by Kishan Paul
And then time stood still…
The waiting…
The not knowing…
The inability to do anything but pace and sit and then pace some more while strangers worked to save her life. Everyone had their breaking point, even Raz. Who, while in the waiting room when the nurses refused to answer his questions about his mother, lost his shit. Thankfully, the others made it in time to restrain him, and from the way the security guards watched him, it was clear they were bracing for an encore performance.
Eddie didn’t blame the kid. The day had been hell on all of them. From Om’s betrayal, Sai and Tay’s injuries, Wassim’s death, to their mother’s abduction and retrieval, it had all been too much. What they needed was good news. Which they got when the surgeon finally came out and filled them in.
She’d experienced blunt trauma, which led to multiple fractured ribs, a moderate liver laceration, and an abdomen and chest filled with blood. They had to give her emergency blood transfusions and perform emergency exploratory surgery to identify and repair all her injured parts one by one. During which, they’d inserted the tube in her chest, put her on a ventilator, and drugged her into an unconscious state while her body healed.
“Hi,” she whispered.
It was the first time he’d heard her speak since it all happened. The sound made the coils of strain in his chest tighten and his face heat. Eddie leaned close and, against his rational judgment, reached under the sheets searching for her hand, gripping it in his. “Hi, yourself.”
Shoes clipped the tiled floor behind him, but he didn’t look over. Instead, he brushed his thumb across the back of her hand.
“From the way you’re looking at me, I’m guessing I’m pretty beaten up.” Her swollen lids only opened a crack, and her words were mumbled and hoarse. “How bad do I look?”
The corners of his lips tugged. “Well, with all the white bandages wrapped around your face, you look like you had a really nice face lift and a couple of things nipped and tucked.”
She laughed. An effort that made her cough. The cough made her wince.
Eddie froze, unsure of what to do until she gave his palm a squeeze.
“I’m okay.”
He nodded his understanding even though he disagreed with her assessment. She wasn’t okay. Far from it.
“How’s Nikki?”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Reunited with her family.”
“Thank you.”
He didn’t deserve her gratitude. Instead of saying as much, he swallowed down the regret. “You don’t need to worry about any of them. Everyone’s safe and home. Speaking of which, you’re going home too.”
Her gaze fixed on the ceiling above. A tear slipped from her eye but got lost under the bandage. The sight speared him. They both knew what home meant and the obstacles waiting for her.
The bed shifted when Moose positioned himself at the foot of it. “Glad to see you awake.”
She dropped her hold on Raz and reached for Moose’s hand. “When will I get to see you again, Musa?”
Moose’s smile faltered. His gaze met Eddie’s, but it wasn’t just his, all three pairs of eyes were on him, waiting for an answer.
“Seeing as how they’re not allowed on US soil and you’re going to be too busy to fly out for a visit, it’s going to be a while.”
“Will I get to say goodbye to the others?”
Again, all eyes were on him, and again, he had to be the bearer of bad news. “No, but they are all here making sure you get out safely.”
“Tell them I love them.”
He pointed to the piece. “You just did.”
“We love her too,” Tay’s voice echoed in Eddie’s ear.
The sheets rose when she filled her lungs with air. “And you, Eddie?”
His mouth went dry at her question. “Meaning?”
“When will I see you again?”
He gazed at the sheets and ignored the tension radiating from the others. “I have work here to tie up.”
Raz rose from his seat and patted his brother’s shoulder. “Moose and I have preparations to take care of. We’ll be back.”
Alisha watched them leave while Eddie watched her. After the door closed behind them, she returned her focus to him. “Thank you.”
“I wish I could have done more.”
Things hadn’t gone the way she had hoped or deserved. He wished with every cell of his being he could have made things better, been able to get Wassim alive, and given her and Little Bear the happy ending they both deserved. But he’d failed. A reality he’d have to live with.
“Done more? Eddie, I’m alive because of you.”
The words made him flinch. “I was just keeping a promise I made,” he lied. “I told your husband I would keep you safe.”
The room fell silent. “It’s funny. A long time ago, I thought surviving Sayeed was the hardest thing to happen in my life, but then I lost David and was proven wrong. Now with Jayden, I think I’m about to be proven wrong again,” she whispered.
He sought the words to ease her mind, convince her otherwise, but none came to him.
“I should have never come here looking for him. I should have listened to you.”
The Incredible Hulk’s grip on Eddie’s chest tightened. “As much as I enjoy hearing I’m right, we both know the piece of shit didn’t give a fuck about his son. His death means you, Little Bear, Farah and Amira, and the boys are able to live the rest of your lives without looking over your shoulders.”
“That freedom came with a price. One Jayden will have to pay.”
Eddie let out a breath. “If Wassim is really the only way to save your son, then he would have had to pay the price in full regardless of whether the man lived or died. Wassim was never an option. Maybe now you can finally scratch him off your list and look for other possibilities.”
She didn’t respond.
Eddie tightened his grip on her hand. “If anyone can find a way to save him, it’s you. You are one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.”
“I’m tired of having to be strong.”
