by Mj Fields
Piper, Harper’s daughter. I love her so much, but whenever I talk to her on Facetime, she studies me, like she knows something. Another reason I am worried about going home.
The crown I gave her...she wants Hope to have it, but I told her I gave it to her, so it is hers, that Hope’s head is too small for it now. I know telling her that sometimes comes out in a panic, yet Piper just smiles.
That crown has always been a reminder of the knight who protected it. I never want Hope to believe in knights, and fairy tales, and other things little girls believe in that are not true. I want her to shine the way her father did, to believe that love is love, and Fate is not to be twisted. I want my children to do whatever makes them happy. To live and breathe and love themselves first. I will make sure they do.
“You ready, Ava?” Casey, the driver T hired for us, asks from the doorway, and I jump at the sound of her voice.
She calmly walks over and takes my hand. Only then do I realize I have them twisted in my shirt, unable to keep them still most of the time.
I shake my head as I answer, “Yes.”
“Okay.”
She reaches down to take Chance’s car seat, and I yell, “No!”
She nods. “I’ll grab your purse and the diaper bags.”
Guilt washes over me. “I’m sorry, Casey.”
“Don’t be sorry,” she replies as she gives me a sad smile over her shoulder.
I look down at my sleeping children and sigh. They are wrapped up like little cocoons, safe, warm, and sleeping. I dread what comes next.
“First flight, little butterflies.”
As usual, Casey is parked out back. She started doing that when I lost my composure the third time I walked out and stood frozen in front of where T last told me he loved me. The affect it has on me is like no other. It’s horrifying.
I know why I can easily look down on the spot from the balcony. I feel closer to him up there. Like I am closer to where he now lives, high above us, watching us, loving us, and not where he...died.
I take a deep breath once I am settled in the vehicle and the babies are safe.
***
On the private plane, I buckle the car seats as securely as I can next to each other in the oversized leather seats. Then I sit in the one facing them.
Chance stirs a bit, and I stand up, take the two steps to him, and place the pacifier that fell out of his mouth back in.
After I sit back down, the plane begins to taxi down the runway, and as we ascend, Chance grows more agitated.
I remember what the pediatrician said about flying and how their ears may bother them, so I unbuckle and steady myself as I walk back to him.
Unbuckling him from his seat, I look at Hope and see her contently sucking on her pacifier. She has a dimple on her cheek that deepens with each suck.
“Beautiful, just like your daddy, Hope,” I tell her, trying to hide the sadness and yearning in my voice.
When I sit down again, I position Chance to nurse him, though he isn’t due for another feeding. I just hope it will help. I had it all timed out so that, when we get into town, I can nurse them, and they will be content so I can leave them with Casey when I head to the hospital.
“Plans change, Chance,” I tell him after he latches on. “But we’ll be okay, I promise. We will always be okay.”
I look out the window as the plane leaves LaGuardia. The lights are still beautiful in the evening, even in the summer. They are not waving good-bye today; they are sending me Morse code for “Come back soon.”
Chance whimpers and let’s go, his sweet, little lips puckering and quivering. I kiss his sweet cheek and hold him closer, whispering, “Shh...” into his ear as I pat his back.
I look at the bag Casey grabbed and sat next to me, seeing the corner of Bingo peeking out. I feel my cheeks moisten as I close my eyes, secretly wishing I could find comfort in a blanket like I used to. But I can’t, and I never will be able to again.
I’m going to the place where I am from, a place where I used to feel adored and loved. A place where I have always been my dad’s princess but gave away the title willingly. I’m going to a place where I can no longer walk outside and breathe, because I know what is next door. I’m going to a place I can no longer laugh at things, because nothing is funny anymore. I’m going to a place where I used to not worry what others thought, but now I feel their judgment, even from hours away.
They no longer know my heart, because it is shattered, and mended, and scarred beyond recognition. I’m going to a place that I don’t want to go, and I am terrified.
