Head Start (Cedar Tree #7)

by Freya Barker

  “Honey,” I try, but his face stays buried in my neck. “Neil?”

  Finally, after I hear him take a deep breath in and let it out slowly, he lifts his head, resting his forehead against mine. The anguish in his red-rimmed eyes rips at my heart. One of my hands comes up to touch his face and he tilts his head to kiss my palm. “Talk to me, baby,” I whisper, watching his eyes turn to me.

  “I don’t think you’ve ever called me that. I like it,” he says, his voice gruff with emotion.

  “Talk to me,” I urge him again.

  “I kept seeing your face. She was so frail, so broken, and yet her eyes were still so full of life. For her kids. She survived for her kids.” His disjointed words are a testament to the horror she must’ve endured. “I couldn’t leave her. I’m sorry I didn’t come get you myself. I needed you, but she...”

  “Shhh,” I hush him, covering his mouth with my fingers. “I’m glad you were there. Glad it was you who stayed with her. Remember, I experienced firsthand what an amazing comfort you are. I love you so much.”

  His face dives back down in my neck and I hold the back of his head while the other hand softly rubs his heaving back. Instinctively, I know this is about more than what he experienced out there. This is something that runs so much deeper. I don’t say anything, I just hold him the same way he’s held me through my struggles. Without questions, without judgement, but with overwhelming love in my heart. What a fool I’ve been.

  What could’ve been hours later, but was likely only a few minutes, Neil lifts his face from my shoulder and kisses me softly. “Thank you,” he says simply, unashamed of the tears streaking his face. That, more than anything, shows me the depth of his trust in me and I feel honored. I don’t insult him with a response, the situation doesn’t require one. I gently smile at him instead. “I’m pretty sure she was violated, and I feel guilty for saying this, but I’m so grateful he never got that far with you. If I could have another go at him, I’d finish him off.” I can hear the anger in his voice and shudder to think what the woman’s had to endure. “But I just found out from Damian that Cayman died earlier tonight.” I see him clench his jaw before he bites off, “ Too easy. He should’ve suffered.”

  I swallow as I lift my hand and soothe it along his jaw. “Well, I’m glad. Seems like sweet justice to me. Franka is found alive, just when he gets sent into the flames of hell. Let’s go in.”

  Gus and Emma are standing beside the car, Gus holding a wheelchair he must’ve picked up inside. Without argument, I sit down and let Neil drive. He seems to need to take care of me right now, and I’ll gladly let him. The only ones in the waiting room are Luna and Damian when we enter the waiting room. The other guys all went home to their wives and kids. Only Drew is still at the cabin, keeping an eye out until Jasper and the forensics’ crew get there. No one is in a hurry anymore, now that Franka is found and Cayman is dead. There won’t be a trial which, I have to admit, gives me no small measure of relief. But, of course, the case still has to be closed out properly. There are many jurisdictions involved and everyone will want to be assured Cayman was the man involved.

  For a minute, I worry about the effect this would have on Neil, being responsible for a man’s death, but he doesn’t seem fazed. Damian assures me there will be no charges against him.

  It’s close to daybreak when a nurse comes in with a tired-looking, forty-ish, familiar-looking man in tow. The nurse whispers something to him and points him in Neil’s direction, who lifts his arm from my shoulder before standing up.

  “Neil?” the man asks as he approaches, his hand stretched in front of him. “My name is Ben Bridges, I’m Franka’s brother.” The moment he grabs Neil’s hand, he pulls him forward into a hug, complete with manly backslaps. “Thank you for looking after my sister. She says...” The poor guy can barely get his words out. “Franka says you stayed by her side.”

  “I did. Your sister is an amazingly strong woman,” Neil says gruffly.

  “She wouldn’t have made it if...if you hadn’t kept looking for her,” Ben says.

  “Actually, you have my girlfriend to thank for that. Kendra is the one who didn’t give up. She’s also the one who pointed us in the right direction, so she deserves that credit.” I’m still a little stuck on the girlfriend title and the rest of his words register only when I find myself drawn up from my chair. Ben pulls me in a bone-crushing hug that has me yelp out in pain. Shocked, he releases me immediately.

