Havoc

by Angie Merriam

  My face leans away to look into her eyes, which are swimming with relief and appreciation to still be alive. To be free. To have her prayers of independence finally answered.

  I wet my lips and press them to her forehead. With a deep breath, I release my grip around her and walk over to the patch of flowers she was staring at. Plucking a sunflower gracefully from among its friends, I stroll back to Haven and squat down in front her with this message of hope held out in front of her for the taking.

  Her jaw trembles as does her touch while reaching for it. There's another unfamiliar tug at my heart and a warmth that feels like, if it keeps up, I'll be crushed. I can’t quite smile, knowing that promise God gave her is one I will bleed to death upholding. I whisper, “Alpha.”

  76 Days Till Deployment

  I cannot move.

  I cannot think.

  I cannot breathe.

  75 Days Till Deployment

  I swore yesterday was just a bad dream, that there was no way it was happening to me. It all started off so simple—a day running errands, then getting ready to go to that stupid concert with Leighyani, and then seeing Haven's gorgeous face briefly before I left. Nothing seemed out of place. Nothing should've gone wrong. She doesn't deserve this. She's been through enough. I never should've gone to hear that awful band play. And I never should've gone to catch up with those people I went to high school with. I couldn't give a fuck about them. I don't know why people feel the need to catch up and compare notes like that. Yeah, sure, one of the guys knew the lifestyle, a Navy man, but still a military one nonetheless. That was the excuse I used at the time to justify why I was gone so long. No excuses are acceptable. I should've been by Haven's side. I wasn't there to protect her. I wasn't there to take care of her. I was busy having a beer and laughing at dirty jokes. I hate myself. I fucking hate myself.

  Christopher Striker was on call. That's the only thing working in my favor. Striker is not only married to Lexi, Haven’s tutor, but is also one of the best ER doctors in the country. His skin is several shades darker than my angel’s. His head is bald and shining in the poorly lit room I'm suffocating in. His face has a cleanly cut goatee. He always reminds me of Samuel L. Jackson, from the look to bad-ass attitude.

  Striker strides in and offers me a sympathetic expression. I don't need sympathy. I need Haven to wake up. He doesn't say anything as he checks her vitals. Her chart.

  “She'll wake up.”

  I don't respond.

  “Stop worrying.”

  It's not in my nature to worry, which is why it feels like someone is choking the life out of me, slowly but surely. And they should. I deserve it for leaving her.

  “This is not your fault, Slugger.” He slides a hand in his pocket.

  Of course it is. “I should've protected her.”

  “We both know that's not how it works, Slugger.”

  “I should've never gone.”

  “You can't be by her side every minute.” The words sting because they're true. It's not the first time I've heard them, and I'm sure it won't be the last. “Look, what matters is you're by her side now.”

  “And I'm not leaving until she opens her eyes.”

  “I know. The nurses have all been informed. And I got you scheduled for your blood draw. Doesn't the base–”

  “Thanks, Striker,” I cut him off before he can finish. The base does check us on a regular basis to make sure everything is all right, but more so, they can tell how we will perform more than anything else. And while I'm careful every time, I did just have an encounter a couple weeks ago. If Haven and I . . . when Haven and I get to that point, I want nothing to worry about. I want her to have nothing to worry about.

  Striker moves more objects around. Takes some notes and just stares at the angel in her frozen state. By the reaction on his face, I can assume that no changes have occurred. No progress. No poison known as hope for me to take.

  The door opens, and Sir's grim expression hurts just as much as my own. I expected him to lecture me about us taking her in, that this was inevitable, that I was a moron for thinking she would come free of complications, yet all he has said implies just the opposite. He told me he fought the urge to panic when he brought her in. He explained what he knew, that he had to continue to work, but he expected me not to leave until she woke up, that he would be calling for daily reports. There have been many days when I felt like we were on opposite sides regarding her, but now more than ever I'm starting to think we're on the same side.

  Sir leans against the wall closest to where he entered. Striker and he make brief eye contact before the doctor disappears. Once out of my line of sight, he says, “Striker says he'll let us know when there's progress.”

