by Lauren Dawes
“I need to speak to you.” The words were barely audible over the pounding of blood in his ears.
“About what? I’m kind of busy.”
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry … about Eir. I shouldn’t have let it happen. It’s my fault.”
Bryn’s expression softened. “It’s fine, Mason. She’s all right now, maybe just a little shaken up, but she’ll recover. Believe me, she’s been through worse.”
Mason wanted to say more, but now wasn’t the time. Bryn saw him hesitate.
“Was there something else you needed?” she asked.
Shaking his head, Mason said, “No.” He retreated back into the club, knowing that he needed to drown himself in running the club’s security just so he could stop thinking about Eir and Sophie and everything else that was fucked up in his life.
Chapter 35
2003—An Nasiriyah, Iraq
The sound of the blast was still ringing in Mason’s ears. The high-pitched buzzing was intermittently drowned out by shouting, but Mason couldn’t focus on what the words were. His face was covered in dust. He could feel the grittiness of it even under his eyelids, in his mouth, under his tongue.
Something hot was running down the back of his neck into his shirt, and down the side of his face, and his first thought was that it was his blood. There was no other explanation. Lifting his hand up to feel the wound felt like a near impossible feat, but somehow he did it.
He sucked in sharply, the stab of pain confirming what he already knew—he had taken a blow to the back of the head, and as his fingers probed the gash for shrapnel, he let his eyes survey the damage around him.
Jagged slabs of collapsed brick wall and rubble were everywhere. Red dust covered what remained of the partly caved in walls and roof. He’d been with three other marines, but he couldn’t get a visual on them through the suffocating dust. As his hearing gradually came back, Mason could hear the sharp crack, crack, crack of automatic gunfire coming from the street, could hear the yells in the distance.
Blinking, still dumbstruck by what had happened, he forced his brain to snap into action. He had been trained for situations like this. He knew what to do. Mason bent his legs, inspecting them to see whether there was any other serious damage that would prevent him getting back on his feet and getting to fucking work.
When he couldn’t feel any pain, he got up on shaky legs, holding himself up against what was left of the wall he’d been thrown back against. Looking down, he saw the blood on his hands and on the floor.
Fuck.
With his hearing finally cleared, Mason was able to home in on where a cry for help was coming from. A few yards away, he could see a pair of boots sticking out from underneath some debris. Staggering over to them, he hauled the steel bar and crude bricks off, tossing them aside and getting his first good look at the marine on the ground.
It was Shane, the guy who had been standing behind him. Mason felt the adrenalin hit his bloodstream as all his training fully kicked in. He did a quick inventory of Shane’s injuries, noting the blood trickling from a cut above his eye and the strange angle of his arm.
“I’m going to get you out, Shane,” Mason told him. He just had no fucking idea how that was going to happen. From the noise outside, it sounded as if their whole platoon had been ambushed and was now under attack. They needed an evac. Mason grunted as he lifted a tangled mess of metal and bricks off Shane’s legs. Shane looked up at him, dust covering his skin, blood still streaming down one side of his face.
“How are the others?” Shane asked, spitting out blood after he spoke. The red stain immediately soaked into the sand and dirt.
“I don’t know. I’ve only just come to myself.”
“Mase, you need to check on them. I’ll be fine.”
Mason wiped away some of the blood and sweat from his face with his arm, desperately looking around them. He had no fucking idea where to look. All he could see was dust, broken chunks of red brick and twisted reinforced steel.
Turning back to Shane, Mason asked, “Is your radio still working?”
Using his undamaged arm, Shane checked over his equipment. “I think so.”
“Call in an evac.”
Over the crackle of static and Shane’s low voice, a muffled moan came from the far end of the ruined room. Mason took a few steps toward the sound, coming upon a bloody arm. As he got closer he saw that the arm belonged to Derek, but he clearly hadn’t been the one moaning. Derek’s sightless eyes stared up at him, a large hole in his chest exposing his rib cage and shredded internal organs.
“Mason? Who is it? Are they okay?” Shane asked from across the room.
“Derek didn’t make it,” he rasped back after a moment. “He’s gone.”
“Fuck.”
Mason forced his eyes away, concentrating on what was really important. There was still one more person in that room with them.
He looked around, attempting to filter out the external noise, and strained his ears to pick up the slightest sound. He was rewarded half a minute later when those stifled moans he had mistaken for Derek came again. Listening hard, he followed the sound to a place where one solid section of wall had fallen, crushing his brother’s body.
Mason dropped to his knees beside his brother’s head—the only part of his body still exposed.
“Hunter,” Mason said, his heart in his throat. Hunter’s eyes were shut, but at the sound of Mason’s voice, they fluttered open.
“Mase?” he asked, his voice thready. Mason looked down the length of brick wall hopelessly, unable to see how Hunter was going to survive.
“You’re bleeding,” Hunter said, jerking Mason’s gaze back to his brother’s face. The edge of the wall was just below his collarbones, but he didn’t even seem to notice.
Mason touched the side of his face. “Just a scratch.”
“How are the others? Did they make it?”
Mason looked over his shoulder, first at Shane and then at Derek. “Yeah, they both made it,” he lied. “And you’re going to make it too.”
