by Leaona Luxx
“So, you’re my cousin.”
He nods reluctantly. “Yes, our fathers are brothers.”
“Yeah, I’m lost again but I appreciate you being here today.”
“Man… this has to be hard as hell on you, it’s a nightmare at best but I hope you’ll give me some time. We may never be the friends we were, much like the brothers you have in this room, but I’d be grateful to have you again in any way you feel comfortable.” He drops his head when tears fill his eyes.
I sit up, offering my hand to him. “So, Boone do you like wine or just hanging out at the docks?”
“Name like Creed, you’d think you would’ve learned some manners by now, but then again, you are a Hatcher.” He takes my hand, giving me a good shake.
Mark claps his hands. “Give him hell. This is going to be good!”
“Don’t need to go raid the blood bank, Twi-hard?” I quip, and Mark flips me off. “Let me get a few things straight here since my brain is still pretty foggy after everything.”
“Oh, so it is something new?” Mark grins at Boone.
“I’m Creed Randal Hatcher. My parents are Crawford Randal Hatcher and Kathryn Alice Hatcher. I have a degree in Political Science, which someone needs to explain to me why at some point. I joined the SEALs after graduation.” I take a steadying breath, thinking; this is where it gets hard. “Two years in, I was on my third mission with a team of six when we were ambushed, and I was captured. They held me captive for approximately three months before I was rescued by the incredible team from Cole Security Forces. I was medically discharged a few weeks after returning stateside.”
“I sustained multiple injuries, including wounds to my thigh, ribs, and shoulder. Wait… I’m forgetting something.” I cut my eyes when the room is silent. “I’m kidding. I have a traumatic brain injury impacting my temporal and parietal lobes. Basically, I’m a first-grader learning how to read again if I can remember where I put the book.”
Boone quirks his brow. “What made you think you could read to begin with?”
“Ha!” Mark's fist bumps Boone. “That’s what I’m saying!”
Jackson sits forward in his seat beside me, his brows pulled tight. “I can tell you’re trying to work through all of this, take all the time you need, Hatch.”
“I’m getting there.”
“I’m gonna head out, I’ll call Crawford and Kathryn later and give them an update.” Boone walks over to the bed, stretching his hand out.
I take it with a smile; I like my cousin. “Ask them to come next time, please.”
“I can do that.” Boone waves at the rest and continues out of the room.
“I’m going to run down and check on a friend.” Mark slaps the back of my hand after we shake.
“See ya.”
Jackson stands, lingering with the good doctor. “I’ll be flying back to California tomorrow, but I want you to know, I’m leaving my number, and you can call any time.”
“Thank you.” After taking his hand, Doctor Burgess follows him out, leaving me alone with my thoughts or lack thereof.
Obliviously, there are so many things I’m not being told. I’m not sure if they’ve been told not to talk about it or if someone has decided I don’t need to know. Then again, I’m as indecisive as they appear to be on the topic of what exactly happened on the mission.
“Well, this fucking sucks.” I grab the remote from the nightstand and hurl it across the room. “Please, God, either let me forget forever or give me the details I need to account for my brothers and their lives. If not, then tell me why I’m still here, and they’re not!”
A tap on the door startles me, and I quickly wipe my face just as Jackson saunters back in. “Hey, Hatch.”
“Yeah, what’s up?” I turn my face, drying it on my shoulder.
“I couldn’t leave until I mentioned one more thing to you.” It distorts his face. Maybe this is what I’ve been hoping for.
“Sure thing.” My stomach twists, tying itself in knots.
He shoves his hands in his pockets, his brows pulled low. “Many service men and women come home with some type of trauma. Whether it’s TBI, PTSD, or guilt, we all come back different from who we were when we left. Life for us and our loved ones isn’t easy. The baggage is heavy, and the road is long when it comes to recovery and settling in once again.”
“Yeah, several of the doctors have mentioned it. Right now, I’m good.”