The exhaustion in her words sliced him, made him ache to provide something he couldn’t offer. So, he gave what he could. “You should have been dead a long time ago.” His voice cracked. “You shouldn’t have survived Sayeed. That in itself was a miracle. But you did, and then did it again with Shariff, and now a third time with Wassim.” He paused, trying to organize his thoughts. “Each time you’ve come back fighting stronger, smarter, harder. Just like you will this time. If there is a way to help Little Bear, like I said, you will be the one to figure it out.”
She didn’t reply, and the tape covering her face made it hard to read her, but he knew she listened.
“I’ve never believed in all that fate and destiny bullshit.” He lifted her hand and pressed it to his chest. “But in here, I believe you are destined for more.” His face heated. “To fall in love again. To get married. To grow old watching your sons grow up, watching them get married, and to chase a dozen snot-nosed grandbabies around your ranch.”
She sniffled but didn’t reply. Eddie raised her hand and pressed the back of her fingers to his lips. “I believe you will finally get to live the kind of life you should have been allowed to live from the beginning.”
“And you?”
He stilled at her question.
“What kind of life are you destined for?”
He didn’t say the words floating in his head, and before he could come up with an appropriate response, a knock on the door rescued him. He rested her hand back on the bed. “It’s time.”
Yellow glow from the halls poured in the dimly lit room as soon as the door opened. The hired medical team were dressed in blue scrubs, and the man in front leading the rest? Dr. Jerry MacIntosh, David’s old boss and someone Eddie trusted.
Eddie stepped out of the way as the now-retired surgeon headed straight to her side. He pressed a palm against her cheek and lowered his face to hers. �
��Hey, darling. Long time no see.”
“Jerry.” She smiled up at him. “How are you?”
“Old,” Jerry chuckled. “You know, if you wanted to see me, you could have just called. You didn’t have to go to this much trouble.”
Eddie moved backward, out of the way of the team until his stood at the door. He closed the door just as Jerry planted a kiss on top of her head.
Ally was in good hands. He reminded himself of the fact while he headed to the waiting area. When he reached up to switch his earpiece back on, he realized it already was. “Handover complete. Be ready for transport.”
“Roger that,” Ari replied. A response soon echoed by Tay.
Moose sat in one of the two French–style armchairs in the hall while he munched on a granola bar. Dressed like the rest of the medical transport team in scrubs and a matching cap, Raz stood across from him, arms folded, leaning against the wall. Eddie positioned himself beside the kid. “Notify me when you make it to the States.”
The young man stared at the painting over Moose’s head. “Why aren’t you going with her?”
The irritation in his tone was evident. Eddie examined the geometric shapes in the painting Raz inspected, reminding himself the her in question was the kid’s mother. “You don’t need to worry. Jerry McIntosh is a retired surgeon and former Special Forces Medic. The man is solid.”
“All good things, but it doesn’t answer my question.”
Agitation made Eddie’s fingers clench. He cleared his throat and made the explanation as unambiguous as possible. “Between Jerry, you, the team, and her brother waiting for her on the plane, your mother is in safe hands. She doesn’t need me. And like I said before, I can’t leave. I’m more useful here cleaning up all the loose ends and making sure no one catches wind of this.”
“Bullshit.”
Eddie glared at the kid while one of the team members who listened in laughed at Raz’s response. Moose chewed on his granola, his attention oscillating between the two of them.
“Say what you need to say.”
“You’re handing her off and washing your hands of her.”
“Washing my hands of her?” Eddie flexed his fingers as the weight in his chest multiplied. “I kept her alive and have done everything I can for her. My role in all this is done. The fight she has coming up isn’t one I can help her with.”
Although Raz laughed, there was no humor in his eyes. “She calls you a superhero.”
His cheek stung as if he’d been slapped. “I wasn’t aware.” He broke their gaze and pushed off the wall, situating himself in the armchair next to Moose. “We’re both aware I’m nothing like a superhero.” He grabbed one of the granola bars piled on the table.
“Agreed, you’re not.” Raz stayed in his spot, arms crossed, staring Eddie down. “But I don’t think you understand what she meant.”
Eddie leaned back, rested his ankle on his thigh, and peeled down the wrap. “I’m sure you’re about to educate me.”
“She means you come in only when things are tough. Do your thing and then disappear. That you’re not someone who’d stick around.”
Alisha’s words from before floated into his brain. “You leave, Eddie. You always leave. You’re a temporary friend. A journeyman who goes where you’re needed, and then when your work’s done, you move on.”
He bit off a chunk of the bar, not bothering to chew, and swallowed it whole. “She’s right.”
“I don’t think she is.”
Eddie scowled. “You seem to be doing a great deal of thinking lately.”
A member of the audience in his earpiece chuckled. He considered muting them out but realized both Raz and Moose had theirs on as well. Even if he shut his off, their conversation would still be broadcasted loud, live, and clear for the other asshats to hear.
The corners of Raz’s mouth lifted. “I have been doing a lot of thinking, actually.” He pushed off the wall and grabbed one of the snacks from the pile. “I think…” He sat his ass down on the other side of Eddie. “You love her, always have. What I don’t understand is why you’re not doing anything about it.”
