Yasmoon entered the room and once more tried to get her to take medication with the promise that “it will make you feel much better.”
“I’m not taking it. You understand?” She repeated the statement in Pashto and then in Farsi.
Yasmoon sighed and left the room with a frown.
“You should take it,” Gavin said. “It might help.”
“I suspect it’s an antidepressant. If I was depressed, I’d take it. I’m not depressed, so I won’t take it. End of discussion.” She looked him in the eye. “I don’t do medication. Ibuprofen and Tylenol, even some Toradol, are fine, but nothing stronger. No antidepressants and definitely no more narcotics. I hate the way they make me feel.”
“I can understand that. And respect it.” Gavin took the chair beside her bed and leaned forward to clasp her fingers in his warm grip. “How are you doing?”
“I’m ready to get out of here.”
“I’m sure. Authorities are going to want to debrief you on everything you saw while you were in the compound.”
“I know.”
“The general’s arranged for someone to fly home with you and do it on the plane.”
“Sounds lovely, but I’m not going home.”
He ignored her sarcasm and pulled out his phone. “I need a picture.”
“What? Here? Now? Are you crazy? I look like death on crutches.” And still sort of felt like it too. She swallowed, her throat dry and cheeks hot. Did she have a fever?
“You look . . . not quite that bad,” he said.
“Hey!”
He grinned, then sobered. “You’re alive. That’s all that matters. But the picture’s not for me. I need to prove to Brooke, Heather, Kat, and someone named Ava that you are, in fact, breathing and recovering nicely. Brooke keeps texting, demanding proof.”
“Ah.” Brooke Adams, Heather Fontaine, Katherine—Kat—Patterson, and Ava Jackson. “Ava’s been my best friend since elementary school.” The other three ladies she’d met while they’d all been in Kabul at the same time. Ava had been there, too, for a short time but had never met Gavin. “Okay, you can snap it, but tell them to delete it the minute they’re satisfied I’m fine.”
“Got it.” After he sent the text, he looked her over. “You’re fortunate you had that satellite phone.”
“Fortune had nothing to do with it. Last year, it came in handy, and I’ve carried it ever since. I always knew something like that could happen, was even surprised most days when it didn’t. But I wasn’t going to be caught with no way to call for help.”
“Smart.”
Her smile faded to a frown. “Why is the general insisting I go home? I can recover nicely right here and then get back to work. I’m planning a trip home in about two weeks. Dustin and I coordinated that so we could be home together, but in the meantime, I’ve got stories I’m working on. And now, I’ve got one more.”
Gavin blinked, then narrowed his eyes. “The general didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
He shifted and rubbed a hand over his beard.
“Gavin, what is it?”
“There’s no easy way to say this, but you’ve been discharged from the Army. You’ve been diagnosed as . . . uh . . . as a danger to yourself with recommendations to return home and seek the help of a psychiatrist.”
Gavin wanted to recall his words as soon as they left his mouth. He could tell when she’d finished processing. Her mouth tightened, nostrils flared, and eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry, what?”
He was furious that her father hadn’t told her. “You heard right. You’re being discharged under Other Designated Physical and Mental Conditions.”
For a moment she didn’t speak. Move. Breathe. “What’s the condition?”
“Basically, they think you need a break. Time for your mind to heal.”
She scoffed. “They think I’m crazy?” She paused. “They’re discharging me because they think I’m suicidal, don’t they?”
“You know ODPMC can apply to a multitude of things. It’s a catchall, but . . . yeah. That word was mentioned.”
“You have got to be kidding me.” Fingers knotted the blanket over her legs. “Why? How would they come to that conclusion? I’ve been unconscious!”
“The nurse witnessed your nightmares, as did your father. They’ve had to sedate you several times since your arrival to keep you from tearing out your stitches and . . .”
“And?”
“And, you may have muttered some things that could have been interpreted as a wish to die.”