“But there may come a time you’re not, and I want you to know that I’m here. I’ve sat on that side of this monster, and it’s not easy. I didn’t want to admit it, but I struggled hard and for a long time. You don’t have to do this alone.” He stares at me, catching sight of my soul, and it bares itself to him. He speaks to mine as we sit silently because some things in life can’t be explained with mere words.
Spots flash in my vision, small bits of memory dance in front of me. I shake it off, at least until he leaves. He knows as well as I do, the things we face are best left unspoken. One day, it’ll come full circle. I only pray I can withstand the invasion and make it out the other side of the torrential storm.
“Each day gives me a better insight into this, I hear you.” He leans in, taking my hand and thumping my back in a brotherly hug. “Later.”
“We’ll be around.” He tosses his hand in the air and marches out the way he came.
I know he will, too. Because we’re family, now more than ever.
~three weeks later~
"Hatch! Hatch! This way! Roll out! Roll out now!" The darkness is like walls as each word bounces off them, echoing around me and leaving me disoriented. I can feel the anguish infused with them; I'm gutted.
I force myself awake with a jolt. I'm not sure what's worse, the stabbing pain in my temple or the one in her voice when she says my name. The same dream, over and over, is messing with me. I sit up, rubbing my eyes with the palms of my hand. A chill creeps up my back, running over my shoulders.
"Damn it!" I stagger from the bed, my head pounding, walking to the bathroom. The room's bright, I keep trying to block out the sun by making sure everything is closed as much as possible, but somehow, they're always open.
These early mornings are messing with me, I can't seem to shake this thing, and I'm beginning to wonder if they're nightmares. I turn the faucet on, waiting for the water to warm.
"C'mon, just wake up." I splash my face several times, rubbing the back of my neck as I do. My muscles are still tight, although I've been here for six weeks now.
A sudden loud knock from outside, helping me to pull myself together. "Good morning, Mister Hatcher."
"Mornin,' ma'am." I amble from the doorway as she enters the room.
Her eyes widen when she realizes I'm coming from the restroom with only my sleep pants on. "Oh, my. I... I need to get your vitals."
"Sure enough." I nod toward the bed, slowly walking over to sit down. "I'm still a little slower than normal."
"Don't be so hard on yourself, I happen to believe you're doing better than they expected." She smiles, setting her things down beside me before taking my arm. "Let's check your temp and BP."
"Like I have a choice," I grunt. I have no idea why she irritates me, but she does.
She cuts her eyes at me, quirking her lip. "I can understand why you hate this, but being a grumpy old man doesn't help."
"I'm not grumpy, I like being alone." Which is a lie, but I am not her business. She's such a know-it-all with her pink-rimmed glasses and ginger locks.
She raises her brows. "Because this isn't grumpy?"
"No, this is me tired of being poked and prodded."
"Like I said... grumpy." Her mouth flattens into a thin line. Okay, so she's pretty, but I'm far from interested. For whatever reason, something internal stirs my soul and annoys me when she's around.
"For the record, there are other nurses who can do this if I'm not the kind of company you want to keep." I snap with a grin when her head spins like the exorcists.
&
nbsp; Her cheeks glow with anger from biting her lip, putting a smile on my face. "I think I have everything I need. Have a great day, Mister Hatcher."
My thoughts swim as words as I wallow them around, wanting to answer her, but before I can, the door swings open, and my doctor joins us. The nurse jerks her things up, whipping around, and strides out the same way she came in.
Doctor Burgess smirks, opening my records at the end of my bed. "Apparently, you're having a great day."
"I'm ready to get the hell outta here if that's what you mean." I sit back on the bed, a little winded, disgusted by my current state.
"You're healed nicely, and physical therapy is working well. I don't see why we can't release you to rehab by the end of the week." He glances at me while scribbling in my chart.
I sit up, happy for the news. "Sounds damn good to me."