Hunter began to cough, great racking hacks that seemed to shake his entire body. Blood bubbled up from his throat, spilling out of the corner of his mouth. Its scarlet fingers ran down his cheek, dribbling onto the floor beneath his head.
Mason knew his brother was drowning in his own blood, his lungs filling up with each shallow breath he sucked in. Mason rested a hand on his shoulder, praying he wasn’t hurting him in any way.
“The evac will be here soon, Hunter. Just hang on, all right?”
His brother grimaced, blood staining his teeth. “We both know that’s not going to happen, Mason.”
Mason’s throat began to burn and his eyes stung. Roughly, he wiped the first tears away with the back of his hand. “Don’t give up on me, Hunter. You’re going to make it through this. Five more minutes, max, and we’ll have you on your way to the hospital … Hell, maybe they’ll even send you home, you lucky prick.”
Mason forced a smile onto his lips even though his heart was breaking. He was supposed to be looking out for his baby brother, not preparing him to die. If only he’d taken his position in the line, then it would have been Mason under the slab of bricks and twisted steel with Hunter comforting him with hollow words and empty promises.
A nearby explosion rocked the building, sending small plumes of dust into the air once more. They were vulnerable just sitting there holding their dicks and waiting for an evac. Mason stood up and looked around for a weapon, finding his M4 buried under the rubble beside the pool of his blood. Slinging the rifle over his shoulder and positioning it between his shoulderblades, he turned to his brother. “I need to make sure our location is still secure, okay? Just hang in there.”
There was a large hole in the wall, and standing to one side of it, Mason searched the short stretch of dirt road between them and the building beside them, trying to get some idea of what was happening. The sound of gunfire being hurled back and forth was irregularly brok
en up by eardrum-shattering IED explosions. Mason crept forward a little more, trying to get eyes on anyone from his platoon, but he couldn’t see the main road. If they were trapped inside the town, their only hope was getting lifted out of there.
“Where’s that goddamn helicopter?” Mason said under his breath, raising his eyes up to the sky. The cloud of smoke and dust had dissipated, leaving them wide open to further attack. Peeling away from the wall, Mason walked back over to his brother. As he approached, Hunter began coughing, worse than before. Blood foamed from his mouth, creeping down his chin in a fresh wash of red. Mason crouched down, gripping his brother’s shoulder. Hunter’s face was ashen, his skin clammy.
He wasn’t going to make it. Even if the medics got there in time, there was no way they could lift the weight of the wall and expect him to survive. In some sick way, that hunk of clay, sand and mortar was keeping him alive.
“Mason?” Hunter said, his voice low and weak. “It’s all right, you know.”
Mason frowned. “What is?”
“I’m going to die. I know it. You know it. The medics will know it as soon as they get a look at me … And that’s okay.”
Fresh tears stung Mason’s eyes. “Don’t talk like that, Hunter.”
His brother laughed, which only made him cough even harder. Mason laid his hand on Hunter’s forehead in an effort to soothe him.
There was a sudden noise, and Mason’s heart kicked up a notch as he spun around, aiming his M4 at whoever was about to come through what was left of the doorway.
Tense seconds passed, his skin twitching. He stayed there for what felt like a lifetime, weapon aimed, heart beating erratically, before he realized he was hearing things.
Nobody was coming.
He turned back to Hunter, expecting him to make a joke about his big brother being too fucking jumpy for a marine. Instead, Hunter’s unseeing eyes stared up at the busted-open ceiling above him. He had died, and Mason hadn’t even seen him take his last breath.
*
Mason had lain awake all night thinking about everything that had happened to him in his life … starting with his brother’s death. He had carried the guilt of not taking better care of him on his shoulders for ten years, and the wound still felt just as raw as ever.
And then there was Sophie. Not having her there, being without the familiar weight and heat of her body against him while he slept, felt truly alien to him.
He checked the clock, seeing there were still another four hours before he could go and see how his girl was doing. Four fucking hours to sit and stew over all the mistakes he’d made in his life.
And now he could add leaving Eir alone to that ever-growing list. She’d been hurt and he’d inadvertently been the one to let it happen. When his brother had died he’d felt helpless, and he’d hated it. He had never wanted to feel that sense of hopelessness ever again. But yesterday, he had. And now there was no coming back.
Knowing that he wouldn’t be getting any rest, Mason rolled off the bed and pulled on his sweats. If he couldn’t sleep, he’d run his body into oblivion.
Out in the cold early morning, the crisp air cleared away some of the cobwebs, but the niggling fear that Sophie wouldn’t pull through this okay was still there.
After running for three hours, Mason returned to his apartment with sweat soaking his clothing and running from his face. He showered and dressed in record time, snatching up his keys and jogging downstairs to his car. The vet’s office would be opening in half an hour and he wanted to be there first thing.
Mason had been pacing the parking lot for a quarter of an hour and was waiting at the door when the vet’s assistant flipped the ‘closed’ sign around to ‘open’. He reached for the handle as he heard the final snick of the lock and walked straight in.
“How is she?” he blurted out. Thankfully, it was the same woman who had been working the day before and she recognized Mason. He didn’t know what he might have done if she’d played twenty questions with him.
