by Liz Borino
“What?”
Jordan pointed to his suspended leg. “My foot is high.”
Aaron laughed. “We’re gonna keep you on the ground for a while.”
“But I wanna fly.” Jordan’s whine turned to a cough.
Aaron kissed his head and wiped his mouth with a tissue. “No jumping out of airplanes for a while.”
“I’ll wait a few weeks. Doctor said this’ll be on for at least five,” Jordan told him and leaned his head on Aaron’s hip, because that’s where the bed was positioned. “Would you sit down so they don’t think we’re being inappropriate?”
“You’re fun when you’re high,” Aaron said, perching on the edge of the bed and wrapping an arm around his husband. “Listen, your dad’s here.”
Jordan’s eyes widened. “What was his reaction? He thought I was dead, too, right?”
“Yes, he did. He’s… concerned and not entirely sure he should believe it, which I get, because I’m not sure if I do sometimes,” Aaron explained. “Are you up to seeing him?”
“He’s going to be angry,” Jordan replied after a few beats.
“At…? The government? The Army? Troy? Yes, to all.”
“No, at me,” Jordan told him. “For accepting favors.”
“The very thought that anyone will be angry at you makes my blood boil in ways you cannot even imagine,” Aaron said, calming his breathing. “I promise your dad is not blaming you. He’s confused, but he thought he was coming here to collect your remains for a burial. Ankle surgery and pneumonia are a much better outcome.”
“Please stay while he’s here, just in case you’re wrong,” Jordan said.
Aaron planted another kiss to his forehead. “I will, but I’m not wrong. I’ll be right back.” Aaron left Jordan’s area and found Elliot wearing the required gown, mask, and gloves. “Hey, I know this isn’t an issue, but Jordan is afraid you’re angry at him.”
“Why in the world would he think that?” Elliot asked.
“Because he didn’t follow all the rules about the proper way to get home, and… Elliot, where are you going?” Aaron grasped his arm not supporting the cane.
“To tell my son he is ridiculous,” he answered.
“That may not be the best way to go,” Aaron edged.
“I know how to speak to my son.”
Aaron inhaled sharply. “But without my okay, you won’t. He needs support because he’ll get enough people questioning his decisions.”
Elliot stared at Aaron for a long moment. “Of course I will be supportive. Please take me to him.”
Aaron nodded and led him to Jordan’s curtained off area.
Jordan opened his eyes and squeaked, “Hi, Dad.”
Glancing from Jordan to Aaron, Elliot’s cane wobbled.
“Sit, please.” Aaron offered him the chair by Jordan’s bed.
Taking the seat, Elliot blinked several times, and finally shook his head. “I was going to ask how you made it home alive, but I don’t care.” The elderly man, who remained stoic throughout the last two months, allowed his voice to betray the relief which turned to anger with his next words. “We will bring Hart down. He will pay for this.”
“Dad,” Jordan placed his wired hand on top of Elliot’s arm. “Not yet. No one will believe me now.”
“Jordan, he …”
“Did things I can’t describe here without proof,” Jordan finished.
“Where do I get the proof? I want him behind bars.”
Aaron advanced toward them, and placed a hand on Elliot’s shoulder. The desperate tone in his voice correlated too closely with Jordan’s rapid breathing. “So do we, Elliot, but we have to respect Jordan’s wishes.”
“What if he comes after him?” Elliot questioned, fear playing out on his face.
“Then you can join the people who will kill him.” Aaron spoke in a low tone and squeezed Jordan’s hand. “No one is going to hurt Jordan,” he promised.
Chapter Three
“Captain, I’m sorry,” Colonel Bryant said at the hospital the next morning after Jordan related the story of his escape from the Afghanistan prison two days ago. “Our sources were all sure you were dead. Otherwise, we would have continued looking for you.”
“I believe you, sir. No hard feelings,” Jordan replied. He had no animosity toward Bryant, because Bryant had every reason to think that Jordan had died in the fire that claimed the lives of the Afghani prisoners and Lieutenant Parks. The only person Jordan blamed was Hart, but he could not share that information yet. Bryant wouldn’t appreciate it without a lot of proof.