  “I know, Sir.” I reach for Haven's hand and stroke it gently. God, I wish she could feel me. I wish she knew I was here. I'd give anything for her to know that. “I haven't left her side, Sir.”

  “You need to eat, Clint.”

  The words are far from registering with me. I don't need to eat. I don't need to drink. As a Marine, my body is well equipped to handle long periods without food and hydration. I will be fine. I need Haven to wake up. I need to tell her I'm sorry, that this is my fault. That is all I need.

  “Not hungry, Sir.”

  With a frustrated growl, he says, “You need to take a minute for yourself here.”

  “I–”

  The door cracks open, and Mindy's smiling face appears along with a couple of vases filled with sunflowers. Promises. Each and every one. “Knock. Knock.” Before we can tell Mindy to give us a few, she's in the room bombarding it with her presence, strong perfume, and unstoppable cheerfulness. How can she be cheerful at a time like this? “Good afternoon, Slugger.”

  “Ma'am.” I nod, my hand still gripping Haven's.

  “Whiskey.”

  “Mindy.” He tries to offer her a smile.

  “And Haven,” she hums at her as if actually expecting a response. Mindy struts her way to the window, black skirt so tight it barely moves as she does, and places the two vases full of sunflowers in the window. “These are from me and Doug. These are from Felix and Anna. Oh!” She turns around on her black stiletto knee-high boots and marches over to Haven's motionless body, “And what did I tell you about manicures and your nails? Constant updates . . .”

  I watch Mindy, slightly confused as she sits down in the chair across from mine, pulls it closer to Haven, and removes a pocket nail kit from her Michael Kors purse. She immediately begins filing her nails. I fight the urge to smile at Mindy's behavior.

  “Clint, let's talk in the hall,” Sir insists.

  I shake my head, back still turned, “I'm not leaving Haven alone.”

  “She's not alone.” Mindy points the nail file at me. “Now go. Go talk to your father for a minute.”

  “But–”

  “If she wakes up in the forty-five seconds it takes for the two of you to not work out your problems, I'll holler.”

  “Your word?”

  “My word.” Her eyes fill with hope, the same kind I miss seeing in Haven's. The same kind I will see in them again soon. I have to.

  I follow Sir into the hallway that's emptier than I thought it would be. For some reason, I assumed everyone would be shuffling back and forth like we're in some sort of prime-time television show where people rush from room to room saving lives. Obviously, I haven't spent much time in hospitals since I was a kid. Since Mom. Never had a reason to. Never wanted one either.

  “Clint,” Sir uses my name to draw me back away from my thoughts. “This isn't healthy. And it's not helping Haven either. It's just gonna get to you in here with her.”

  “I'm all right, Sir. I know my body's status.”

  “You haven't eaten.”

  “Not hungry, Sir.”

  “You haven't slept.”

  “Not tired, Sir.”

  “You haven't–”

  “I know what I have and haven't done, Sir,” I cut him off, patience nonex
istent. “And I appreciate the concern, but I'm not leaving until she opens her eyes and I know she's all right. Period. You can lecture me if you like about everything that I need to be doing, but honestly, I'm not going anywhere until she opens her goddamn eyes, Sir.”

  “Clint–”

  I feeling myself losing it once again, flashing on the fact that there's another danger out there I haven't been able to put down. “And instead of standing in my face preaching at me, why don't you tell me where you are on this whole Old Man Banks thing, Sir. That should be your concern, Sir.”

  Now obviously heated himself, he growls, “That is my concern. And if there was progress, you would know by now. As much as that and Haven are my concern, so are you.”

  The threats against Haven seem to be stacking up, and right now, I have no way of facing the enemy that put her here nor the one that caused her to fall into my life to begin with. I feel a gnawing inside of me, a paralyzing feeling of uselessness.