“Mr. White,” she said gently. “Doctor Greyson has only just arrived. She was here for most of the night, but had to return home to get some sleep.”
Mason bobbed his head to show he was listening.
“If you’d like to take a seat, Doctor Greyson will come out and collect you in a few moments.”
Mason wanted to demand he see Sophie right away, but the stern look on her face made him stop. Instead, he collapsed into one of the waiting room chairs, his foot tapping impatiently on the floor.
A few minutes later, Doctor Greyson appeared from the back rooms and Mason stood to greet her. From the look on her face, Mason knew he wouldn’t like what she was going to say.
His mouth went dry. “How is she?” he croaked.
The vet looked grave. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Mr. White, but Sophie passed away in the early hours of this morning.”
After staggering back a few steps, Mason dropped back into his chair. Sophie was dead? His Sophie? No, this couldn’t possibly be happening. Mason was vaguely aware that Doctor Greyson had lowered herself into the chair beside him.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Mason stared at her numbly. This was his fault. He should have been more vigilant about what Sophie was eating. He should have noticed something was wrong before she’d even gotten sick.
“Can I go and see her?”
The doctor shared a look with the nurse, who had heard the entire sad conversation. “Sure you can.”
Doctor Greyson led him through into the back rooms. Everything looked the same as it had the previous night, but everything was so very different.
Mason looked down at the cage Sophie had been in, expecting to see her still lying there, but it was empty.
“I’ve moved her into another room.”
Mason followed the vet into yet another room, this one tiled floor to ceiling in stark white. Metal trolleys with surgical tools were arranged around the perimeter of the room, and a large surgical light was positioned over a stainless steel table in the center. A sheet had been draped over a body on the slab and Mason knew it was Sophie without having to ask.
He approached the operating table reluctantly, hardly breathing. Reaching out his hand, he pulled the white sheet down, revealing Sophie’s head and shoulders. Her eyes were shut and she looked as if she was just sleeping peacefully.
Running the back of his fingers along her muzzle, he so badly wanted her to be warm, wanted her to sit up and lick his fingers like she always did.
But she was cold.
A drop of moisture fell onto the back of his hand, and he scrubbed away the other tears pooling in his eyes. He didn’t know what he would do now. Whenever his anxiety hit, Sophie had always been there to help him calm down again.
And now she was gone.
He was alone with his memories, with his dreams, with his fears.
“Was she in any pain?” he asked almost inaudibly.
Doctor Greyson shifted behind him. “She had been in some pain earlier in the evening, and I’d given her something to make her more comfortable, so no, I don’t believe she was in any pain when she passed.”
Mason was thankful for that. “Good. That’s good …” He paused. “What’s going to happen to her body?”
“That was something I wanted to discuss with you. You have two choices, really. You can have her cremated and have her ashes returned to you, or, if you’d prefer, I can call in a service that we use to, umm, dispose of the body in a respectful way.”
For Mason there was only one acceptable option. “I’d like to have her ashes.”
“Okay. I’ll have the nurse organize that for you.”
Mason reached out and unhooked the chain collar around Sophie’s neck and let the links fall into his jacket pocket with a gentle chink.
“Is there anything else I need to do here?” he asked. “Anything I have to sign?”
“The nurse will help you with all of that. Would you like a few m
ore moments with Sophie?”
Mason shook his head. “No. I think I’m done here. I have to get in to work, anyway.” He turned around and stretched out his hand toward Doctor Greyson. “Thanks for everything you’ve done for Sophie. I really appreciate it.”
The vet shook Mason’s hand. “I truly am sorry, Mr. White. I can see she was a much loved part of your family.”
Mason left the vet’s surgery in a kind of daze. Signing all that paperwork had made everything seem so final, so permanent. In the space of twenty-four hours, his whole life had changed. He had somehow won and lost Eir, he had lost his best friend, and now he was going to quit the job that had once saved his life.
What did he have to live for?
Nothing.
At.
All.
*
Half an hour later, Mason pulled his car into the rear car park, taking his usual spot beside Bryn’s SUV, and let himself in through the back door. The place was quiet, as he’d expected, except for the rapid tapping of fingers on a keyboard coming from Bryn’s office.
He knocked gently, waiting until Bryn gave the okay to enter. She was sitting behind her desk, focused on one of the computer screens in front of her. Mason cleared his throat, and the Valkyrie’s eyes lifted to his face.
“Mase? What’s up?” she asked before her gaze settled back on the screen. Mason let out a breath and sank into the chair opposite her desk.
“I needed to talk to you about something, Bryn.”
“All right,” she replied, distracted.
“And it’s kind of important.”
It was either his tone or the words, but Bryn stopped typing and sat further back into her seat. Her attention was on him now, and even though that was what he had wanted, he squirmed under her scrutiny.
“What’s so important, Mason?”
He met her intense gaze. “I’m sorry to do this to you, Bryn. Believe me when I say that I don’t want to say what I’m about to say to you.”
“Mason, you’re scaring me,” Bryn said. “Tell me what’s going on. Please.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to hand in my notice … effective immediately.”