I’m going to my hell on earth.
CHAPTER FIVE
It doesn’t hurt anymore. - T. Greseth
LUKE
I wake up in pain, which is normal now. I accept it. Fuck, I embrace it. I am pins and metal, fucking crutches, therapy, and more fucking pain. When I look in the mirror, I see a man who has heard a million times in the past few months that he is lucky to be alive.
In the blink of an eye, I lost Killshot, a man who was like a brother, the ability to walk, and a career that gave me an identity of my own.
All fucking gone now.
The casts came off my legs a few weeks ago, but my legs have lost all their muscle, and I can’t fucking work them back up without feeling pain worse than I ever have. My physical therapist is a fucking masochist. The psychologist I have to see is a pussy. My mom cries and thanks God every time she sees me. And I feel fucking nothing, nothing but pain.
Within seconds of sitting up, Mom appears in the doorway of the downstairs room that has been converted into my bedroom since the stairs and I had a fucking issue a few weeks ago.
“You look great, Luke. How are you feeling?” Mom smiles, tears in her eyes, as she hurries to my side and hands me the walker.
“I am not using that thing. Give me the crutches.”
She gives me an expectant look, the one moms give their kids when they seem to have forgotten their manners.
“Please,” I tack on.
“Okay, but be careful,” she says, walking out of the room. “Oh, Harper is in labor.”
I push myself off the bed to a standing position, legs shaking from the weight they bear and pain shooting through me.
She walks back into the room with the crutches and closes her eyes as she hands them to me. “You think we can swing by and see her after therapy? Maybe she’ll have had the baby by then.”
“Before,” I grumble as I rest my armpits on the cushions of the crutches, taking the weight off my legs.
She looks at me like she’s shocked, which I’m sure she is since I don’t leave this damn bed unless it’s for an appointment. Then she grins and says, “Okay, then. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
I nod, and she leaves me alone.
Harper is having a baby.
Baby. Babies.
Fucking Ava.
Christ, I haven’t spoken to her once. Not once.
I can’t. I can’t, and it’s killing me. I need to see if she’s okay, but I’m not okay, and I would be of no use to her.
The pain, the physical pain, is not all consuming, but the loss I caused is.
***
Walking into Community General Hospital on crutches, Mom stops to ask the woman at the desk for a wheelchair, when I interrupt.
“Not necessary.” Then I continue to make my way to the elevator.
Mom hesitates, but then I hear her heels clicking behind me.
Inside the elevator, she looks at me after the door shuts. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “I’m fine.”
She rubs my shoulder and sighs. “Good.”
When the elevator stops on the fourth floor, we head into the waiting room where I see my cousins, Matthew and CJ, as well as Maddox’s siblings, Lexington and London. Brody and Lucas are pacing, nearly tripping over each other. Then I see Liam, and next to him, chewing on her nails, legs curled up under her, hair tossed up in a messy bun on top of her head, in clothes hang
ing off of her, is Ava.
Everyone looks at the door. I feel their eyes, but not hers. No, she is still chewing on her nails, until she hears Lucas say, “She’s still in labor.”
When she looks up, her eyes meet mine for just a second, and then she seemingly curls into herself.
My heart literally skips a beat, and I become agitated.
She looks like hell. Her eyes are sunken in, and even in those clothes, I know her curves are gone.
“Poor thing,” Mom says in response to Harper still being in labor.
“Come on, Luke; have a seat,” Lucas says, pointing at the corner, the only seat available on the other side of Liam, and I sure as fuck don’t want to go over there, but I have to.
As soon as my ass hits the seat, they all bombard me with:
“How are you feeling?”
“You look great.”
“You’re walking!”
“How’s the pain?”
It’s overwhelming.
“I’m fine,” I grumble. They all look shocked, so I add, “Thanks for asking.”
Piper walks in then, holding Maggie’s hand. “Luke!”
