Wicked Intentions (Steele Secrurity Book 4)

by A. D. Justice

  “She’s the best.”

  “Girls like her aren’t that common. Love like you just described comes once in a lifetime, if you’re lucky. You won’t find another one like her, Braxton.”

  He looked up and met Larry’s gaze directly. “I know I won’t. And I won’t be looking for another one either. Especially not after all I’ve been through.”

  The waitress appeared with their checks. Larry picked up both at the same time and insisted on paying. “It’s the least I can do for a young man who’ll be serving our country. My trip ends at our next stop, so this is the last chance I’ll have to do it.”

  “It’s not necessary, but I appreciate it. Thank you.”

  “Take care of yourself, Braxton. I hope everything works out for you.”

  At the next stop, Braxton felt a deep loneliness when he said goodbye to Larry. The older man had been the first friend he’d really talked to about his predicament. He’d talked to his father often, but familial bias tainted their discussions. His friends were his age and didn’t understand any of what he’d already experienced. Larry was the first person who wasn’t related, wasn’t too young, and didn’t have any preconceived notions about their relationship. He listened, he grasped the depth of their love, and he offered advice without being condescending.

  The ride from Georgia to South Carolina was both the longest and shortest of his life. He’d watched the sun rise and visualized Heather still asleep in their bed. He longed to be there with her, to hold her while she slept, to kiss her when she woke. As the bus pulled up to the station, he wondered how much longer it would be before she found his letter. Would she move out of their apartment right away, back in with her parents? Or would she wait a while to see if he came back?

  “The truth is it doesn’t matter what happens. Our courses are set now. In two days, I have to report to the base for basic training,” he muttered to himself. He hailed a cab to take him to a hotel close to the base. After checking in and stowing his stuff, he set out on foot to take in the sights and spend the rest of his free time alone until the very last second. The two days passed by much too quickly, and it was time to check out of the hotel.

  Before leaving his room, he called his mom to talk to her one last time before basic training started and all communication was cut off.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Mom.” His tone was deflated, like his heart. “I’m about to leave the hotel. Just wanted to say I love you. I’ll let you know when graduation is in case you and Dad can make it.”

  “Of course we’ll be there, Brax. I love you, too, son. And I’m so worried about you.”

  “I’ll be okay, Mom. Don’t worry.”

  She paused for a heartbeat before replying. “Heather called this morning. She’s worried to death about you, Braxton.”

  “Did you tell her where I am?”

  “No, I didn’t. You asked me not to, but you know I don’t agree with how you’re handling this.”

  “It’s for the best, Mom. I have to go. Tell Dad I love him. I love you. I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

  “Your father and I are so proud of you, Braxton. I want you to know that. We love you more than life itself.”

  August 2001

  “Where did my little boy go?” Braxton’s mother, Jackie, asked as she grasped her son’s face in her palms.

  “He left as a boy, and two months later, the Army gives us a man,” his father, Bryan, beamed. “He even had a birthday while he was in basic training.”

  “You look so handsome in that uniform,” Jackie commented through her tears. The pride and admiration she had for her son shone in her eyes and resonated in her voice.

  Braxton scanned the crowd milling around the soldiers who had just graduated from basic training, searching for another familiar face he’d hoped to see. Without asking, Bryan knew exactly who his son was looking for.

  “She’s not here, son.” Bryan placed his hand on Braxton’s shoulder and squeezed to show his support. “She said…” He paused to consider his next words before he continued.

  “You talked to her? What did she say?”

  “She said you left her, so you know where to find her if you want to see her,” Bryan replied, his face contorted with sympathy.

  “She hasn’t filed for a divorce?” Braxton couldn’t keep the surprise from his tone. He was certain she would’ve filed within the first week of his absence.

  “Not that we know of, Brax. She hasn’t told us if she has.”

  “How is she?” There were a million and one questions he wanted to grill his parents with to find out every single detail about Heather. What had she been doing? Who was she talking to? Had she moved back in with her parents? Did she ask about him? Did she miss him? Did she still love him? Asking about how she was doing left the question open for interpretation, so they could share any information they thought was important.

  “She’s had a really rough time, son. She seemed to be doing a little better before we left to come here,” Bryan replied.

  “Maybe you should go talk to her, Brax. Sit down and do it face-to-face,” Jackie suggested. “I think you both need that time together.”

  “I’m not sure I can,” Braxton sighed. “I only have a couple of days to get to Arizona for AIT.”

  “AIT?” Jackie asked.

  “Advanced Individual Training. It’s training for my assigned job with the Army.”

  “How long will you be there?” Jackie’s face fell with his reply.

  “I’ll be away for about six months total for AIT and jump school.”

  “Jump school? What is jump school?” Jackie demanded.

  “Airborne School, Mom. I’m going to learn how to jump out of airplanes, control my parachute to land on specific targets, and use these skills in combat.”

  “I don’t even want to think about that. Don’t tell me anything else.” Jackie shook her head from side to side, making Braxton chuckle at her discomfort.

