Just Like Breathing (Bring Me Back Book 1)
Page 1
Just Like Breathing
A Standalone Bring Me Back Novel
Diana Gardin
Contents
Also By Diana Gardin
Prologue 1
Prologue 2
1. Arden
2. Flash
3. Arden
4. Flash
5. Arden
6. Flash
7. Arden
8. Flash
9. Arden
10. Flash
11. Arden
12. Flash
13. Arden
14. Flash
15. Arden
16. Flash
17. Arden
18. Flash
19. Arden
20. Flash
21. Flash
22. Arden
23. Flash
24. Arden
25. Flash
26. Arden
27. Flash
28. Arden
29. Flash
Epilogue 1
Epilogue 2
Sneak Peak: LAST TRUE HERO
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Copyright © 2018 Diana Gardin
All rights reserved.
Published by Diana Gardin, 2018
No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Under no circumstances may any part of this book be photocopied for resale.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental. [Remove this bit if your book is nonfiction. If it’s a memoir, you may like to insert: Some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals.
Please protect this art form by not prating, or supporting pirating.
Diana Gardin
www.DianaGardin.com
Cover Art by RBA Designs
Editing by All About The Edits
Formatting by Author Kate L. Mary
Created with Vellum
Also By Diana Gardin
THE ASHES SERIES
Out Of The Ashes
Settling Ashes
Ashes Adrift
THE NELSON ISLAND SERIES
Wanting Forever
Ever Always
Falling Deep
THE BATTLE SCARS SERIES
Last True Hero
Saved By The SEAL
Man Of Honor
THE RESCUE OPS SERIES
Sworn To Protect
Promise To Defend
Mine To Save
THE TROMA CHRONICLES
The Lilac Sky
(more to come)
UPCOMING BOOKS
THE BRING ME BACK SERIES OF STANDALONES
Just Like Breathing
Dark Horse (June 2018)
Come Back Home (Winter 2018)
Just Like You: A Novella (2019)
Prologue 1
Arden
November 7, 2016
“Baby boy, do you have your special book Aunt B gave you for Show N’ Tell today?” I glance back at Danté, my heart going all warm and mushy at the sight of his little lopsided grin.
“Yup! Chase is gonna love the trucks in this book!” His little voice is filled with excitement, and his enthusiasm fills the entire car with the purest kind of happiness.
Placing a hand on my husband’s thigh, who is seated in the front passenger seat, I train my gaze on the cars in front of me. Merging onto the I-26 with a twenty-mile drive to the airport isn’t too daunting. Early-morning interstate traffic in Savannah isn’t the worst thing in the world, but we have our share at rush hour, just like everyone else.
“I’m going to miss you these next few days.” Trenton’s head turns my way; it’s clear from the corner of my eye that he’s smiling. “We both are.”
His big hand covers mine. His laptop sits open in front of him as he goes over his presentation one last time before he arrives at the airport and boards his flight to St. Louis. His fingers squeeze mine; his hand is warm and comforting, the way it always feels. Every single time Trenton touches me, it’s like anything that was off-balance suddenly rights itself. He’s my equilibrium, and has been since high school.
“This sale is yours,” I assure him, as I ease into eight a.m. traffic and join the cattle herd toward the airport exit.
“Remember, every time I’m out of town—” Trenton begins.
With a wry smile, I shake my head. “Don’t even say it. How long have we been doing this? You travel nearly every single week. I know that if we need anything, the neighbors across the street will help us out. We’ll be fine, Trenton. Plus, you know Brantley is like a permanent fixture at our house when you’re away.”
I glance over at Trenton in time to see him nod, worry filling his forehead with the little wrinkles he gets there when he’s anxious. “Yeah, I know. It’s just…you know I wouldn’t leave you two at all if I didn’t have to, right? You and Danté are my whole world. I do this to support our family.”
Love explodes in my chest. This man has done everything possible to make sure we have the best in life. I was able to go into business with my best friend a year ago because of him and his success with his pharmaceutical company. It’s not like he loves selling drugs to doctors. He does it because it provides the best possible income for our family, and he wants to make sure we have nothing to worry about financially.
And he’s damn good at it.
“Trenton, you promised me all those years ago, when we were just kids in high school, that you’d always be my rock. You’d always take care of me. And you’ve done that. I’m so blessed and thankful to have you. And Danté.”
It’s that moment that I hear the wheezing gasp from our son. When Trenton and I both glance to the backseat, our little boy’s face is tinged with blue. His chest is heaving, but I can already tell his lungs aren’t getting enough air.