Her mouth opened. Then shut. “I don’t remember any of that, but I certainly don’t have any wish to die. And taking what I said while I was unconscious as fact isn’t even ethical, is it?” She pressed fingers to her eyes. “What exactly is the official diagnosis?”
“PTSD and possible desire to self-harm.”
“Unbelievable.” She dropped her hand and lasered him with a hard look. “How do you know all of this anyway? I thought my medical information would still be protected even here.”
“The general told me. He didn’t share how he got it and I didn’t ask.”
“I see.” She smirked. “So he left you to do the dirty job of filling me in.” A scoff escaped her and she looked away. However, he thought he might have seen a sheen of tears in her eyes. “He finally found a way,” she whispered. “Writing me out of his will couldn’t get me to stay out of the Army, so he’s resorted to this.”
Gavin leaned closer. “Your father didn’t—”
“Make no mistake,” she said sharply, “this is the general’s doing. I’m no more suicidal than he is.” The PTSD might be another story, but she wasn’t ready to face that idea yet. She slammed a hand on the bed and winced, but that didn’t stop the growl that came from her. “Oooh, I can’t believe he’d stoop so low.” She paused. “Then again, yes, I can. I actually should have known something was up when I opened my eyes and saw him sitting there. But I’d hoped—”
“Hoped what?”
“Nothing. I’m an idiot.”
“Come on, Sarah, you know as well as I do, there has to be some basis to this. The Army doesn’t just offer up discharges without some kind of documentation.”
Her laugh held no humor. “They do if it comes in the form of an order from a lieutenant general. What do you think? You think I’m suicidal?”
“I’m reserving judgment, but I’m leaning toward no way. You fought too hard to live during the rescue.”
“I sure did.” She frowned. “Who’s the lying psychiatrist that was willing to make this brilliant diagnosis?”
“Lying? I don’t know that she actually lied. At least not on purpose. No physician who wants to keep practicing is going to offer up a false diagnosis. Your father—”
She held up a hand. “The name of the psychiatrist?”
He pursed his lips, then shrugged. “Dr. Emily Winslow. She’s the one who took Brooke’s place when she left.” Brooke Adams. She’d been one of the psychiatrists for the base for a long time—and one of Sarah’s good friends. However, when Brooke had been given the option to get out of the Army six months ago, she’d taken it. Gavin didn’t blame her, but he knew Sarah missed her terribly.
“So, Dr. Winslow witnessed a few of my nightmares, overheard something I said, had a little chat with my father, and decided she could diagnose that I was suicidal without putting her license in jeopardy.”
He studied her. “I could actually see that happening, but still, it’s a stretch if you ask—”
“If the general encouraged her to make the diagnosis official, she wouldn’t go against him. No one does. She could be wrong, but the documentation to support her decision is there. No harm, no foul. Except that I lose the career I’ve fought tooth and nail for. I lose the job I love and leave with a stain on my record.”
When she looked up at him, Gavin caught his breath at the fiery rage blazing in her eyes. The flush on her cheeks deepened to a bright red. “He’s not g
oing to get away with this,” she said. “I’ll fight this all the way to the courtroom if I have to.”
“Sarah, before you condemn the man, maybe you should ask him.”
“I don’t have to. I know him and that’s something he would do without even giving it a second thou—”
A knock on the door interrupted her and she snapped off her words. The general stepped inside.
Sarah glared at him. “Get out.”
The man blinked, and Gavin stood when he noticed the waxy look to his skin. “Sir? Sit here.” When the general dropped into the chair without a word and his shoulders slumped, Gavin shot a glance at Sarah. Her expression had morphed from anger to confusion in the span of a second.
“What is it, General?” Gavin asked.
The man cleared his throat. “I just got a call.” He looked at Sarah. “Did you know Dustin had checked himself in to the VA psychiatric hospital in Greenville?”