  “I’m tougher than you think, Mom.”

  With the graduation ceremony events completed, Braxton was able to spend what little free time he had with his parents before his more extensive training program began. While they talked, ate, and toured the grounds, his mother’s words urging him to see Heather in person rang in his ears. His date to report to the training base in Arizona was nonnegotiable with the Army. But with a little extra effort, he’d already managed to get a connecting flight with an extra-long layover through the Houston airport.

  The urge to see her, talk to her, be with her had been too strong for too long. He knew what he had to do the instant he was instructed to make his travel arrangements. There was no way he was flying across the country without stopping in Texas to see her again. Leaving her had been pure torture. He didn’t know if seeing her again would make him feel better or worse. He only knew it had to be done.

  At the end of their day together, he hugged his parents as they said goodbye, told them he loved them, and made his final preparations for leaving the base that had been his home for the previous nine weeks. The new base would be his home for the next eighteen weeks before he’d make the trek back across the country to attend the three-week jump school. He hadn’t had the heart to tell his mother he’d decided to make a career of his time in the Army, and that the training he had in mind for the future would keep him away from home more and more.

  Finally, the time had come to face the anguish he’d been running from for far too long. He walked out of the Houston airport with his duffle bag slung over his shoulder and hailed a taxi. They drove in complete silence to the apartment he shared with Heather. It amazed him how everything could look the same and simultaneously be completely different. The tiny little space that was barely big enough for them to turn around without bumping into each other held so many wonderful memories—and far too much pain.

  He climbed the stairs, delaying the inevitable by only a couple of minutes, and stopped in front of their door. Part of him hoped she’d c
hanged the locks, that his key wouldn’t work, and he could at least say he tried as he walked away.

  But he had no such luck.

  His key slid into the lock without a hitch. He turned it, and the doorknob twisted with ease. He pushed the door open but stayed planted in the threshold. He felt like an intruder breaking in to someone else’s house, not a husband returning home to his wife after an extended leave.

  His feet moved on their own into the place he’d called home just a short eight weeks before. His legs carried him into the apartment where the sights, scents, and belongings only served to intensify the pain in his chest. He dropped his duffel bag on the floor and robotically moved through the rooms, noting what had and hadn’t changed. Her clothes still hung in the tiny closet. Her makeup and toiletries still cluttered the minuscule bathroom counter.

  The pictures of the two of them throughout their lives were still everywhere. According to the story the pictures told, they were more than happy together. Images of them smiling, laughing, and kissing said they couldn’t get enough of each other. Their wedding picture said they belonged to each other for all time.

  He walked into the kitchen and began searching for paper and a pen to write her a letter. In the event she didn’t come home before he had to get back to the airport, he planned to leave her a note asking her to contact him. Telling her how monumentally he’d fucked up. Laying his feelings out on the table, without holding anything back, without regard to his vulnerability.

  He wanted her back, and he could no longer deny it.

  Rifling through the stack of mail and papers on the counter as he searched for a blank sheet, his eyes landed on a set of documents that made everything else fade to black around him. The black hole they created drew all of the air out of the room, leaving his chest burning as his lungs demanded oxygen. All sound instantly disappeared, replaced by the sound of his pulse beating on drums in his ears. His capacity to rationalize and reason like any other sane person dissolved, leaving only instability in its place.

  Name of person filing for divorce (Petitioner): Heather Reed

  Your spouse’s name (Respondent): Braxton Reed

  Petition For Divorce

  3

  CHAPTER THREE

  February, Present Day

  In a deep sleep, Sara rolled over and snuggled against her husband, her front to his back. The contact instantly startled her awake and filled her with so much fear that she sat up and called his name out in the dark.

  “Steve! Honey, what’s wrong?”

  She reached over to turn on the lamp beside the bed and gasped when she saw him in the light. His skin was so pale it was almost translucent, his arms were drawn up close to his chest, and his entire body appeared to be in convulsions. Had she not felt the heat radiating from his every pore, she would’ve thought he was having a seizure from the severity of his shivers. She placed her hand on his forehead and immediately knew she needed to call for an ambulance.

  As she flew out of the bed, she grabbed the cordless phone on the nightstand and dialed 911. When the line connected to the dispatcher, she immediately began rambling information and demands.

  “We’re in room 1345 at Sterling Luxury Resort on Broad Street. My husband has colon cancer and is undergoing experimental chemotherapy. His fever has spiked, he’s shaking uncontrollably, and he’s very pale. I need an ambulance here right away to take him to the emergency room.”

  After she answered a few basic questions about Steve, the dispatcher assured her the ambulance was on the way. She called the front desk and alerted them to the situation before she helped Steve into a jacket, socks, and shoes. February temperatures in Houston were mild, but his high fever made Steve feel like his body was freezing. In his condition, the chill of the evening air could cause his fever to go up even more.