“What I don’t understand is how you knew you were going to be executed…”
“Yesterday,” Jordan finished Bryant’s train of thought. “I told you, I overheard the guards discussing a phone call between Nadar and a United States official. When the person refused to negotiate, the enemy decided I wasn’t worth keeping alive. So, they set my execution for dawn.” Yes, Jordan thought many times about the fact that if he had not escaped when he did, he would not be alive right now. The frantic conversation came flooding back…
“No, someone from your military, um, found out that you were alive… and was outraged that Anwar had not killed you,” Adeela explained. “I got the sense from what I heard of the conversation that they’d spoken before.”
Jordan swallowed the bile threatening to emerge. “Military? Who? What’s their ranking? Do you know?”
“They were high up and working for another government agency,” she told him. “I’m sorry, I only heard bits and pieces of Anwar’s conversation with him and Obaid.”
“Adeela, this is so important. What agency? FBI? DoD? White House?” Jordan guessed, his heart racing.
“No, this is not important. You have to move so you can escape. Tonight,” she countered.
“It is important. If the wrong people want me dead, I don’t have anywhere to escape to. So I might as well let your government kill me. Please try to remember his ranking. Name. Agency. Anything,” Jordan begged.
“Person. Not people. I did not get the impression he alerted anyone else,” Adeela corrected. “C—”
“CIA?”
“Yes, that’s right!” she exclaimed.
“The man they spoke to was a high ranking military official in the CIA?” Jordan clarified. At her nod, Jordan fisted a stone on the ground and threw it at the bars. “Fucking Hart!”
Jordan changed the story to say he overheard the guards to protect himself and Adeela. All he had told Bryant about her was that she had taken care of him in the prison and had “accidently” dropped a piece of paper with information about a cargo plane to the United States in his cell weeks before. Jordan then explained that he hitched a ride on a delivery truck, and offered to read the English map to the US for the pilot in exchange for a ride home. And he went with the marginally more credible statement that the US official refused to negotiate. Jordan hoped the suggestion of a phone call ordering his execution would propel the government into an investigation where they would find the truth themselves.
“Surely you don’t believe that someone in our government would treat your life so flippantly,” Bryant admonished.
Jordan bit his lip. Technically, Hart worked for the government. “No, sir, I only know what I overheard.”
“They were wrong.”
No. They weren’t. Jordan took a jagged breath. “Please look into it. I’m not making this up.”
“I never accused you of any such thing. I said the guards were wrong. But we will do an investigation.”
“And Adeela? Will you help her?”
“Captain,” Colonel Bryant began, “I’m grateful you made it out. But—”
“But he shouldn’t have been able to,” Dr. Jacklyn, the internist assigned to Jordan’s case, said, entering the room. “He’s a strong one, Colonel. I’ve never seen someone survive with pneumonia that bad, much less walk a mile on a badly broken ankle.”
“Our Captain Collins is a hardy one. Alw
ays has been,” Bryant replied. “He’ll be all right?”
The doctor smiled. “I see no reason why not, as long as he supports that ankle and takes his antibiotics. We’re only keeping him one more day for observation because he has someone at home to take care of him.”
“Do you think your husband can handle that?” Bryant questioned. “If not, the Army will pay for an in-home nurse.”
Jordan cringed. “Yes, I’m sure he can.” Not that Jordan was, but Bryant didn’t need to know that. Aaron left for the first time when Bryant arrived to talk to him. He sent up a quick prayer that Aaron would return. They had promised to stick together, but a small part of Jordan feared it would be too much for Aaron. He read the home care instructions and would be on his back for a while. Jordan vowed to learn to use crutches as quickly as possible so as not to be a burden.
“If that changes, you have a number to call,” Bryant reminded him.
Taking his cringe as a sign of pain, Dr. Jacklyn handed Jordan the Morphine pump. “Press that button if you need some relief.” To Bryant she said, “He needs to rest. I think whatever you have to discuss with him can wait a few days or weeks.”