Eddie shifted in his seat, not liking the truth he heard. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” He took another mouthful of the granola and chewed on the tasteless cardboard.
Neither of them spoke. Both stared at the pale blue wall ahead of them.
Moose cleared his throat. “I have a theory.”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Eddie snapped.
“I do,” Tay answered. The two others in Eddie’s ear echoed Tay’s response.
“Majority wins.” Moose leaned back in his chair, his long legs stretched across the hall. “My theory is you’re walking because you don’t think you’re the kind of person she’ll pick.”
Eddie’s brows rose. He turned in his seat, fixing his attention on the smug idiot. “What the hell does that even mean?”
Moose grinned as if enjoying the spotlight. “You’re not Anglo.”
Eddie growled. “My reasons for staying away have nothing to do with the color of my skin.”
“Then what does it have to do with?” Raz pushed.
He rolled his eyes and wadded up the wrapper to the granola bar while Moose continued his questioning. “Seriously, why not you?”
He stared at the closed door to Alisha’s room, considering the question he’d never allowed himself to think. Why was he not good enough for her? “I kill people. I’ve done things, seen things…”
“So have the rest of us. Does that mean we don’t deserve it either?”
“So has she,” Raz added to Moose’s response.
“This is my world.” He glanced at the two beside him. “Our world. Not hers. She deserves more than this. She deserves a different kind of story.”
“And you can’t give her that story, but some other man can?”
“That’s exactly what he thinks.” Raz tossed his wrapper across the hall. “He’s going to step aside like she’s some kind of baton you toss when you get tired.”
Anger boiled in Eddie. “She was never mine to hand off.”
Raz nodded. “Right, the person who was hers is dead because I killed him.”
His confession silenced Eddie and cooled his rage. The topic had just turned toward a very fucked up direction.
Moose let out a soft whistle as if agreeing with Eddie’s thoughts. “Bro, you didn’t—”
Raz waved Moose’s words away. “Call it what you will, but it was my fault, and that’s a guilt I will carry for as long as I live. I’m still here because in spite of my screw-ups, she still loves me and wants me around. It’s why I’m not fucking tossing the baton.” He turned in his seat, staring squarely at Eddie. “Back in the States, you accused me of not having the balls to stand up to her, but I’m starting to think you’re the one missing yours. Unlike you, I’m still showing up no matter how messed up I think I am.”
Eddie opened his mouth to respond and then shut it. Instead, he rose and walked off, leaving the philosophers to continue their conversation without him.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
THE GRAVE
(FIFTEEN MONTHS POST-WASSIM)
The July sun burned about twelve degrees hotter in Philly than on Vashon Island. To survive the increase in temperature, Ally stripped down to shorts and a tank before she’d made the journey out of her sister’s air-conditioned home into the city. A sweet ballad strummed in her ears through tiny blue earbuds as she made her way down the winding path on to the outskirts of the cemetery. The rays of the afternoon sun not only warmed her bare shoulders, they reflected against the water in the Schuylkill River beside her, making it an ever richer blue. She leaned her back against the railing and stared out at the cemetery. She admired the deep green of the well-maintained lawn, a direct contrast to the white cement where she stood and the tombstones that littered the grounds.
Considering several of Philadelphia’s most historic and influential figures rested i
n the seventy-plus-acres of land, hundreds of stone memorials peppered the grounds, each piece of art beautifully sculpted to honor the one lying beneath. They varied in shapes and sizes. Some were intricately sculpted statues of men, women, children, and angels, while others were crypts, pillars, and steeples.
Just as the song in her earbuds ended, Ally’s gaze landed on the simple black marble tombstone in the distance. David’s voice whispered to her through her earbuds, lifting the corners of her lips. She’d long since memorized not only the songs on the playlist, but also each word he’d uttered between them. She knew when he would speak, what he would say, down to the soft embarrassed chuckles when he confessed something. But this time was a little different. It had been a long while since she’d stood this close to him when he spoke the words he currently did.
She pushed off the railing and headed toward his grave. Her chest tightened as a mix of emotions swirled within. Joy for their reunion and a sad acceptance of loss. He took a piece of her when he died, a piece she could never replace.
Some people inaccurately believed with time the griever would get over their loss. One got over a cold or the flu. The death of a loved one was not gotten over; it was survived. At some point, the mourner would find the strength to stand, to plaster on a smile, and mercifully pretend for the sake of those around them. As time progressed, the chronic ache of the loss would be something they’d get used to, and the reminders of their loved ones, like the recording of his voice she currently listened to, became a soothing balm happily massaged on those pains. Reminders she now found comfort in.
She moved past the granite bench at the edge of his grave and went straight to his tombstone. A weathered leather backpack hung off one of her shoulders. She rested the sack on the ground and lowered herself to her knees. Just as she closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the stone’s cool surface, the recording uttered the words she’d waited for, and she mouthed them along with him.
“You are strong, baby.”
It wasn’t until he finished and the music returned that she sat back on her haunches and stared at his name etched in the stone. This monument, this symbol of him, seemed so small in comparison to the ones surrounding it. As if the man who slept beneath its stone was less impressive or less important.
