A Life Rebuilt

by Jean Brashear

  “Sort of like you,” she noted with a small smile.

  “Very much like me. I wanted to be left alone, not only to heal my body but because my spirit was so troubled and I was so ashamed.”

  “Ashamed? Of what? You were a hero. You won medals.”

  “My team didn’t survive. What is a piece of metal compared to a life? Why wasn’t it me who died? How could I be certain I’d done everything possible to save them? It was my fault they were in that place to be ambushed, Jenna. They followed me out of loyalty on a mission of mercy that was my priority, not theirs.” He fell silent again. “It’s not easy to rejoin the living when you feel that way. It’s like all the pain and shame and guilt you feel is on the outside of your skin, and even allowing yourself laughter or letting yourself enjoy the world others take for granted is acid poured on bleeding skin. It’s the nature of those who care for you to reach out to you, but sometimes letting go of your guilt—even for a second—feels like you’re betraying those who can never laugh with friends again, or hold a loved one, or…” That he still dealt with the echoes of that pain was evident in his tone.

  “But you have nothing to feel guilty for.”

  “I pray you’re never in the position to understand how wrong you are, or to know how logic means nothing to someone in that dark place.”

  “I am so sorry. I never knew.”

  “I didn’t want you to. And no one can, truly, except another who’s walked that path.”

  “But it’s better now, right?”

  “Most days. But you never forget. It’s a part of you. At best, you reach an uneasy peace. When a life is lost and you played a role in that loss, however unintentional, it leaves a scar.”

  “But you forgive yourself, don’t you?”

  “To a degree. You come to accept that however much you regret what happened, you cannot change it. You can only seek to make up for it somehow.”

  “Is that why you stayed in La Paloma?”

  “It’s one reason.”

  “Diego, I love you.” Her eyes burned and her heart ached with it. “And I admire you so much. Even more than I did before.”

  “You’re part of what brought me back from that dark place, Bright Eyes. Your love is a formidable power.”

  “I don’t do anything as important as you do, saving lives.”

  “I disagree. And you make lives better simply by being who you are.”

  “Hardheaded and bossy?”

  He chuckled. “The love of my life could meet that description, too, but there’s much more to both of you.”

  “Tell Cade that. Or Zane.”

  “The other, smarter brothers understand your value.” He meant himself and Jesse, her other much older half brother who had also been so gentle with her from birth.

  They shared a laugh.

  “So what can I do for Roman?”

  “That’s his name?”

  “Roman Gallardo.”

  “Jesse or Vince could find out more about him if you asked.”

  No way. Not even if she weren’t hiding her incident from them. “But that would be wrong, wouldn’t it? He needs to tell me himself.”

  “I guess you’re not so young anymore, are you?”

  “Thank you. But I need to do something.”

  “Are you attracted to him, Bright Eyes?”

  “Are you going to tell the others?”

  “Not right now.”

  “That’s honest.” But a big step for one of her guardians. “If it’s any consolation, he’s as bad as the rest of you about trying to protect me.”

  “I like him already.”

  “I think you really would. He reminds me of you in some ways. That’s a compliment, by the way.”

  “And one I appreciate.” He paused. “To answer your question, the best way to help him is by perhaps being a little less you than normal. That’s not a complaint, but you do tend to be, shall we say, driven? Push him, but not too hard. Be his friend. Give him space, but not too much. It’s a thorny place he is in, and a dark one. Your light is bright, but for somebody like him, that light he craves is the very thing he can’t allow himself to enjoy. Does that make any sense?”

  “Sort of—I mean, yes, but…”

  “Listen to your heart—listen carefully, Jenna. Not to your head. Logic and will are assets you have in abundance, but this situation calls for patience, above all.”

  “Never my strong suit.”

  “Maybe not, but your heart is as big as the world. He’s a lucky man, this…friend.”

  “You know you don’t want to hear that I find him outrageously sexy.”

  She could almost hear his brotherly wince. “Not really. But I’m sure you’ll be careful.”

  His fingers were undoubtedly crossed. She laughed. “You are not. You’re already itching to dial the phone and tell Jesse and Vince and Cade to keep an eye on me.”

  “I am, but I won’t. At least not as long as you check in with me regularly and ease my mind.”

  “Blackmail? That’s all kinds of wrong.” But she was grinning.

  “Jenna,” he said, his voice completely serious. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect you. Every one of us feels the same. You are our treasure.”

  “I know that. Sometimes I even appreciate it.”

  “I’m not kidding. Call me soon.”

  Or else. But he left the threat unspoken. “I will. Love to Caroline and the kids, and please give Mama Lalita a hug for me and tell her I’ll come for a visit as soon as I can. I wish she was going to be at the wedding. Travel is hard for her, I know. I just—I really do miss her…and I miss you, big brother.”

  “I’m always here for you, Bright Eyes.”

  “Yes, I know. And thank you for the advice.”

  “Sweet dreams, little sister.”

  “I love you, Diego.”

  “Te amo,” he replied in kind.

  Jenna disconnected. Glanced over at the window through which she’d last seen Roman.

  And stared into the darkness for a long time.