  Before Sir can say another word to me, his cell phone goes off. Looking down at it, he nods, “I have to go.” He shakes his head. “Call me if anything changes.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  And just like that, he's gone. Predictable. Growing up when he returned from active duty and took a job as an officer of the law, I didn't realize his schedule wouldn't be much different than it had always been, that he would always be vanishing from my life in times of need. I don't know why I thought he would be any different this time.

  I turn to head back in when I see Howard strolling through the halls, looking for a room number. It better be someone else's because, if it isn't, it's going to severely up his chances of ending up in one of these rooms himself.

  “So it has to be . . . right . . . here.” His voice cuts off as his eyes set on me. “Shit.”

  My body goes rigid, becoming a very strong barrier between him and her room. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  He grips the yellow roses and balloons tighter, a snakelike smile slipping from his face, “Came to check on the pretty lady.”

  Rage rumbles in the back of my mind, desperate to bolt forward, to punch him in the face, drop him like the sack-of-shit nothing he is. “She doesn't need you to check on her.”

  “And she doesn't need you to protect her like a pit bull off his leash, yet here you are.”

  I'm prepared to shove him against the wall and plant my fist in his face when Striker comes strolling by and mumbles, “Remember, Slugger, you are in a hospital.”

  With a stifled grunt, I move out of the way by opening the door for him to follow me in. Inside the room, I settle back into my chair and watch as Howard greets Mindy and places his gifts along with the others.

  “Just wanted to come by and see her,” Howard's words make me grind my teeth. “I was close by. Paying a . . . bill.”

  Bill is code for a bookie. Gambler. Weakling. Pathetic maggot excuse for a human with money. He's lucky I have other things to worry about right now.

  “Well, she enjoys the company,” Mindy hums, continuing her nail routine. “Just make it brief. She does need her rest.” Mindy glances over at me, offering me some relief. She winks.

  “I'm sure she doesn't get enough of it with G. I. Jerk over there taking up all her time.” The comment makes me rise out of my seat until I catch a glimpse of Mindy, who demands with her face I settle back down.

  “If you can't say nice things, Howard, don't say anything,” Mindy mothers.

  “As long as Clint can remember to keep his hands and feet to himself.” Just like the pussy he is, he gets mouthy when I can't retaliate. God, I swear, if Haven would wake up for just a minute, I'd step outside and put his head through the wall.

  “Tick-tock, Howard,” She not-so-subtly nudges him.

  He looks at Haven and offers her a sleazy smile. His eyes on her bra-less chest make my skin crawl as he gently touches the edge of her bed. “Well, seems like you're in good hands, so I'll get going, but I did bring you the roses on the sill, and any time you wanna go to dinner, you just let me know.” Thankfully, before I can wrap my hands around his chicken neck, he makes for the exit, “Have a good evening, Mindy. Clint, always a pleasure.”

  The minute the door closes, I clutch my fists and pound them hard on the arm of the chair, desperate to hit something with more meat to it. My desire to be here with her is stronger than the desire to destroy something with all my built-up frustration. Being a Marine, I know better than to get so upset over such trivial things, but the fact is that the first woman I've ever fallen in love with is lying in bed in a coma because I didn't return home when I should've. Because I didn't keep my word. I scrub my face hard with my hands. I wish I could undo this. Fuck, I hate this feeling helpless bullshit.

  “You do know being that angry isn't healthy, right?” Mindy’s voice breaks through my internal rant.

  “Can you blame me?” I face her.

  “I'll admit that Howard has a tendency to be a little testy, if you will, but that doesn't give you the right to break his face every time it comes to light.”

  I can’t believe it. Now’s the time she chooses to lecture? “So, you're on his side now?”

  “It's not about sides. It's about you learning that being angry—that angry and all the time—solves nothing.”

  At this moment, it's never been more true. No matter how angry I get, Haven isn't getting any better any faster.

  “Oh, Slugger, stop beating yourself up so hard. You didn't do anything wrong. None of this was your fault. Not this time, nor the last.” I fold my hand with Haven's and place a kiss on the back of it. “And you know that,” Mindy presses.

  I attempt a smile.