“Of course. We just have to come up with a plan to address the media should he encounter any reporters on his way out of the hospital,” Bryant replied.
Dr. Jacklyn nodded. “You have five minutes.”
“He can’t have visitors after five minutes? You may want to tell Aaron. He’s the tall blond man in the waiting room. You can’t miss him,” Colonel Bryant told her, making Jordan’s heart skip a beat.
“I know who Aaron is. And no, I don’t have to tell him anything. I asked you to leave in five minutes because Jordan doesn’t need stress. I will not have you driving up my patient’s blood pressure, Colonel.” The doctor patted Jordan’s shoulder and added to Bryant before leaving, “You now have three minutes.”
“Yes, Doctor,” Bryant replied and turned to Jordan. “Captain, I don’t want you to get in trouble for making friends over there. If the wrong people hear about you asking the US government to help an enemy’s wife, it could turn out very badly. I will explore the supposed phone call to the Afghani leaders. But from here on out you tell people that you got a ride from some rich Americans.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Jordan protested.
“It will,” Bryant answered. “Captain Collins, I’m looking out for you here. Keep it quiet. That’s an order.” With that, Bryant strode out of the room and shut the door.
But Jordan didn’t hear the wood door meeting the frame. Instead, heavy metal bars slammed together. A key turned, stealing the heat from room, the softness of the bed, and the air from his lungs. His chest tightened as men outside his cell screamed in Farsi. Fine. Yell from out there. Don’t come in. Please don’t come in. But… the silent pleas worked no better now than they ever did. “I don’t know anything! Stop!” Jordan tried to scream. He chucked the gag covering his mouth across the room. Though it would do no good, Jordan threw punches into the air when one of them called for restraints. Not this time you bastards!
****
Aaron rushed in with the doctors and nurses when the red light outside Jordan’s room started flashing red and beeping, signaling a dangerous change in his vitals. “What happened?” Aaron demanded Dr. Jacklyn.
“I don’t know. Stay back,” she ordered as Jordan thrashed about on the bed, shaking the material suspending his leg. “We need restraints. He’s going to hurt himself.”
“You can’t be serious.” Aaron stepped up to the bed and glanced from Jordan to the doctor. Anguish distorted his husband’s expression. “He just spent several weeks in a prison enduring who knows what kind of torture.”
“He’s endangering himself, Aaron. Step away or I’ll force you to leave,” the doctor instructed, reaching for the restraints an orderly handed her.
Aaron wrapped his arms around Jordan and leaned onto his chest. “Jordan, you’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you anymore.”
“Let go of him.” The male orderly grabbed Aaron’s shoulder.
Aaron shook the man off. “The nightmare’s all over now,” Aaron soothed against Jordan’s ear.
Behind him, the doctor murmured about Jordan’s vitals stabilizing. The shaking died down. And after a few minutes, Jordan returned Aaron’s embrace. “Oh, Angel, they got you, too. I’m sorry. I never wanted to drag you here.” The yelling had turned to sobbing. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this.”
Here? “Open your eyes, love. We’re both safe.” Aaron eased up on Jordan so he could look around.
“I’m in the States?” Jordan questioned, wiping his face.
“Yeah,” Aaron answered. “Do you remember getting here?” The medical professionals scurried around them reading machines and taking notes, but Aaron kept his face close to Jordan’s so as not to overwhelm him.
“Plane and walking, and, fuck, this hurts,” Jordan responded. “God, I was there again. So cold.”
“Flashbacks are a normal part of PTSD,” Dr. Jacklyn told them. “Aaron knew how to handle it. Next time we’ll listen to you in the first place.”
Well, wouldn’t that have saved us a whole lot of trouble? “Would you please pass the suggestion on to Colonel Bryant?”
“I don’t think that would be well-received. Sorry, I’ll make a note to avoid restraints,” Dr. Jacklyn added. “Did Jordan tell you they were a problem for him?”
“No,” Aaron said, taking Jordan’s hand. “I just… knew.”