  * * *

  ROMAN COVERED GROUND faster than ever before.

  As if putting distance between himself and Jenna would help.

  He’d never forget the feel of her. The fire in her kiss. She made him ache, damn it, and not only for that sweet body beneath the lady suit. She was a warm hearth on a cold night, the ray of light in a dark dawn.

  But even if he were in any condition to be with someone, it wouldn’t be her. Couldn’t be. For so many reasons.

  She’d wear him out, for one. His grim thought turned to a short huff of laughter. The woman was relentless. He wondered what on earth it would take to make her give up on something she wanted, but he actually didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to see that sparkle dimmed. Not by him. Couldn’t let any of his shadows block out her sunny view of the world.

  So how the hell did he put distance between them?

  Find Freddie first. Make sure the kid was okay, even if that meant that Jenna’s belief in the system would win out. The boy needed someone, and he could sure as hell do worse than have the fearfully intense Miss Sunshine claim him as her cause, whatever Roman had initially thought.

  As he covered the blocks, his rhythm and breathing steady, he tried to figure out his next step.

  “Hey now!” A whistle announced a pair of guys, pulling their car up beside him. “Where’s the hot chica?”

  Mako’s boys, from the convenience store earlier. Great. Just what he wanted.

  He halted because he was too close to his place and didn’t want them knowing where he lived.

  “Watch your mouth,” he responded.

  The car jammed to a stop. “What you say to me, cabrón?” The passenger,
sleeve tattoos down both arms, jumped out. Flicked open a switchblade.

  Roman registered the weapon but didn’t react to the threat. “I said watch your mouth. Where’s your boss?”

  “If you talkin’ about Mako, he not my boss. He ain’t gonna see you anyway.”

  “Why? He’s too busy using little boys to help him with petty theft?” Roman sneered. Suddenly a good fight sounded like just the thing to let out some of what was boiling inside him.

  “Don’t you be callin’ me boy.”

  “I meant the kid—what’s his name? Freddie or something?” Roman kept his voice dismissive. “Why isn’t he with you?”

  “Freddie, he ain’t gonna be trouble for no one pretty soon.”

  The second kid, the one with a soul patch, snickered.

  “Yeah? Why’s that?” Carefully Roman kept his tone casual.

  “’Cause Freddie got in Mako’s face over the chica. Mako mess him up good.”

  Roman’s gut clenched. “Where is he now?”

  “Dunno. Don’t care,” said Tattoo.

  “Thass right. Why we should care?” said his sidekick, now out of the car and rounding the hood.

  Roman grabbed Tattoo and disarmed him in one lightning move, then held the punk’s own knife to his throat.

  Soul Patch’s eyes bugged out. “What the hell?”

  “Tell. Me.” Roman held Tattoo still and stared into Soul Patch’s eyes. “Where is the boy?”

  “I don’t know. What’s wrong with you?”

  “You want me to drop him and come after you?”

  The punk swiveled his eyes back and forth between Roman’s face and his friend’s, not so full of himself now. He braced to run back to the car.

  “Go on, try. I’ll be on you before you make it.”

  The kid looked ready to wet his pants, all bravado fled. “I don’t know. Last I saw he was across from the school, trying to get up off the ground.”

  “And you just left him.”

  “He ain’t my friend. He just some kid who got a big mouth.”

  Roman let Tattoo go. He fell to the ground gasping. “What about you?” Roman said to him. “Where is Freddie?”

  “Don’t…know. You…crazy.”

  Roman pulled him up by his collar and glared at Soul Patch. “You tell Mako I’m watching him. And if he ever lays a hand on that boy again, he will answer to me.” He shook Tattoo. “You hear that? Same goes for you and your buddies. Stay away from Freddie. I’ll be watching all of you.”

  “Mako ain’t gonna like that,” Soul Patch warned.

  “Mako is a punk. I’m not scared of him.” He leaned into Soul Patch’s face and let Tattoo go. “But you’d better be afraid of me. Now get the hell out of here.”

  He watched as they scrambled up and left, tires squealing.

  Then he took off himself, headed home for his truck.

  He had to find Freddie.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ROMAN TRIED THE SCHOOL grounds first, but they were abandoned. He didn’t waste a lot of time there, searching for signs of the attack in order to track Freddie, though that would be his next step if the kid wasn’t in the abandoned house nearby.

  Though it was only a couple of streets away, he drove, even if it risked Freddie hearing his approach and escaping out the back into the dense vegetation when he heard a vehicle pull up. Maybe the boy would recognize Roman’s truck, but he might not even look.

  On the other hand, he might be hurt too badly to run, and if so, Roman would want his truck nearby to take Freddie for medical help. Not that he couldn’t carry the boy for miles, if need be—the kid weighed maybe a hundred pounds, and Roman had shouldered wounded comrades weighing twice that, carrying them over rough terrain in brutal heat. Like the day of the crash—

  Blood…the dead weight of the chopper pilot’s body as Roman tried to rise on legs that wouldn’t hold—

  No. He blinked hard. Shoved the image down deep.