  “What did I do? I’m sorry...I...”

  Still trying to catch my breath, it’s Neil who answers. “Kendra was one of his victims, or perhaps I should say one of his survivors. Her back...I don’t know if you are aware of your sister’s injuries, but he would carve wings in their backs. Kendra has—”

  “My back is healing, it’s just a bit tender still,” I say, interrupting Neil, finally able to speak.

  I smile at him, hoping to make him feel a little better.

  “Wait, you’re Kendra?” Ben asks incredulously. “You’re Kendra the PT? I didn’t realize...my son—”

  “Ben,” I fill in, finally figuring out why he seemed familiar. “You’re Toms’s dad.”

  Neil’s arm pulls me close. “In that case,” he says to the man. “No thanks necessary at all. Your son saved Kendra and I will never be able to thank him enough for that.”

  “Small fucking world,” Damian mutters behind me and I can’t hold back my words.

  “No shit, Sherlock.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Neil

  Surreal.

  This whole ordeal has been mind-boggling from beginning to end.

  I’m standing in the doorway, watching Kendra reach over and stroke the hair away from Franka’s face and it about does me in. These women have come through the other end of a nightmare of epic proportions, and yet for each of them the focus is on someone else.

  “This is good.” Naomi walks up and leans against my side, sliding her arm around my waist. “These two won’t need to explain to each other how they feel. They’ll know. They can talk about what happened without shame. They won’t need to be concerned about their injuries or their emotions. Their connection will likely be as non-judgmental as is possible.”

  Her words carry an underlying message and I hear it. “How do you know?” I ask her softly, and I feel her shoulders shrug under the arm I’ve loosely draped around her.

  “Women have a natural inclination to share. Sharing their burdens with others who have lived through similar experiences only makes it easier. Ironically that makes them mentally tougher, generally better equipped to deal with the unexpected. Men on the other hand have a tendency to avoid. They seem to feel the best way to deal with struggles is to pretend they don’t exist. They don’t process properly, and as a result, it can leave them crippled. Less resilient.” When I look down at her upturned face, I see no judgement, only friendly concern. “I’ve seen the struggle in you from the beginning. Don’t know why it’s always been clear to me, it just has. Maybe the way you always worked hard at being exactly what everyone expected of you. Too hard. But I think you’ll find most of us here see right through that facade.”

  “I told Kendra. I never told anyone, but I told her,” I say to her quietly as my eyes are unwittingly drawn back to the woman in the wheelchair.

  “Good. I’m glad, but maybe you should also consider looking into a group. Check in with Veteran’s Affairs to see what there is on offer.”

  I don’t say anything when she gives me a quick squeeze before letting me go, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t listen.

  -

  Kendra is very quiet when we finally leave the hospital around lunchtime. Other than a coffee and muffin from the cafeteria, we haven’t eaten since last night’s picnic in bed.

  “You hungry, Pup? You’ve gotta be hurting by now.” I put my hand on her leg to get her attention. When she turns her face to me, I can see the exhaustion in her eyes.

  “Not really, but I guess we shoul
d eat.”

  “Gus took Emma home earlier. I bet she’s already back in the kitchen whipping something up. Or we can stop at the diner if you like? We could pick something up from there and bring it home.” When I don’t get an answer, I look over to find her chewing her bottom lip. “What’s up?”

  “Where’s home?”

  “For now, the guesthouse. Clint and his brother are going to start work on your house this coming week. I’m not sure how long it’ll be before they have all the repairs done, but it sounds like Clint means business. He’s pulled in his brother’s entire crew from Durango as well. My guess, a couple of weeks? You’ll be back in your house before you know it.” I don’t tell her that I’ve already made arrangements to buy the house as-is from Beth and am footing the bill for the repairs. Beth’s insurance is dragging their feet, which is why I agreed to a reduced price. That way, when her insurance finally pays out, Beth can pocket that money as part of the proceeds of the sale. And with Clint and Jed doing the renos, they’re offering a friendly price, so I benefit in the long run. It just doesn’t seem like the right time to talk about the fact that I’ve bought my way into being her landlord, or rather, her roommate. For now—I’m planning on changing that status as soon as I can.

