On Point (Out of Uniform 3)

How in the hell was Ben supposed to return back there without Maddox? How was he supposed to face that kitchen with the matching appliances and the row of oven mitts hanging over the stove, everything exactly how Maddox liked it?

No.

He flat out refused to contemplate a universe where Maddox wasn’t coming home too, where Maddox wouldn’t be all right.

The medical team loaded Ben onto a huge transport plane. God, he hated being this fucking helpless, being on a stretcher, not with his team. All of it sucked. The engines were already going, and he couldn’t hear the medic who was strapping him into his new stretcher/bunk. The wide aisles of the plane were busy with crew and medics bustling around.

Maddox. Where was he? Ben couldn’t see the other patients, couldn’t turn enough to see more than the empty bay across from him.

A big commotion had all the personnel stopping their prep and looking around as a whole team came charging down the big aisle, so many people Ben couldn’t see the stretcher.

“Gilman, you’re going to watch this one like a hawk,” someone barked. “Vitals still aren’t as stable as we want.”

“No worries, Horvat,” a male with a reassuring deep voice boomed, leaning over the group. “We’re going to take good care of you.”

Horvat. It was Maddox over there. Maddox with the unstable vitals. Maddox who might not make it to Coronado. The team worked in concert to transfer Maddox, still blocking him from Ben’s view as they fiddled with this and that on him. Ben just wanted to see his face. Just one glimpse.

“How’s it going, Tovey?” Deep Voice came over to Ben’s bunk. He was built like a linebacker, but with kind espresso-colored eyes and gentle hands that checked Ben’s many wires. “Gonna put a little something in the IV now, get you nice and comfortable for the flight—”

“No.” Ben gathered all his strength to refuse. Maybe he couldn’t do much but he could watch over Maddox. He jerked his head in Maddox’s direction. “How is he? He’s a...teammate of mine.”

“Heard all about your big adventure.” The guy smiled, showing a dentist-ad-worthy row of white teeth. “We’re going to get you and your buddy out of here, okay? Trust me.”

Surprisingly, Ben did. At least a little. He nodded.

“But to do that, I need you to cooperate with me.” The guy fiddled with Ben’s IV, ignoring his renewed protest. “You’ve both been through a lot. You let us take care of you now.”

No. It’s my job. I take care of Maddox. Me. Selfish words bubbled up in Ben’s throat and he swallowed them back, same as he pushed down the urge to punch something. He hated being so helpless and weak, hated knowing that Maddox’s life was in someone else’s hands, even someone as nice as the medic.

“Take him first...” Ben’s eyelids were heavier than his usual pack of gear, unable to stay open any longer. He kept his head cocked in Maddox’s direction though, as if that could tether him to his friend. “Long as he makes it...”

We’ll go to Napa. I’ll be a better friend. A better man. Just don’t die on me.

Maddox’s insistence that they talk in the jungle now hit him like a fresh barb to his wounds—why hadn’t he let him? What if they never got another chance to get their friendship back on track?

All my fault. Please let me make this right. Please.

Chapter Nine

The medic lied. Oh, not about Maddox, at least Ben didn’t think he did, but Ben himself wasn’t okay. The landing at the base and transfer to the Naval Medical Center were a total blur for him, as were the next few days. A complication with his pneumothorax needed a second surgery. And then he had shoulder surgery because one of the dozens of tests he underwent showed a high risk of nerve damage if they waited because he’d torn the tendons that reinforced his shoulder joint. Then post those surgeries he developed some sort of infection that landed him in the ICU.

Leave it to him to be an overachiever—if it could go wrong, it apparently had.

And throughout it all, he never stopped asking about Maddox.

“Maddox?” he croaked out as soon as his father entered his room, which was more of a glassed-in cubicle. The drugs had worn off enough to get the word out, but his mind was foggy as a June Gloom morning.

“Good news. You’re being moved to a regular room,” his father reported, coming around the side of the bed so that Ben could see him better. Moving his head still hurt. His dad was tall, an inch or two on Ben, with a full head of silver hair and broad shoulders and a rangy build more suited to the baseball players he routinely treated. Ben had blurry memories of his dad and Camilla arriving, of his dad arguing with his doctor at one point, but no real conversations his memories could latch on to.