A Life Rebuilt

by Jean Brashear

  The first eyebrow was joined by the second, as in you and whose army?

  “Remember those overprotective brothers we discussed?” she asked Roman. “Well, here’s one of my honorary big brothers.” She inflected the word honorary with all the sarcasm she could layer on. “Don’t believe one word he says.” She turned to Vince. “And he’d better be right here when I get back, you hear me?”

  Vince grinned and turned to Roman. “See? Don’t assume she’s as sweet as she looks.”

  To her astonishment, Roman actually smiled faintly. “I’ve had my taste of her temper already. Several times.”

  “I’m not listening,” she sang as she walked from the room with one finger in each ear.

  * * *

  “OKAY, SHE’S GONE, so before she gets back, A, consider yourself warned, anyway, and B, what the hell are you doing getting her involved in something like this?”

  The detective’s voice seemed to be coming from a great distance down the tunnel where nothing touched him, nothing was real.

  With effort Roman responded, striving for normal. “Can anyone stop her when her mind is made up?”

  The detective didn’t seem to notice Roman’s disconnect. His eyes warmed, and he nodded. “Too true. Okay, warnings over, though I promise I will kick your ass if you hurt her, even if I have to stand in line.” He paused. “What branch of the military?”

  The guy was a detective, after all. Roman shouldn’t be surprised by the question. “Army. Special Forces.”

  Vince glanced at his legs. “That where you were torn all to hell?” But not a trace of pity in the statement.

  Which made it easier to respond. “Yeah. Chopper crash outside Mosul.”

  “Thank you for your service.” Said with such quiet sincerity, it might have been the most welcome expression of the sentiment Roman had ever heard.

  The tunnel receded a little, and he nodded. “I appreciate that.”

  “She’s amazing, you know, and not as invulnerable as she comes across. But scrappy, more than the rest of us wish sometimes.”

  “I don’t want her involved, either, but she already was before I came along.” The other man’s forehead wrinkled. “She didn’t tell you, huh?”

  Alarm leaped into Vince’s eyes. “Tell me what?”

  Roman hesitated. “She’s gonna be pissed.”

  “Then she shouldn’t be holding out on us. What happened?”

  Roman began to explain about the theft and her encounter with Freddie and Mako, and with every word, every memory, he edged closer to the light and out of the tunnel. As unemotionally as possible, for Vince’s sake, he tried to describe how he’d found her, but the man had been a cop a long time. He could read between the lines. The muscle jumping in his jaw was evidence of that.

  “On behalf of the family, thank you for stepping in to save her.”

  “Didn’t say I did.”

  “You didn’t have to. Okay, so this Mako—height, weight, build, anything you’ve got. His sidekicks, too.”

  Roman gave him as complete a description as he could remember. He was all the way out of the tunnel now, anger a growing buzz in his head. “But if I find him first…”

  “Not a good idea to say that to a cop.”

  “Yeah.” Roman didn’t care who knew. The memory of Freddie’s cries rose to a roar in his head, a howling, murderous wind that brought up all the death he’d seen, the children he didn’t save.

  Ahmed and Sayidah and some other kids had sought him out, wanting to show him their toys. Ahmed had been so proud of how grown-up he was with the gun, how well he could protect his sister and the other kids, just like Roman Asim. Then he heard the gunshots, the zealots screaming that the children had been tainted by their association with him.

  Once more he fought for control. “Mako’s the one who nearly killed Freddie—him and a couple of other punks. He wants to posture like he’s some kind of badass dealer, but that’s all he is, a punk.”

  “A punk who isn’t in jail, why?”

  “Jenna wouldn’t press charges.”

  Fury flared in the other man’s eyes. A few ripe words escaped his lips. “I swear I am going to lock that girl in a closet somewhere.” Vince’s eyes shifted to his. “But same as the kicking-your-ass thing, I’ll have to stand in line. She may find herself back in West Texas before sundown.”

