I curled my fingers around her wrist, tugged her close before she could dart away. "Mom, wait."
A flood of memories from my escape washed over me. Determination to get home, to survive. Fear that I wouldn't and then the cold, prickling acknowledgement that my odds weren't good. I hadn't accepted death on that tanker but I'd twirled toward it. I remembered that twirl as if it'd happened five minutes ago.
I'd wanted my mother, as most sailors and soldiers did when they were broken and bleeding and sinking into the darkness as it surrounded them. I'd wanted my family. My brother, my sister, even my father. I'd wanted one more day to tell them I loved them and appreciated them. And I'd wanted to tell them who I was because I wasn't taking all of my secrets to the grave. They couldn't remember a fraction of me, the piece I'd spit-shined since always.
My mother combed her fingers through my hair. "What is it, sweetheart?"
I took the deepest breath my wounds would allow and said, "I need to tell you—"
The door banged open and my father stepped inside, a crisp Navy ball cap perched on his head and an equally crisp plaid button-down tucked into ironed jeans. Fuck it all, it was good to see him. It was damn good to see him but that flashbang burst of military discipline stole my honesty.
"There he is," my father boomed. "I knew you'd come around soon enough. I told your mother she had nothing to worry about. You always come out on top, Wesley."
A laugh that sounded more like a cough rattled through my chest. This was the wrong moment to inform my father, the one with his retirement rank embroidered on the side of his cap, that I was on top only about half the time.
"Quiet, Bill," she said over her shoulder. Then, turning back to me, "What were you saying, Wesley?"
"I, uh," I started, gazing at my father, "I need to pee."
She clapped her hands and pointed at my father. "It's a good thing you're here, Bill. Wesley never liked it when I helped him in the bathroom as a child. I can only imagine he'd put up the same fit if I tried now."
I held back a snort because I was certain it would hurt like hell. But more than that, I was lucky. Lucky to be alive, lucky to have people who gave a shit about me, lucky to have a mother who would yell about getting my ass up so I didn't give myself an embolism. I was lucky, even if I was thirty-six years old, missing a spleen, and still in the closet.
"Thanks, Judy," I murmured. "Thank you."
I was lucky.
3
Wes
"CanI take a look at the burns on your legs?"
I blinked up at the doctor. "What's your name again?"
He plucked a penlight from his pocket and clicked it on before flashing it between my eyes. "Are you having trouble recalling other names? Events? Places?"
I clutched the blanket to my neck as I scowled at him. "No, man, I just don't think we've been properly introduced."
He clicked the light off. "I've seen you four times since you arrived here," he said. "Nick Acevedo. I've mentioned that. Each time."
I blinked at him again. My arm hurt so much I wanted to tear it off. "I wasn't listening. You're married to the redhead who knows everything about volcanoes. See? I remember the important shit and I just wanted to get on a first-name basis before you got in my bikini area again."
"What day is it?"
"Fuck if I know," I replied. I hated the world right now. Hated the fucking world. It hurt to breathe, stand, think. My partner Veronica was dead and my security clearance had been revoked. My job was sure to follow. "January something. If I had to guess, I'd say the twelfth. Maybe the thirteenth. That's all I've got."
"Where are we?"
"My brother's big-ass house in Massachusetts, where it's really fucking cold and my balls go into hiding every time I look at the ocean. Since you mention this frozen corner of hell, I'll give you twenty grand to put me on a flight to the Bahamas this afternoon."
"Save your money," he said, still frowning at my eyes. "The names of Will and Shannon's kids?"
"Abby and Annabelle. The dogs are Taos and Del, not that you asked."
"You need to tell me if you experience any neurological issues," he said.
If I could've managed a shoulder jerk or a nod without pain ricocheting through my body, I would've done it. Instead, I said, "Sure thing, boss."