“Oh, God, Trenton…he’s having an asthma attack!” I don’t recognize my voice; it’s at a pitch I never use unless I’m completely panicked.
“Where’s his inhaler?” Trenton’s words are strained, but he’s calm. He places a hand on my shoulder and speaks succinctly. “We keep one in his backpack, right?”
I nod, frantic fear threatening to overwhelm me. “It’s in the trunk! Hurry, Trenton!”
Tossing his laptop onto the floor below him, Trenton releases his seatbelt with no hesitation and climbs through, to the backseat. His soothing voice reaches our son, even as my panic reaches an astronomical level.
“It’s okay, buddy. I’m gonna get your inhaler and your mask, and you’ll be breathing better in just a second.”
I try taking deep breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth while I focus on my job right now, which is driving. The sound of Danté’s wheezing gasps, desperate attempts to pull air into his lungs, distract me, though, no matter how hard I try to focus on the road.
God…if you’re up there. Please help my son. He just needs another couple of seconds for Trenton to find his inhaler. Please. Please. Please.
Trenton’s voice yells from the trunk. “I don’t see his backpack, Arden! Are you
sure you packed it for his school day today?”
Goddammit! I slam my hand against the steering wheel, wanting nothing more than to pull the car over to the side of the road and find it myself. Maybe even breathe for my son, if that were possible. “Look again, Trenton! I put it back there myself this morning!”
Several seconds go by, each of which is filled with my own thudding heartbeat and our son’s struggling breaths. Finally, finally, I breathe a small sigh of relief as Trenton’s triumphant voice sounds through the car. “Got it!”
I hear him climbing back up to sit on the center console beside Danté. Risking a glance backward, I see him stretching the elastic of the mask over Danté’s ears. Danté’s eyes are wide as he watches his daddy, waiting for the medicine to help him breathe again.
Each and every time his dad leaves us, Danté’s anxiety of being without Trenton has been increasing. This is the first time he’s had an asthma attack because of it, but he was diagnosed with the disease during his three-year-old checkup.
It takes several more painful seconds before Trenton’s voice meets my ears, and it’s the very best thing I’ve ever heard.
“He’s okay, baby. He’s breathing just fine now.”
I sigh, relief filling me like a hot air balloon, ready for liftoff. Nothing matters to me more than my son, his heath, and his safety. I reach back to grip his little leg, squeezing for all I’m worth to make sure he knows I’m here.
“Good boy, that’s it,” I murmur encouragingly. I risk another glance backward, just to make sure his face is no longer blue, and movement from the corner of my eye catches and holds my full attention.
A car, small, black and sporty, weaves from somewhere behind me to cut me off. I don’t even have time to blare on my horn before the yellow Jeep in the lane beside us darts over without seeing the newcomer right in front of me. The collision sends a shock through my entire body as metal grinds against metal. Slamming on my breaks, I realize much too late what a mistake I’ve made. My right hand flies out to try and grab hold of Trenton, any part of him, just as he catapults forward due to the sudden, jarring stop. His name screams from my mouth as he flies through the windshield, and the last thing I see before the final impact is the unforgiving hunks of metal looming before me. My car slams into the wreck in front of us and then careens off to the side before flipping into the air and turning, over and over again.
The last thing I hear before the blackness engulfs me is the sound of my son’s terrified scream.
Prologue 2
Flash
March 3, 2017
The smell of leather and wind. The best combination in the fucking world, and it’s one I only get to smell when I’m doing this.
My motorcycle and my F-14 Tomcat are the two places I feel most alive. My world lights up when I’m riding or flying, everything growing more vivid and bright. I can breathe a little easier, my head grows a little clearer. Especially after what happened to my parents.
What about Poppy? Doesn’t she make you feel alive?
The thought creeps into my brain without my permission as I lean over the handlebars and gun the engine a little harder. Pushing the bike to move faster. Poppy should make me feel that way. The woman is model-gorgeous. She’s every man’s wet dream. But the earth doesn’t move when I’m around her. Does it ever? That shit isn’t real…it’s for movies. Poppy’s a good match for me because our lives fit together. She’s there at the end of the day when I get back from aerial training or when I come home after a deployment. She’s safe.
So when I get the chance to grab these moments alone on my bike, I do. A grin twists my mouth when I think of Poppy on the back of my Ninja. She’d rather die than mount the back of my bike. So these moments are mine alone.
And that’s how I need it to be.
The road ahead of me stretches out like a blank canvas. I ride for hours at a time on a Saturday afternoon like this, and today will be no different.
I glance to the side, appreciating the miles of green low country rolling out beside me. The road heading out of Savannah and leading up the coast toward Charleston is my favorite driving route.