  “I most certainly will not,” Jenna said from the doorway, and if Roman had thought Vince’s eyes were bright with anger, they were cool compared to hers as they shifted to him. “What? You couldn’t wait to squeal on me? What did you tell him?” She marched right over and stabbed her finger into Roman’s chest. “You had no right.”

  “And you have no sense, if you think letting someone like Mako go free is anything but stupid,” Vince said. “Did it occur to you that the boy wouldn’t have been beaten within an inch of his life if you hadn’t been playing Pollyanna?”

  Jenna recoiled as if he’d struck her. “Oh, God.”

  The roaring in Roman’s head died in the face of her devastation. “He could have gotten out on bail already,” Roman said, glaring at Vince. “You know he could have.” He turned Jenna toward him. “It’s not your fault.”

  Her eyes were filled with horror and her face had gone bloodless. “It is my fault. I never thought… Oh, Freddie.” Tears spilled over her lashes.

  She looked so stricken. For an insane instant, Roman wanted to take her into his arms. But she should not be turning to him.

  “Jenna, I’m sorry,” Vince said. “You just…you scare the hell out of me sometimes.”

  “But you were right,” she said, voice shaking. Then resolutely she straightened and sniffed back her tears. “I have to live with that.” She brushed at her eyes. “I came to tell you that the nurse says they’re taking Freddie into surgery. The CT scan showed that his spleen has to be taken out and his liver is badly bruised. They’ve reinflated his lung, but he’s also got a concussion and swelling in the brain. They’re guessing two hours before he’s out of surgery.”

  “What about the social workers?” Roman asked.

  “No one’s showed up yet, and I can’t call anyone I know until morning.”

  Vince looked at them both. “I can. Tell me what you want, Jenna, and I’ll make it happen.”

  “I want to be his foster parent,” she said.

  “No,” Roman said instantly.

  “No,” Vince said at the same moment.

  When Roman looked at him, he knew that it’s not safe was their shared understanding. There could be further repercussions of the attack, and she should be nowhere near the boy.

  “You asked what I wanted, Vince,” she said quietly but firmly. “I want to take care of him. You’ve been a foster parent. You can help me get approved.”

  The two had a staring contest.

  At last, Vince exhaled. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said, jaw clenched. “As soon as I put out a bulletin on Mako.” He left the room.

  “Jenna…” Roman began.

  She stepped away, her eyes snapping as she glared up at him. “You had no right to tell him about that night.”

  “He’d have found out soon enough.”

  “I thought you were my friend. I thought— Never mind.” She pivoted on her heel and headed for the door.

  “I can’t be anyone’s friend,” he warned her.

  But she was already gone. Just as well. She and Freddie had each other now.

  In place of the roaring fury, fatigue invaded him down to the bone. Left him desperate to go somewhere quiet and dark, to just lie down. To not think, to not feel.

  But he couldn’t do that. Not yet.

  First he was going to change out of these clothes.

  Then he was going after that little bastard Mako.r />
  * * *

  ONCE OUT THE DOOR, however, Roman spotted Jenna in front of a glass wall, staring into the darkness, standing vigil for a boy she barely knew. She held herself motionless, her posture lacking her normal bounce, that lively cheer and boundless interest in the world around her missing altogether. In the glass, he could see that her eyes no longer sparkled, that they were sad and despairing.

  He had no business going to her. He had nothing to offer.

  But he couldn’t leave her without an explanation.

  “Jenna, I’m sorry. It’s just…this can’t end well. I don’t want to hurt you,” he said as he approached. “I’m no good for you.”

  She didn’t turn, only met his gaze in the glass before her. A rueful smile curved her lips. “What, you think one kiss, and I’m a goner? Just head over heels because I’m so foolish. Because I don’t understand reality.”

  At last her eyes sparked, and he welcomed her anger. Get mad—that’s good. Just don’t let me damage you.