She lets go of Maggie’s hand and runs across the room, ready to dive on me. I brace for impact, but Brody reaches out and snags her around the waist.
“Easy, little one,” he says with a laugh.
“She’s fine,” I tell him, though I’m grateful she didn’t dive on me.
Piper squirms away from him, giggling. “I know, I know.” She climbs up on Liam’s lap as if he isn’t even there, sits on her knees, and then kisses my cheek. “You’re okay?”
“I’m okay.”
She beams. “Mommy’s having a brother.”
“You sure about that?” I ask, knowing they never found out the sex of the child.
“Sure am. And he’s gonna love me and be best friends with Chance and love Hope like...” She pauses, as if to think about what she is saying. Then she shakes her head and giggles. “Like crazy!”
“Chance and Hope, huh?” I comment, looking past her and at Ava who looks terrified and immediately looks away from us.
Piper follows my line of sight and spots Ava. “I knew you’d come!” Then, still using Liam like a piece of furniture, she climbs across him and dives onto Ava.
“Of course I did,” Ava says, sounding just as fragile and broken as she looks.
I need to get the fuck out of here. I can’t sit here and look at her.
I glance at Liam, whose face looks pained, and he’s holding his breath. I know that look immediately.
I glance down and see where Piper’s foot is right on his crotch.
I want to laugh, but instead, I look away as Liam gives a deep and pained chuckle.
“Hey, Piper, I need to get up for a minute.”
“’Kay,” she says, climbing fully onto Ava and hugging her tightly.
As soon as Liam is gone, Piper steals his seat. She takes Ava’s hand, then she takes mine. Smiling down at them, she giggles.
Ava and I look at each other for just a second before Piper looks up at me.
“Everyone is fine.”
I nod, and she nods back. But everyone is not fine.
I look at Ava again, and Piper looks at her, too. I can’t see what look Piper is giving her when Ava says to me, “You look well.”
Piper releases our hands and hops down. She runs to Lucas and raises her arms. “Pop-Pop.”
“Pip-Pip.” He smiles as he lifts her up.
“Mommy almost done?”
“Not long now.” He winks at her.
“Can I have chocolate milk?”
“You can have a whole chocolate cow,” he says with a chuckle.
As soon as I know no one can hear me, I tell Ava, “You look like hell.”
She looks at me blankly and shrugs. Then she looks down at her phone.
“Who’s helping you out?” I whisper.
She doesn’t look up. She doesn’t even acknowledge me. She stands up and takes a step, then stops and looks back. “I’m glad you’re okay.” Then she walks away.
I watch her whisper to Lucas, and he nods, kisses her cheek, and then she hugs Piper. Liam takes her hand before they walk out of the room.
Lucas looks at me and gives me a gloomy smile. I have no idea why.
I lean back in my seat, close my eyes, and cross my arms.
A few minutes go by before Liam comes back in and sits in the seat Ava vacated.
“You need anything?”
“No.” I close my eyes again. “No, thank you.”
“You look good, Luke, like you’re healing.”
“Yeah, well, she looks like hell.”
“Ava?” he asks.
I keep my eyes closed as I nod.
“Did you say that to her?”
“Yep.”
“Why the hell would you do that?”
I open my eyes and glance over at him. Liam never acts like a dick, so his attitude and tone of voice rubs me the wrong way.
“Because it’s the truth. The fucking truth.”
“You know what, Luke? I’m sure your mom taught you not to say anything if you don’t have anything nice to say. She is barely hanging on. You of all people should know how that feels.”
Before I have a chance to say anything, he gets up and walks away.
I look at my watch, hoping like hell time passes quickly. I would rather be at PT with the masochist therapist than be here.
One fucking hour later, Tessa and Emma walk into the room, both laughing and crying.
Piper claps her little hands. “Is my brother here?”
“He sure is,” Tessa says, swooping her up in her arms. “He looks just like you did, but bigger.”
“And more like a boy?”
Tessa laughs. “Yeah, more like a boy.”