“What?” Sarah’s cry shot through Gavin. “No. When did he leave Afghanistan?” she asked. “The last I heard, he was still here.”
“About three months ago.” The general paused. “I’d talked to him several times and he never said a word.”
“He didn’t say anything to me two months ago when we were coordinating our leave,” Sarah said. “Or rather, I was coordinating mine. Because he was already back in the States? I thought he was just a couple of hours away from me.”
The general swallowed. Looked at Sarah. His mouth worked.
Sarah’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “No. Don’t say it.”
Gavin braced himself. He’d seen that look on too many heartbroken parents’ faces. Part of him wanted to leave, probably should leave, but leaving in the midst of their raw grief seemed wrong. Worse than staying and being unable to do a blasted thing to help ease the pain.
So, he stayed. And let his heart break with theirs.
CHAPTER
FIVE
The general rubbed his eyes, an unusually human gesture for him, and Sarah steeled herself, because he wore the same expression he’d had when they’d buried her mother fifteen years ago.
“Rochelle . . .”
“I said don’t say it.”
The general’s gaze didn’t waver this time. “Dustin was released from the hospital three days ago. He went back to the hospital for a check-in appointment but never made it to the psychiatrist’s office. Instead, he went to the roof of the building—”
“Stop,” she whispered. “Please stop.”
“—and he jumped. He’s dead.”
She held the tears inside, refused to let them fall, but the heart that had been anguished and livid by her father’s dictatorial actions now shattered. “Why?” she choked.
“I don’t know. No one does right now.”
“Get out,” she whispered. “Just . . . go away.”
He hesitated. “Rochelle—”
“Get out!” The shout echoed through the room.
Gavin shifted, reminding her that he was there, and shame burned a scorching path up her spine and into her cheeks. “Both of you, please. Go. Leave me alone.”
“Our flight leaves in two hours,” the general said. “Be ready.” He left and didn’t look back.
Gavin did. She turned her gaze from his, holding her body rigid. Finally, Gavin stepped back and shut the door.
Her mind reeled with so many things to consider, but all she could think about was Dustin. So . . . she would go home just in time to bury her brother, then find the strength to fight her father and the diagnosis, get reinstated, and get back to Afghanistan.
Sarah closed her eyes and allowed the sob to break free. Shivers racked her, pain assaulted her, and she wasn’t sure how long she suffered alone—until Gavin returned to the room and sat on the bed next to her. When he gathered her up against his chest to simply hold her, she didn’t have the strength to fight him. The tears continued to flow. Sarah cried herself into a fitful sleep, broken by alternating shudders that threatened to shake her apart, followed by a fiery heat that left her weak, sweaty, and disoriented.
Time passed. She had no idea how much, but then someone was shaking her shoulder, pulling her from her nightmares, demanding she get into the wheelchair. She refused, her heart shattered, her need to grieve overshadowing her will to cooperate.
Strong arms lifted her, settled her into the wheelchair, and wrapped a blanket around her. Her father?
“No,” she cried, “don’t touch me. Go away!” It was petty and childish—and she didn’t care. “Gavin can push me, but you stay away from me.”
She thought she might have seen pain flash in the man’s eyes but refused to acknowledge it.
Gavin stepped behind her, and then she was moving, rolling through the hallways. She kept her eyes on the tile flooring. At some point, Gavin stopped and lifted her from the chair. He carried her into the plane and lowered her onto a gurney. His face hovered above her, his calloused fingers gentle when he wiped the tears from her cheeks. “She’s got a massive fever,” he said to someone. “Maybe we should stay here until she’s stronger.”
“She’ll be fine,” the general said. “We’ve got a nurse on board to monitor everything. I want her out of this godforsaken country before it claims her life too.”
He wanted. It was always what he wanted. What about what she wanted? It was her life.
Gavin hung the IV on the pole and gripped her hand. She was mortified that she so desperately needed his presence, knew she didn’t deserve his support, but was grateful to have it nonetheless. Her eyes refused to stay open, and she dropped into yet another fitful sleep.