As my head turns back toward the road in front of me, my helmet shifts on my head.
Fucking strap. I noticed the damn thing wasn’t functioning properly the last time I rode and put it on my to-do list; either having it fixed or buying a new helmet. I hadn’t gotten to it yet, and I work on fastening it back together with one hand while I ride, dropping my speed so that I can ride safely.
I can’t hear the car as it comes up behind me, never being able to pick up the noises of other vehicles over the roar of my engine and the thickness of my helmet. So when I catch side of the front fender edging past me, way too fucking close, I swerve to the side to avoid it.
And that’s when all hell breaks loose.
I catch sight of the driver as the car eases forward, her profile displaying her glancing down.
Fucking cell phones.
It’s the last thought I have before the front of her car brushes against my back wheel at the same time I’m leaning into the swerve.
I go down, my helmet hurtling in the opposite direction as me and the bike.
I don’t even remember landing, because thankfully, the world goes black before I do.
“What are you saying? That his head injury could have lasting effects?” Poppy’s shrill voice is the first thing I hear when I come to.
“Shut up, Poppy. Jesus, my brother almost died today. And all you’re worried about is whether or not he’s still going to be able to make you look good? You’re such a fucking leech.”
Axel. My brother sounds pissed.
Poppy’s never been his favorite person, but I’ve never heard him talk to her like this. I want to speak, but I don’t have the energy to open my mouth. What the fuck is wrong with me? Head injury? I want to ask them, find out what they’re talking about. No matter how hard I try to peel my eyelids open, though, the world stays dark. The effort makes me tired, and I fade back into oblivion.
The sterile smell of industrial cleaners stings my nose, and I turn my head from side to side, trying to get rid of the horrible scent. Hospital. I know that’s where I am, but why? What the hell is going on?
Trying to open my eyes hurts and it doesn’t seem to work. Everything around me is still dark.
What the fuck is wrong with my eyes?
“Welcome back, big bro.” Axel’s voice is soft, steady.
I turn my head, searching for him. But I can’t see anything. My heartbeat takes off; my breathing accelerates. A beeping sound grates against my nerves, causing my anxiety to rocket higher and higher.
“What’s wrong with my eyes, Axel?” I don’t recognize my voice. Raw, hoarse, like I’ve swallowed glass. Full of panic and straight-up fear.
“Easy, Flash. You’re gonna be just fine. I’m with you, you know that. I’m gonna get the doctor in here to talk to you, but you gotta calm the fuck down.” His hand on my shoulder is pure comfort during a storm, and I grip it with my own hand.
There’s some rustling as Axel does something behind my head, and then a woman’s voice reaches out from a speaker nearby.
“Yes?”
“My brother’s awake. Send the doctor, please.” Axel’s response is grim.
Damn. If Axel, my fun-loving, free-spirited little brother is serious, everything is about to go to hell.
A few minutes later, the door to what I’m assuming is my hospital room opens, and a man speaks. I snap my head toward the sound of his voice.
“Mr. Jackson, I’m Dr. Silverstein. We’re glad to see you awake. Let me give you a quick examination before we discuss your prognosis, all right?”
I nod, and the doctor moves forward. He takes my vitals and asks me questions. He instructs me to move different parts of my body, which hurts. My leg is casted; I have a broken femur. My collarbone is broken. And apparently I’m covered in bruises and abrasions. There’s pain medication dripping into
my system every few hours through an IV drip.
Dr. Silverstein spends a lot of time examining my eyes, asking me what I can see and what I can’t. The answer?
Nothing. I can’t see a motherfucking thing.
The dread eating away at my insides grows a little stronger.
“What the hell is going on, Doc? Why can’t I see anything? It’s temporary, right?” I hate the pleading note in my voice, but I can’t help it. I need answers, and I need them now.
The doctor doesn’t hesitate. He’s sure of himself, and he’s matter-of-fact. “Your helmet flew off during your accident, causing your head to hit the ground unprotected. The person who hit you drove away, so you weren’t found until another motorist passed and called nine-one-one. Mr. Jackson, that delay wreaked havoc on your blain. There was bleeding that meant you received emergency surgery as soon as you arrived. The brain bleed caused your retinas to detach. In both eyes. The result was catastrophic, something we couldn’t fix, even after the reattachment was complete and the bleeding had stopped. I’m afraid the damage to your eyesight is permanent.”
His words continue, and Axel’s hand grips my own with a strength I can’t muster for myself right now, but I don’t hear anything else. His words, the ones telling me that I’ll never see again, keep echoing in my brain on repeat.