One to Leave (One to Hold 5)

He stared at the fire again, not speaking. I wondered why he’d brought it up.

“When Patrick and I were kids, we had a pain test. It was mostly tough guy shit, the worst pain you could endure.” He waited a moment, and so did I.

“The pain in my back and legs wasn’t the worst pain. I could endure that. I got through it by imagining me back in the shit. Once I’d recovered, I’d go back to doing what I loved. Fighting, serving, defending—what I was born to do.”

He’d never said this much to me, and I was afraid it was because he was giving up. He’d reached the end. I wouldn’t let him do that. We had to find a way b

ack from this.

He stared at the fire, never once looking up at me. He only paused a moment to take a breath. I couldn’t tell if he was hurting physically, but it looked like he was straining against some level of pain. When he spoke again, his voice was rough. “You never said what to do when the thing you were hoping for was taken away.”

It was a question I’d been asked before. It was almost the exact thing Melissa had said the day she’d shown up in my office after finding my email to her abusive ex-husband Sloan. It was a question I’d asked myself when Allison died. I knew the answer, but I wasn’t sure he was ready to hear it yet.

He pulled a knee into his chest, and I watched helpless as he clutched against whatever force tormented him. “Two years ago, I started the meds. Narcotics. They took away the pain... all of it. From both injuries.”

“Two years is a long time.”

“I can beat this.” Veins showed in his arms, and his voice broke. “I hope.”

His hand went over his squinted eyes, and for a moment, he only held on. I wasn’t sure how much longer he could endure. Where the fuck was Patrick?

He took a breath, and I did as well. I was fucking holding my breath. Shit. I hadn’t done that since Melissa had given birth to Dex. She’d insisted on no drugs, and I’d nearly lost it watching her suffer through labor.

My back was turned, and the pain must’ve passed because he spoke in a haggard voice. “I’m proud I was able to save your life. You were a life worth saving, and I did what I was born to do—serve, protect. God dammit!” He clutched again, and I pushed against my legs, pacing in front of the fire and straining my eyes into the dark night.

Far away, I saw two points of light, and it was like the fucking cavalry. “Hang on,” I said. “Relief is coming.”

The points grew larger until the noise of the truck drowned out the quiet. I hustled over to the cabin. Patrick parked on the opposite side, and I went around to help him unload.

“How’s he doing?” Patrick’s brow lined as he helped me carry in food, clothes, and the other supplies I’d requested.

“Not good.” Inside, I picked up the table and set it on its feet. Next I straightened the chairs.

Patrick put a cardboard box on the counter. “Sorry it took a while. Bill’s a recovering alcoholic, so he didn’t have whiskey in the house.” He handed me a brown bag. “I had to drive into town to get it, but I figured you needed it the most.”

I nodded and took it from him. “You made the right call.”

“Any idea what’s behind all this?”

I thought about how much I should tell him. Stuart’s pride wouldn’t want Patrick knowing everything, at the same time, Patrick had a right to some version of the truth. “He took being discharged harder than I knew.”

“No shit, he’d been preparing for that gig his whole life.”

I paused a moment. Patrick was smarter than either of us gave him credit for being, but I was catching up. “So you knew it was a pretty significant blow?”

“Look, Stuart’s a dick, but I grew up with that asshat. He lost his identity when they put him to pasture.”

“Your brother was a great Marine.” I put the dinner plates they’d prepared for us in the refrigerator and grabbed two cups out of the cupboard to go with the liquor. “He saved my fucking life.”

“Hey, man, I get it. You two have that bond of brotherhood. Forged under extreme pressure.” Patrick leaned against the counter, crossing his muscled arms over his chest. He was the image of Stuart the last time I’d seen him—bright, thoughtful, strong. I had to help him get back to that.

“He seemed to like working in private security.”

“Are you kidding me?” Our younger partner laughed. “It’s nowhere near the adrenaline rush of being on all the time. Stuart lived for that shit.”

I nodded. “It’s true.”

The weight of what was happening here warred inside me, pushing against my commitments at home. Stuart was dealing with withdrawals, but more than that, he was facing demons that would go on after he’d beaten the physical pain. I couldn’t stay with him that long, but I wouldn’t leave him to suffer alone.