  “I’ll have you know I’m not a dainty virgin, nor am I some fainthearted miss who needs a big, strong man to lean on.” Her voice picked up steam, now a blast of heat. “I was raised by a gutsy woman who took the tough blows life handed her and made something beautiful out of them.” Her eyes locked on his. “Is it so wrong to want to believe in good? Why does everyone immediately equate that with naïveté? Of course I know evil exists, but can’t decent people overcome that if they just hold true to what they believe in?”

  He’d never been that much of an optimist, but Abuela had lived exactly in the manner that Jenna was describing, her faith never wavering. Had he failed others because he didn’t believe fully?

  “Jenna,” he began.

  At the same time she spoke. “Looking on the bright side doesn’t mean I’m a fool, and I—”

  “I think you’re brave as hell,” he interrupted. “And I wish I could be good for you.” His chest was tight, and his head felt like it was clamped in a vise. He had to look away. “I’m not that man anymore.” If I ever was.

  “Why not?” she asked softly. “What happened to you over there, Roman?”

  Despite the rising angry buzz that felt like bees under his skin, urging him to run, to act out, a part of him wanted to answer, he was surprised to discover.

  Just then the automatic doors swished open, and a family crowded in, some crying, some soothing, and he realized how very not alone they were.

  He couldn’t explain, anyway, not in any terms she could comprehend. She might not be naive, but her world did not, thank God, include the carnage he’d experienced.

  “Roman.” She turned toward him. Pressed her small, soft hand to his cheek.

  For an instant, the buzzing stopped, and in that instant, he wanted many things—to spirit her away to some refuge where the world would not interfere, to be the man she thought he was, to—

  He gripped her arms. Brought her closer.

  Kissed her with all the longings he couldn’t voice, all the wishes trapped inside him, all the yearnings he dared not speak. He held on to her as the only thing that kept him from sliding into that empty, echoing place where he was alone with only the cries of ghosts, only the slow-motion destruction he could never, ever stop.

  She tightened her grasp on him, and for a moment he had hope. Felt the balm of her cool fingers in his hair, the benediction of her kiss, a blessing of hope and faith and peace.

  And for those moments when there was nothing but the two of them, he found a place inside himself that he’d forgotten, a tiny seed of hope, pure and untouched, that answered to the sunshine in her as a seedling seeks the warm surface, the light that will sustain it.

  Jenna kissed him and held him, and he clasped her tightly as if he would never let her go—

  Then someone down the hall cried out in pure anguish. He knew that sound, knew that it heralded a terrible clarity when you understand that you are forever changed.

  He broke the kiss and stared at Jenna, but he was seeing other young, tender faces—dying, screaming in pain as he tried to save them—and failing. He started to shake and pounded the glass wall beside them with his fist.

  “It never stops,” he said, breaking away to save her from it. “I can’t—I’m sorry” was all he could manage as the roaring came back and smothered the sound of her voice as she reached out for him.

  He saw his name on her lips, but she was too lovely, too sweet.

  He backed away, stumbling into a group, their shouts faint echoes in his head as he found his feet and escaped out the door.

  * * *

  JENNA TRIED TO FOLLOW, but by the time she got through the crowd, he had vanished into the night. Still she ran out the front doors, scanning the surroundings, but there was no sign of him.

  It never stops.

  Diego’s words came back. Acid poured on bleeding skin…it’s not easy to rejoin the living.

  What happened to you over there, Roman?

  I wanted to be left alone, Diego had said, not only to heal my body but because my spirit was so troubled and I was so ashamed.

  Roman needed help she didn’t know how to give.

  Even if he would ask her.

  Which he wouldn’t.

  She still hadn’t moved, though humanity swirled around her. She watched the darkness long after he was gone, and her heart went with him. A good man, far better than he let himself believe.

  She wanted to be there as he found his way to the sunlight. Wanted to be the one who opened the window of his prison cell to let in fresh, clean air.