"Hold on, we have one more thing, Creed." He rounds the end of the bed, coming closer to me. My gut knots, alerting me I'm not going to be happy for much longer. "I think you need to consider visiting a therapist of a different kind."
"Don't patronize me, I might have a trauma injury, but I understand you're talking about a head doctor." I glare at him. The pounding in my temples ramps up, sending shooting pain through my head.
"Answer me this, Creed." His hand slides around his neck. "Can you tell me what high school you attended?"
I stare at him, my mind closing in and roaring down rails similar to a tunnel. So dark, I can't see through the black veil or around the sides. There's nothing but a vast hole in front of me, and I tremble, knowing in my gut if I go in, I’ll be lost forever.
My head shakes of its own accord. "This will not help; I'll never be the man they all remember and want to return."
"Your injuries to your shoulder and leg will continue to heal with physical therapy. Your prognosis is excellent, but only with continued work. Choosing to not work on any injury will do nothing but prolong the issues." He pauses, shoving his hand in his pocket.
“As we've discussed, the damage you've sustained to your Parietal and Temporal lobe doesn't necessarily mean you will never recover. We attribute your memory loss to your traumatic brain injury, and as a result, you have post-traumatic amnesia. This doesn't have to be a death sentence."
"But..." I wait because I know there's more.
His head drops. "You may never recover from the memory loss, but until we have more information, I refuse to guess what the future holds."
"And the fucking headaches? I suppose I'll get used to them or learn to live with them." My chest constricts as I fight off the fear hunting me down day and night of living a normal life.
"I can't promise you anything, but I can say working with a specialist is my best advice for you, and the only hope you may have of regaining your life." He folds his arms, waiting for me now.
"What if," I press my fingers into the sides of my head, praying for some relief. "I don't want to?"
"I suppose that's something you have to figure out on your own." He shifts, moving his weight from one foot to the other. "Let me make the referral, and you can make the decision from there."
"Even if I decide to go, I don't have much hope." I watch as his demeanor changes, he disagrees with me.
Doctor Burgess moves forward, readying to deepen the argument, I'm sure but is interrupted by a sound out in the hallway. Before he can finish his sentence, the entrance is filled frame to frame with a mountain of a man.
"Do you remember who I am?" His deep timbre breaks the silence.
He's pushed quickly to the side as his boss walks into the room. "He can't recall things before the accident, asshole."
"Jackson," I offer my hand as he approaches me. "happy to see all of you again."
"You're looking good, Hatch." He shakes it with a grin. Jackson Cole is the owner of Cole Securities, the company my father hired to extract me from my captors. Or so I'm told, I have no recollection of anything, including my father.
I move to the edge of the bed. "Doing much better, thanks to great doctors."
"Just doing my job, gentlemen." He scribbles something in my file before smiling at me. "I'll let you visit and swing by a little later."
"Sounds like a plan."
"You might not remember who you are, but you're still country as hell!" The big guy takes my hand, slapping me on the back.
I wince, trying to laugh it off. "Yeah, I suppose so. Glad to see you, Mark."
Quinn Miller, another team member, glares at Mark. "Sometimes, I really wonder about you."
"I get that a lot, people can't stop thinking about me." Mark grins like a shit-eating opossum.
"But I'm what their dreams are made of." Quinn flexes, making all of us roll our eyes. He laughs, reaching to shake my hand. "How you doing, man?"
"Fine. I mean, as good as can be expected."
Jackson sits forward in his seat, brows pulled tight. "Have you had the chance to spend some time with your family?"
"Uh, no. I'm still trying to find my bearings." My parents came when I first arrived. Man, what a total disaster. My mom couldn't stop crying, and my dad was stoic. I didn't have the heart to tell them I only agreed to meet them because everyone else thought this was the best idea.
Quinn perches on the chair across from me. "I can't imagine what you're going through, I wish I had some incredible advice for you, but all I can offer is friendship."
"Yeah, man. We're here for you, you're family now." Mark's face draws, I can tell he means every word.
