot. It was sort of like pills were their way of putting a bandage on everything. Can’t sleep? Here you go. Pain still bad? Try these. You feeling depressed? This will help.

  “I had them sorted by color and size. I knew exactly which ones to take first then second. It’s best to have a plan, because if you take the wrong ones first they might just make you too sleepy to finish the job.”

  She was looking at him, but not with the requisite look of pity that he expected. There was something else. Something more disturbing than pity. It looked like admiration.

  “I was always too much of a coward,” she admitted.

  “There’s nothing brave about it,” and he let his distaste come through. “I’ve lost too many friends who decided offing themselves was easier.”

  “So what happened with you? Did some girl come along?”

  “A dog came along.”

  “Really?”

  “Ryder Creed gave me a puppy. Offered to train me as a K9 handler. But if I wasn’t going to stick around, I needed to give the puppy back. Because dogs get attached. And by then, I realized I was already attached to Scout, too. But Ryder didn’t just give me a dog, he gave me a purpose.”

  “Wow! And you did it all without alcohol.”

  “Oh, my friend, Tony and I did our share of drinking over there. Mostly we were homesick. We’d talk about all of the things we wanted to do when we got home. But when I really needed to escape...now, promise you won’t laugh. I read a lot.”

  “Read? Like books?’

  “Yes, like books. It was the way I escaped ever since I was a kid. Mutiny on the Bounty, Robinson Crusoe. My mom sent me my favorite authors when their latest novel came out in paperback.”