  But how could she when he didn’t trust her? Head hanging, she walked back inside.

  “Excuse me,” said a voice off to her side. “You’re here for Freddie Miller?”

  Jenna whirled to face the nurse she’d spoken with before. “Yes. How is he?”

  “He’s still in surgery, but he’s stable. It will probably be at least another hour.” The nurse glanced around at the room that was suddenly bursting at the seams. “I could write down your phone number and call you if you’d like to go home and wait.”

  So she could be surrounded by the lonely quiet, by her unsettled thoughts? “No, but thank you. I’ll stay.”

  * * *

  ROMAN DROVE ON AUTOPILOT, his brain running too fast, battering him with all he didn’t want to feel, didn’t want to remember, and when fragments of Jenna arose, he batted them away, shoved and swore and cursed. It was wrong to remember her when he was like this, to be with her when rage rode him hard, when even enduring the sound of conversation was an agony.

  Only barely did he manage to make himself take the turn home instead of heading straight for Mako.

  He had enough sanity left to know that showing up covered in blood would be inviting attention he didn’t need.

  He quickly shed the clothes and rifled through his meager wardrobe, wishing for the first time since he’d come home for his camos and their myriad pockets. He’d refused to ever carry another pistol, but he’d kept the Gerber knife that fit so smoothly into his hand from long years of practice. Grimly he assembled a small set of supplies—rope, his Leatherman tool, which would fold into a pocket, and the telescoping billy club he kept by his cot.

  Five minutes later, he was again in his truck, clad this time in dark clothing and boots. As he’d readied himself, the fury of his mind had been throttled back to a low, steady hum—banked, but ready to explode when he found them.

  What the hell are you doing? a small voice that sounded suspiciously like Jenna asked.

  But he wasn’t answering questions. He was no good at light. This is what he was good at. When he reached the store, he scanned the lot for any sign of Mako.

  Nothing.

  Then Tattoo pulled up.

  Roman jammed his transmission
to Park and slammed out of his truck, covering the ground between them in seconds.

  Soul Patch jumped from the passenger seat and backed away. “You leave us alone, man.” He turned and ran.

  Roman dragged Tattoo from the front seat and escorted him around the corner. The punk whimpered when Roman’s Leatherman appeared in his hand, the blade locked in place and ready, out of sight of anyone but the two of them.

  “You can’t do nothin’ out here, man. You be in jail fast.”

  “You don’t make threats, you hear me?” Roman growled, getting right in the kid’s face, his knifepoint pricking the boy’s side. “I’ve got a message for Mako,” Roman said loud enough for others to hear. “He so much as looks at that boy again, and he will have to climb up a long way to get to hell. Same goes for the woman. Tell Mako he’s a coward for attacking women and kids. If he wants to show how tough he is, he can bring it to me. You got that? You little boys are nothing more than pussies, preying on the weak.” He let Tattoo go, and the kid scrambled away.

  “You got that?” Roman looked around to be sure others had listened and would spread the word. “Mako wants to show he’s more than a boy playing gangsta, you tell him to come find me. The cops have your descriptions, all three of you, but that’s not who you need to worry about. You give him that message.” He glared down at the kid fumbling for the keys. “And you and your gutless friend remember I’m watching you, too.”

  The kid ran to his car, gunned the engine and backed out, not even waiting for his sidekick. Face pale, eyes wild, he took off, tires squealing.

  From behind Roman, a new voice spoke. “Mako ain’t gonna like that.”

  “Tough,” Roman said, turning. “Mako’s a piece of shit. My bet is he runs and hides.”

  “Mako, he mean. Crazy, too. Sorta like you.”

  Roman smiled without a trace of humor. He felt crazy. And drained to his bones.

  “Good,” he said. “When we meet, we’ll see who wins the crown for crazy.” Satisfied that his message would spread, he walked back to his truck, every step a challenge, not that he let it show.