  “I remember the last time you spent this much time in a hospital.” Her reference to when Mom got the flu and nearly died is not helping. I couldn't help her then, and I can't help Haven now. “No matter how much we begged you, you wouldn't leave that chair.”

  “I didn't wanna leave Mom's side.”

  “I remember,” she snips, placing her nail file down. “Didn't want to sleep. Didn't want to eat. Hell, it was a pain in the ass to get you to pee!” My face twitches, fighting the urge to chuckle. “You missed school. Practice. Nothing short of your own death was going to get you out of the chair.”

  “I wanted to be here when she woke up. I wanted to be the first thing she saw when she woke up.”

  “Exactly. So that's why I'm not going to fuss at you for staying here round the clock. This time, however, I am going to ask something of you.”

  “What's that?”

  “Please don't refrain from peeing.”

  I release a chuckle and lean back in the chair, “Deal.”

  Mindy reaches down into her purse and pulls out a food container. She hands it over and gives me a stern look until I grab it. Now that I can smell it, my stomach is chomping at it from the inside. How can it think of food at a time like this?

  Picking Haven's hand back up, she begins to paint a clear coat on her nails. “Go ahead, you know you want to.”

  Reluctant, but knowing I need to keep my strength up to take care of her when the machines are done, I lift the lid and remove a piece of fresh, homemade bread, which still happens to be warm.

  74 Days Till Deployment

  The wind is harsh, beating against my face as I sprint a speed that doesn't seem fast enough. No matter how quick I move, I don't seem to be getting any closer to her. Her screams remain at the same solid distance away from me.

  A bullet soars toward me. I drop, sliding my body out of the way, barely missing a step. I have to get to Haven. I have to save her. Rescue her from–

  There's another sharp scream in the distance. My eyes shoot up, seeing the tower that encases her shadow, expanded into a shape of pain, mouth open. Those cries are her. I have to get up there. I can't stop. I won't stop.

  Another bullet zips by, nailing me in my calf. The pain burns, biting at the nerves, trying desperately to slow me down. I can't. I can't. Another
bullet lands, this time in my shoulder, my body desperately trying to drag itself along to keep up with the speed I'm pushing for. Don't stop, Marine. Don't quit now. She needs you. At that moment, another wound appears in my chest as a bullet pierces it. I drop to the ground, knees first, face coated in dirt and shame.

  In an aching, haunting whisper, a voice as cruel as Lucifer's comes from behind the bars of his roasting prison, repeating what I believe is a lie, but it’s spoken like an unwavering truth, “You cannot save her. You. Can. Not. Save. Her. YOU. CAN. NOT. SAVE. HER. YOU! CAN! NOT–”

  Unsure of when or how I fell asleep, I start at the slightest twitch of Haven's finger. Thank God. She's alive! The sight of her big brown eyes with light in them soothes me in ways I never thought it could. It feeds the beast inside of me that was dying, rekindles every emotion that was finally settling back where they belong, letting me become a machine once again. As much as I hate having to cycle through all of these emotions, there's something about feeling alive with her that makes it worth it. There's something about it that makes living finally worth it.

  I pop up onto my feet and reposition myself so I'm closer, “Hi.”

  “Hi,” her sweet voice coos back.

  With that said, I wrap one hand around the back of her neck and plant my lips feverishly on hers. It takes all the will and control I have inside of me not to shove my tongue down her throat, but I want to savor this moment, this one right here. The thought of her lips is what will keep me warm on the battlefield, keep me going in tough moments, remind me that they are here to live for. They're soft, like kissing a cloud. What else would angel lips feel like? Not being able to resist anymore, my tongue softly knocks, asking for acceptance. As soon as I get it, I push my tongue softly against hers, losing more and more of me with every push. The excitement from the kiss alone is causing my dick to stir in my pants. Not. Now. Right now is about this kiss. About her. About the fact she is alive and the fact that now so am I, and I'm OK with it. I'm actually more than OK with it. I'm happy about it. Grim, happy? What were the odds?