She gestured everyone else out of the room and said, “You let me know if you need anything else.”
“Thanks,” he replied.
As Dr. Jacklyn went to shut the door, Jordan called, “Wait. Please don’t. I think that’s what triggered it.”
Once she walked out leaving the door cracked, Aaron kissed Jordan’s hand. “So, no closed doors?”
“Not inside. Sorry.” Jordan cast his gaze to the bed.
Aaron lifted his chin and searched his face for the confident husband he knew. He’s there. He’ll come out when he feels safe again. “Why are you sorry? Now I don’t have to break the habit of leaving the bathroom door open. I did that while you were away.”
“Well, we won’t have to worry about that anymore,” Jordan said as he nuzzled against Aaron’s chest.
“I am so glad,” Aaron responding, kissing his head.
“That I don’t have to go away again?” Jordan questioned.
“No! That I don’t have to pretend to have manners all the time. It’s exhausting, you know.”
Jordan’s chuckle turned to a cough. He pulled away from Aaron just long enough to finish and lay back down again. “Thank you, Angel,” Jordan whispered. Aaron held him tightly while he fell into a relaxed slumber.
We can probably take bondage off things to play with in the bedroom, too, Aaron thought as he stroked his sleeping husband.
His phone beeped with another text from Troy: “We need to talk.”
Aaron deleted it. Never again.
Chapter Four
Bang. Bang. Bang. The knocking on the front door grew louder with each thud. Aaron had been doing his best to ignore the sound for the past five minutes as he rushed around moving a few sets of fall clothes, toiletries, television, and the medical supplies the doctors ordered from their bedroom upstairs to the guest room downstairs, as the stairs would prove difficult for Jordan while he had crutches. What else do we need?
More banging. God damn it! There was absolutely no one who would knock on the door that Aaron had any desire to interact with right now. At Jordan’s urging, he had sent one text message to Troy, telling him not to contact him again. Troy responded with a plea to listen to his side of the story, but saying he would let Aaron come to him. Which would happen sometime in the vicinity of never and when hell froze over because, really, what the fuck could Troy possibly say to justify leaving Jordan in a foreign prison to die? Better still, proving that he was dead? Nothing. There was nothing that
could justify that, and Aaron was just biding his time until Jordan gathered evidence to convict Troy. Aaron didn’t know how to do that, but he and Jordan would figure it out. Troy would not be stupid enough to show up here. Not with the remote possibility that Jordan would be home. Or the knowledge that Jordan and Aaron kept a gun in the house, and neither were afraid to use it.
So, who else would be at the door? The reporters dying for a quote from the rescued POW and his spouse? No, thank you. Aaron had a specific, completely fabricated script from the military detailing what to say to the media if he deviated from no comment. But the higher military officers understood by now that he did not do what he was told just because they asked. Smart bunch like that.
Aaron’s phone buzzed with a text from his brother, Chris: “Please answer the door.” Chris had joined the chorus of people calling Aaron heartless when he refused to attend Jordan’s funeral because he had no reason to believe Jordan was dead. Chris, and everyone else, abandoned him after that. With Jordan showing up, clearly not dead, Aaron had been right all along. Not that anyone important had acknowledged this.
Aaron sighed, walked through the living room, and swung open the heavy wood to find his brother on the other side. “What?” he asked.
“I’m sorry,” Chris said. “Can we talk?”
Rolling his eyes, Aaron stepped aside. “Make it quick. I don’t have much time.”
“What are you doing?” Chris asked, sitting on the arm of the couch.
“Setting up the downstairs room for me and Jordan. The doctor is releasing him in a few hours,” Aaron answered.
“Need help?”
Yes, Aaron needed help with everything, but he was not about to admit that to someone who wouldn’t support him. “No, thanks. I’ve been doing fine,” he replied.
“Look, man, I’m sorry,” Chris told him, rubbing his face. “I saw Jordan on the news the other day, and I damn near fell out of my seat. How could you have known?”
Aaron shrugged. “I can’t explain it, other than I just did. The story didn’t add up, which I told you.”