Logan walks in and looks around. His eyes freeze on me, and I can tell he wants to say something, but he doesn’t.
I wish he fucking would.
I grab my crutches and pull myself up. I hate these fucking things. I hate hospitals, hate pain, and I hate that Killshot fucking died and I lived.
As I make my way through the crowd, Tessa smiles at me. “You look good, Luke. Harper is going to be so happy to see you up and around.”
“Gotta head to PT. Let her know I was here?”
“No way. You’re coming with me,” Piper says, wiggling down Tessa’s body. “Can we go?”
Tessa smiles. “Yeah, I think we can sneak you in really quick.”
Begrudgingly, I follow them through the labor and delivery ward.
Facing life when death surrounds your every thought is not easy. Not easy at all. Everything looks pink and blue and soft. Everything you hear is laughter and happiness. Everything they want you to feel screams hope and love. Meanwhile, I see gray and black, I hear voices, and I want to drown them out. I feel pain.
Gimping my way behind Tessa, Lucas, Brody, and Piper, I feel smaller, weaker, like a burden and not like the man I am—was. I want to run in the other direction when I can’t even fucking walk without help. A man like me should never be caged, should never live as a shell. A man like me won’t survive a life like this. Hell, I am barely hanging on.
Brody hugs his son, and Maddox returns the hug, but his eyes are still trained on his wife and the bundle of blue she is holding, until Piper runs up and jumps in his arms.
“Daddy!” She beams. “Mommy had a brother.”
“Right you are, Piper.” Maddox smiles at her. “Your brother.”
Piper grins. “And yours.”
“My son,” he corrects with a smirk.
She looks at him in confusion.
“You are our daughter; he is our son. You are his sister; he is your brother.”
The confusion doesn’t leave her face.
Giving up, Maddox tells her, “Mommy had a brother.” He then kisses her cheek, and she looks as if the weight of the world is off her fragile, little shoulders.
I a
m lost in their exchange. It’s...beautiful and real.
How does that happen? How does a little girl accept someone’s word as gold? It’s almost like blind faith, with no need for further explanation...ever.
Maddox Hines is a good man. Piper is lucky to have him to love and protect her.
“Luke?” Harper says, breaking my trance. “Sit.” She smiles warmly, and I nod.
As soon as I sit, she leans over to hand me her baby, the one she just birthed minutes ago, but I don’t reach out to take him. I don’t want to. I am not like Maddox. I’m not, and I never will be.
Mom takes him instead, and I finally let out a breath I never knew I was holding. When she closes her eyes and smells his head, I see a tear fall.
Christ, I need to get the fuck out of here.
“Congratulations, Harper,” I tell her, leaning forward, intent on leaving, when my mom holds the baby out to me.
I can feel all eyes on me. There is nothing I can do to escape, so I finally give in and let Mom put him in my arms.
“Reed Collin, this is Luke, and he is family,” Harper says with sadness in her voice. “I can’t wait until you get to know him.”
I look at him, just staring. He’s tiny and pink.
“Reed Collin,” I say quietly. “After your dad?”
“Yeah,” Harper whispers as she reaches over and rubs his cheek. “You’re a lot like my dad, you know.”
“How so?” I ask, still staring at him.
“He was a protector, too.”
I nod. Collin was a good man; better than me. “I remember.”
***
I stand in front of the mirror, looking at myself. I look tired, yet I feel anything but. No, I am agitated.
Sitting on the table is a frame filled with the last medals I will ever receive from my last mission. My first Purple Heart and another Medal of Honor that means shit because I didn’t save a life. Then there is a Distinguished Service Cross for extraordinary heroism, a Silver Star, a Bronze Star, and so many more. I pick up the frame and hold it up, hoping the closer I look, the more meaning it will have. It doesn’t work. It means fuck not to me.
I look up when a light flickers, and I see her, fucking Ava walking in front of her parents’ old bedroom window, holding a child.