  Kendra

  “Thank you for coming.”

  The woman’s soft voice and brittle smile brought tears to my eyes.

  When her brother Ben, Tom’s father, told me Franka wanted to see me, I wasn’t sure what to expect. It certainly wasn’t this frail looking woman with steel in her eyes, greeting me politely like we were just introduced at a social event.

  “Of course,” I manage inadequately.

  “You have his scars?” I nod, knowing she’s talking about the wings.

  “He didn’t get a chance to finish. I assume yours are?” It feels odd to talk about this in an almost matter of fact way, but it’s not with her.

  “Yes,” she says, squeezing her eyes shut. Probably remembering, just as I am, the hot pain of the cuts in already inflamed skin. “He talked about you. You were his Raphael. He called you his angel of mercy.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You hold no responsibility. In fact, from what I understand, you’re the reason I was found at all. I was so close to giving up...” Her voice trails off.

  “I’ll leave you to get some rest,” I tell her softly, reaching to swipe the hair back off her face. “You need it so your body can recover.”

  “Please give Ben your number; I’d like to stay in touch.”

  I smile at her. “I can do you one better, your nephew Tom already has it. He’s my favorite patient.” Her eyes open wide in surprise.

  “Well, I’ll be...” I see how the weird connections are starting to come together for her just by watching the expressions on her face. “It looks like somehow our paths were destined to cross. I’ll be in touch.” She grabs my hand and squeezes, her emotions getting the best of her.

  It seems like the most natural thing in the world to lean forward and kiss her cheek. “Unless I beat you to it,” I tell her with a wobbly smile.

  Somehow I feel that in that short visit, a lifelong friendship was forged.

  -

  It isn’t until I’m sitting next to Neil in his truck that it hits me. It’s over. The monster is dead, and three of us survived, counting my sister. But what happens now?

  With my mind trying to find some traction on all the thoughts randomly floating around, I’m almost catatonic when Neil asks about food. Maybe that’s not such a bad idea. I’m surprised at how little of an opinion I have about anything right now. When Neil brings up going home, it startles me. I hadn’t thought about that. Of course, I haven’t thought about anything remotely practical or concrete in recent days, but I literally have not once paid mind to the house and my possessions. Now I do and can’t help wonder if the fact I don’t have a place to call mine is part of what is making me feel a bit disjointed. Unattached. Something I worked hard to maintain for years, but that suddenly seems to have lost all its appeal. I don’t want to be unattached. I want to be part of something...someone. Neil.

  By the time we pull up to Gus and Emma’s house, I’m half asleep, and Neil comes around to help me from the car.

  “I have my crutches, you know. I can walk,” I point out when he lifts me out of the car and carries me toward the house.

  “First of all, in your current state, you’re likely to land on your face. You can barely keep your eyes open. And secondly, I happen to like holding you. So just let me.”

  All right then. I’m too tired to argue, and besides, it is not exactly a hardship to be carried around, snuggled against his comfy chest. Instead, I settle my forehead against his jaw and loop my arms around his neck. Not bad at all.

  Before we get to the door, it’s already pulled open by Emma. “She okay?” she asks Neil, but I answer.

  “I’m good, Em. Just really tired, and this behemoth here insisted on carrying me.” Emma’s giggle precedes us into the house where Neil unceremoniously deposits me on the couch.

  “Stay,” he growls at me. “Gonna get some food.”

  I’ve settled with my foot elevated on the coffee table when he comes walking in from the kitchen with a tray. “Thank you,” I manage while already shoveling the first spoon full of stew in my mouth. I wasn’t hungry earlier, but the scent of bay leaf and garlic permeating the air had my stomach rumbling in seconds. The fresh chunk of cornbread is gone in three bites before I look up and catch Neil watching me. “What?”