  Fists clenched, he emerged from the truck, scanning the shadows both for threats and for any sense that Freddie was nearby. When he reached the house, he walked around the entire structure before entering at the back.

  Once inside he stood very still, listening both with his ears and the extra sense he’d honed over years of living in a hostile environment where you couldn’t be sure which direction threats would come from, only that they would.

  He’d hoped to leave that world behind, but what was the old saying? Life is what happens while you’re busy making plans?

  Too many night patrols, too many adrenaline spikes. And never, ever, a deep and restful sleep. Because at any moment the sky could suddenly flare into day, the world going utterly still in that heavy pause like the world holding its breath, then…

  Shattering explosions. Shouts from the terrified. Screams of the injured.

  Groans of the dying…in his arms.

  No! No, God, no—Sayidah…Ahmed…blood, so much blood…

  Roman bent double. Sank to his knees, hands clapped to his ears, feeling himself being pulled into a flashback, into that dark, airless tunnel.

  Chest heaving, he shook like a fever victim, uncontrollable shivers that—

  Stop. For chrissake, stop. Roman rocked, hands gripping his hair, head moving side to side as he gasped for air. No more. No…more.

  Then he heard it. The sound that was real, that was here.

  Slowly he began to crawl out of the tunnel, the Roman that was left of him, the one he’d hidden from Abuela, from everyone.

  He dragged long, slow pulls of air from the depths of him…slowly.

  Another sound, this time a sob.

  Like an old man, Roman painstakingly rose to his feet, stumbling back into this place, this time. “Freddie?” He moved toward the sound, and every step brought him more into the present, helped him find solid ground, enabled him to push away the wraiths who haunted his dreams.

  He halted, listened hard.

  Nothing.

  After a moment, he resumed searching, going first to the closet where they’d uncovered Freddie’s pitiful stash of belongings.

  Which were undisturbed.

  Forehead wrinkled, Roman glanced around him, tried to pinpoint the source of the sounds he’d heard. “Freddie, it’s Roman. I want to help you. Speak up so I can find you.”

  No answer. Maybe there had been a noise, or maybe his mind was playing tricks. Roman picked up the pace, going from room to room, opening closets and peering into shadows with the aid of his flashlight.

  There was no basement and only a square opening for the attic with nothing to climb on to get up there. But his spidey sense was telling him that he wasn’t alone.

  He reentered the kitchen, and his gaze arrowed to the sink. With quick steps he reached the cabinet doors beneath and opened them. Only darkness greeted him.

  Except—

  At the back of the adjoining cabinet, which was open to the area under the sink, he spotted the tip of a sneaker. “Freddie,” he said quietly. “How badly are you hurt?”

  Then he heard the shallow pants, smelled the coppery tang of blood.

  That smell…

  Roman clenched his fists and fought to remain present, though a low buzz was rising inside his head.

  No. “I’m here, son. I’ll take care of you. Just hold on.”

  Roman cursed himself for refusing to join the modern age and get a cell phone. Because of that, Freddie’s survival was entirely up to him. He was all the kid had right now.

  God help him.

  “Okay.” Roman moved into place in front of the adjoining cabinet doors and opened them.

  Freddie lay there in an impossibly shallow space that would be hell to get him out of, his eyes glazed over with pain, h
is face sweaty and abnormally pale.

  “You’re gonna be okay, Freddie,” he said, because that’s what you say—even to guys who are missing half their bodies—to keep them from going into shock. Or giving up. He scanned the space, puzzling his way through how to extract the boy with the least amount of movement, since he had no idea how badly injured Freddie was.

  He got down on his belly and reached into the cabinet, running his hands over the boy’s legs and chest, pausing to estimate his heart rate and feel Freddie’s forehead. His fingers came away slick with blood.

  A small, battered body…blood on his hands.

  His mind started to slip again, but ruthlessly he held on to the present.

  A head wound, but how bad? No way to be sure—even mild cuts to the scalp bled like crazy. Freddie’s heart rate was rapid but even, and Roman grabbed hold of that reassurance while Freddie whimpered whenever Roman touched him.

  “Look at me,” he told the boy. “I have to get you out of here, but I’ll be as gentle as I can. We’ll take it slow, and you stop me if it hurts too badly. Relax as much as you can while I try to slide you toward me, okay? Can you do that, Freddie? Can you hear me?”

  “What…happened?” Freddie’s breath was short, harsh gasps.

  “Shh. Don’t talk unless you have to.” Loss of memory? Also not good, but the fact that the boy was talking eased Roman’s concern a fraction. “Okay, here we go. I’m sorry it’s going to hurt, but I have to get you out so I can help you.”

  “Who are you?”

  Oh, hell. Really not a good sign. Classic symptom of either closed head injury or lack of oxygen. “It’s me, Roman.”

  Freddie clutched at his arm. “What happened?”

  “You’ve been hurt, Freddie, but you’re not alone anymore. I’m here now. You don’t have to be afraid. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”

  The boy’s brown eyes were stark with pain and fear. Roman didn’t want to care. Bad things happened that he couldn’t prevent; his assurances were empty. This kid couldn’t know just how little faith he should have in Roman.