"I know, thank you. But right now, I'm lost." I fiddle with my fingers, which helps to keep from facing them.
Jackson presses on. "Have you given any thought about going home when you're released to see if you can acclimate?"
"We're not trying to push you, just concerned for you. Your dad moved heaven and hell to find you and bring you home." Quinn spouts, pricking my ire with his tone and the overall conversation.
I stand, pacing the room. "Yes, you've all explained how you rescued me, and I can't thank you enough, but nothing changes the fact I don't know who the fuck I am."
"When your father contacted me, I rejected the mission at first. There were hardly any details, and you were only missing a few weeks at that point. He pulled his senator card, and I still refused. He then spoke to me as a father. By the time he was finished, I was all in." Jackson leans forward on his knees.
“I'm positive your parents don't care if you need time to figure things out because all they wanted was you back on US soil and safe. Be honest with them, take the time you need, but don't cut them out of your life. There might be a day you'll regret not trying.”
My pacing slows with every word, something deep inside me pulls and tugs, knotting my stomach. "Maybe the therapist Doctor Burgess wants me to talk to isn't such a bad idea."
"I don't understand how it could hurt, and please, don't think we're pushing you out. We're here, brother." Mark's voice reverberates in my chest, his words settling in and taking root.
I lean against the wall, and my breathing slows. "I can't go home to who I was, and I'm not sure they understand, I may never be the son I was before. I'm not even sure I'm me anymore."
"I can't think of a better place to find out, and we'll be a call away," Quinn adds.
"Right now, I can't go back to who I was, but I can move forward and see what happens."
Jackson stands, moving closer to me. "You have plenty of time, take what you need and consider moving forward in some way."
My newfound brothers spend the afternoon with me until Jackson needs to make his flight time back to the West Coast. I can't explain how much this means to me I'm not alone.
As they ready to leave, each makes sure I have their cell numbers. My parents brought me a new phone once I recovered enough to learn how to use one again.
I'm told my recovery has been astonishing, most never recover. I realize I'm one of the lucky ones. Funny thing is, I don't feel lucky. I'm not sure how to describe what I think, e
xcept for sadness, and I have no idea why.
"Now, if I can only figure out the rest of my life."
Chapter Four
Creed
Two years later…
"Creed?" The soft words echo around me, and longing fills my chest. I gasp with the pain of missing something or someone. She sounds broken, much like me. "Creed... come home. Find your way back to me."
I shoot straight up in bed, sweat dripping from my body. The dream is always so vivid, like I'm looking down at the scene, watching as it happens in real-time. I shake my head, trying to find my bearings.
"Doc?" My voice reverberates through the room, bouncing off the empty walls. No, not the ones I've built within me, but the man-made one around me.
"Hey, where are you?" I swing my legs from the bed, standing slowly so I can adjust to the movement. I stretch, chuckling as my body cracks and pops like an old house.
I stumble through the apartment to find Doc lying on the couch. The sun beams through the window, making her red hair glisten. She's my best friend, I'd be lost without her.
"There you are," I drop into the seat next to her, running my hand up her back. "did I disturb you?"
Her eyes widen as she crawls over my leg, snuggling on my lap. I rub her back again as she falls into my chest, warming me after my dream. It's always one of two, and Doc doesn't like either of them.
"How about I fix us some breakfast?" I grin when she jumps up, wagging her tail. "That's my good girl."
I stand, plodding over to the fridge to grab her a treat. Doc is a Fox Red Golden Retriever, I got her after I came home. She's my service dog and my best friend.
She has a plethora of bandannas, in fact, she has enough for a distinct style and color every day for a month. Which ranges in everything from an American flag to a plaid. She's the prettiest girl I've ever met and not because she's saved me from some deep shit either.
"Let's check out how far we've gotten with this one." I point to the table, ambling over as she follows me.
I stare down at the puzzle laid out across the top. We never have company, so it made sense for me to spread the pieces out here. Just another coping mechanism I use but never finish.