  “Nothing. Just enjoying watching you eat,” he says prior to diverting his attention to his own bowl.

  Emma walks in with a glass of wine in her hand which she deposits on the tray in front of me. “You’re not on painkillers or anything, are you?”

  “Not anymore,” I inform her. Neil pretend coughs and my eyes shoot daggers at him. He seems to find this amusing since he shakes his head grinning. “Well, I’m not.”

  “Babe, you never took any. I checked. Only reason you’d occasionally get a dose is because you got them intravenously at first, and the nurses caught you trying to go without when you were obviously in agony. Stubborn,” he mumbles.

  “I hate how they make me feel,” I admit grudgingly. “All loopy like.”

  “I know,” Emma says, taking a seat beside me. “I hate pain meds. Avoid them like the plague.” Happy with the unexpected support, I gloat at Neil, who just continues to eat while shaking his head. Ugh.

  When we’re done eating—and surprisingly I finished every last bite—Neil gets up and brings his bowl and my tray to the kitchen. He sticks his head back inside and looks at Emma. “Is Gus in the office?”

  “Yup, just go on through,” she answers.

  “Be right back,” he directs at me. I give him a thumbs up. I’m sure there’s a ton of work waiting for him, since he’s spent the best of the past week by my bedside. I already feel bad enough.

  When I turn back to Emma, she’s looking at me through slitted eyes. “How was she?” I don’t need much more clarification. She’s worried that seeing Franka may have made me regress back into zombie mode, but it hasn’t. “So fucking strong, I’m in absolute awe,” I tell Emma honestly. “He had her for a long time. Did unspeakable things to her and yet she hung in there. Even when she was left for dead, she didn’t give up. It makes me almost ashamed there were moments in the short time I was with him that I wanted to die. She didn’t. Her focus on her children needing her is what kept her going, collecting water where she could, keeping herself hydrated as best as possible.” Emma’s hand settles warmly on my arm.

  “It’s amazing the strengths we discover in ourselves during a lifetime. Having kids is one way to find a core of steel. But honey, you’ve been no less strong. She had her connection with her kids to pull her through, whereas you were ready to sacrifice your own life for your sister’s safety. There’s no real measurement for strength, nor should there be. The same goes for pain, and happine
ss as well, those can only be measured against your own experience, not ever someone else’s.”

  Neil

  “Hey, do you have a minute?”

  Gus’s back is to the door of his office, and he’s pecking away at his keyboard with two fingers.

  “Yup,” he says, turning around and indicating one of the visitor’s chairs. He rests his elbows on the desk, folds his hands under his chin, waiting for me to spill.

  “You looked into my background when you hired me,” I state and Gus grunts his affirmation. “How much do you know?”

  “Enough to know you’d be an asset to GFI. That’s all I was interested in.” He leans back in his chair and scrutinizes me. “But I have a feeling that’s not what you’re after.” His eyes never waver from mine, and I end up being the one to lower mine first. I came in here to talk to him. To clear the air, to ask for advice. Now that I have his attention, the words seem to get stuck in my throat.

  “Fine,” he says, filling in the heavy silence. “I know your unit was called out to take out a group of rebels that were attacking supply convoys. I know you were a sniper. And I also know that this particular mission went wrong when you were ambushed by said rebels who took your best friend down. I know you took out the shooter.” He leans forward again, looking at me hard. “Look, I understand the kind of damage that can do to a person. The survivor’s guilt. The what ifs, the questions, the regrets. I get it. And I know it can ruin a person’s life if they let it, but bud...you’ve got—“

  “It was a young boy,” I interrupt him and watch confusion hit him. “The shooter I took down was just a boy.” I’m waiting for a reaction, for the shock, the horror, but instead, Gus reaches over and grabs my forearm.

  “In that case, I hope the adult that indoctrinated that child, put a gun in his hand and trained him how to use it is burning in hell for all eternity, because that boy’s death is on his hands. Not. Fucking. Yours.” He bites out word for word. His hold on my arm is painful and his eyes burn a hole in mine. “Not yours, son,” he repeats quietly.