Once they were in the air, Gavin’s phone rang and he snatched it to his ear, as though the gentle vibration could possibly wake Sarah. Although, sleeping might be stretching it. She muttered often, and only his hand in hers seemed to keep her from attempting to flee the sheets tucked around her.
“Hi, Dad,” he said, his voice low.
“Son. Well, you answered, I guess that means you’re still alive.”
“I am.”
His father was retired special forces. Gavin kept his mouth shut about a lot of things but, for the most part, was relatively unsuccessful in keeping his dad in the dark. He knew too much because he’d lived it.
“On a plane, too, I hear. When do you land?”
Gavin huffed a short, quiet laugh. “Not for a while.”
“So . . . overseas? Which was it this time? Afghanistan, Syria, or Iraq?”
“Dad, come on now. Don’t do this to me.”
His father laughed. “Forget it. I’m just messing with you.”
“Although, you’d really like this plane. It’s a private one with lots of room and a very attentive staff.”
“Rich clients, huh?”
“Something like that. What can I do for you?”
“Have you talked to Kaylynn?”
His sister? “Not recently. Been a little busy, why?” More to the point, why would his dad even ask that question? Last time he was home, Kaylynn had had no interest in talking to him.
“Just curious. She’s so focused on getting through her last year of college that we don’t see her very much.”
“She hasn’t moved out, has she?”
His father chuckled. “No, she’s still here. At least when she’s not with a friend who lives on campus.”
“So, what’s going on with her?”
“I’m not really sure anything’s going on with her. Just thought I’d see if she’d talked to you.”
“You know how we left things, Dad,” Gavin said, his voice rough.
“Yeah, I know. I’m only slightly ashamed it was you who confronted her boyfriend and not me. But since I have to live with her, I can live with that shame fairly easily.”
Sadness gripped Gavin, even as his lips curved into a small smile at his father’s words. He wanted to make things right with his sister, but she shunned him every time he tried. She was still angry with him for chasing off
her scummy boyfriend. A fact he hated but didn’t know what to do about. If he’d had to do it all over again, he’d do exactly the same thing. “How’s Mom doing?” he asked.
Thankfully, his father allowed the change of subject. “She’s great. Still volunteering at the homeless shelter and reading to vets in hospice. I don’t know how she does it.” His voice roughened before he cleared his throat.
“She does it for Uncle Jordan. It’s his legacy.” His mother’s brother, Jordan Standish, had died of liver cancer after serving his country for thirty years. One year after retirement, he’d passed away, but not before establishing the Standish Literary Foundation for terminally ill vets. Gavin’s mother had been one of his first recruits.
“I know. Jordan was a standup guy, but it tears her up every time she goes over there.”
This wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation, and Gavin figured it wouldn’t be the last. “Just keep praying for her. She knows how you feel.”
“Course she does. I tell her as often as possible.”
“Maybe she needs you not to be so vocal about it. Maybe she just needs you to support her. In silence.”
“Maybe so, son. I don’t want to talk about all that. I’m just making sure you’re okay. You need anything?”
“Nope, I’m good.”
“Went by your house the other day. Cut the grass and trimmed up the edges so your neighbors won’t complain or sic the HOA on you.”
Gavin pressed his fingertips to his eyelids. How did he get so fortunate to be born into the family he called his own? “Thanks, Dad, I appreciate you.”
“I know you do.”
“I probably should sell the house and just get an apartment, but when I got out of the Army, I thought I’d be spending more time at home and wanted a yard.” For a dog. The dog he hadn’t gotten yet.
“Things are different when you do contract work.”
Gavin huffed a laugh. He’d never told his dad what he was doing, just that he was opening his own security business.
“Now, if I could just get your sister to see how awesome I am,” his father was saying, “we’d be in business.”
Acceptable Risk Page 3