  Once they had him loaded onto the gurney, the paramedics wheeled him out of the luxurious hotel and into the back of the ambulance. Sara rushed to their car to meet them at the emergency room. At one point, she reached for her cell to inform Noah, Chaise, and Silas, but a quick glance at the clock stopped her. Eight minutes after three o’clock in the morning in Houston would be just after four o’clock in Miami, way too early to wake her kids until she knew more about the severity of his condition.

  She racked her brain trying to remember all the side effects Dr. Stanton had warned them about, especially which ones were potentially life-threatening. Erring on the side of caution, she decided to call the answering service to at least report that Steve was en route to the hospital.

  “Can I put you on hold for just a minute, Mrs. Steele? Dr. Stanton prefers to talk to his patients and their families directly,” the young lady with the answering service explained.

  “Of course. Thank you,” Sara replied, relieved she could talk to someone—anyone—at that moment.

  After a couple of minutes, the hold music abruptly quit, and a slightly groggy male voice filled the line. “This is Daryl Stanton. What’s going on with Steve?”

  “He was so warm and shivering so hard, he woke me up from a dead sleep. He’s hot to the touch, but he’s just so pale. I didn’t even take his temperature before I called 911 because just seeing him in that condition rattled me so badly. I can’t think straight right now, Dr. Stanton, so I can’t remember when you said to get immediate help. But he scared me bad enough that I would’ve made him go to the hospital regardless,” Sara rambled.

  “You did the right thing. It’s not uncommon for people to have a high fever while on chemo. It effectively destroys your immune system, so even a common cold can turn ugly very quickly. We’ll do some bloodwork to rule out a systemic infection, but this could very well be a side effect of his treatment. Either way, we can make him more comfortable and get his temperature down to a safe level. I’ll meet you both in the ER.”

  “Thank you,” Sara breathed her reply, the gratitude thick in her voice.

  When she was finally by Steve’s side again, he was resting in a darkened exam room. The bandage on his hand made her heart rate quicken because she realized the IV had been placed in his forearm. She’d seen that happen before when he was too dehydrated for the medical personnel to hit the vein closer to his wrist. She refused to listen to the inner voice that tried to issue a dire warning concerning the sudden onset of his symptoms. She couldn’t even entertain the thought of Steve succumbing to the devastating disease.

  “Hi, Sara,” Daryl called softly from the doorway. “I’ve already ordered a complete blood count, and the preliminary results should be back from the lab within in the hour. Once I get that report, I should have a better idea of what’s going on. Until then, we’re hydrating him, and we’ve started him on medication to bring his fever down. It was quite a bit higher than we like to see in chemotherapy patients, so I’m sure he was feeling pretty rough.”

  “It was so sudden, Dr. Stanton. He didn’t say anything about feeling bad last night. But then, he still likes to think he’s invincible.”

  “That’s because I’m made of Steele,” Steve mumbled his witty retort but managed to give Sara a half smile.

  “Did you know you were getting sick when we went to bed last night?” Sara asked.

  “I wasn’t sick like this, but I did feel a little off. I didn’t realize it would progress to be this bad, though. Now I know what to watch for so I can stop it before it gets too far gone.”

  “Absolutely,” Daryl agreed. “Every symptom won’t be a classic, textbook example. We’ll do the best we can to manage them so you’re not too miserable. I’ll be back when the lab results are ready, but plan on staying for at least a day or two. You should both try to get some rest now.”

  Steve patted the bed beside him, so Sara crawled in and rested her cheek in the crook of his shoulder. With their arms wrapped around each other, they slept until Daryl returned with the results of his blood count. The grim expression he wore did nothing to calm Sara’s fears.

  “Your white blood cell count is signific
antly low, Steve. We’re going to keep you, start you on a broad-spectrum antibiotic to help your body fight off any infection, and monitor your counts to make sure we start seeing some improvements. From the date of your last chemo round, this isn’t entirely unusual, but we may need to help kick-start your bone marrow so it produces more white blood cells.”

  “How long will I be here this time?”

  “You know the rules, Steve. We take it one day at a time,” Daryl replied. “Let us finish this paperwork, and we’ll get you moved to a more comfortable room.”

  “Sara,” Steve called her name softly when Daryl had left the room. “We’ll eventually have to talk about it.”

  “Not now, we don’t. You’re not giving up over this…this… It’s not even a setback. It’s no more than an inconvenience. If you were healthy and caught the flu, you wouldn’t throw your hands up in surrender.”

  He knew her anger and dogged determination masked her fear of what their future may hold. He wanted to assure her he’d be fine. He wanted to soothe her frayed nerves and promise he’d kick cancer’s ass. For her, he wanted to be invincible and live forever. But he couldn’t promise her any of those things. Instead, he just held her close to his heart and kissed the top of her head.

  When he’d been quiet for too long, she prodded him again. “Steve, promise me you’re not giving up.”

  “I’m not giving up, babe,” he whispered.

  Before he drifted off to sleep again, he felt the warmth of her tears soak through his thin hospital gown.

  “How’s my favorite patient in the world today?” Heather asked as she entered Steve’s room. “Even though I’ve missed you, it’s really not necessary for you to keep pretending to be sick just to come see me.”

  “But I have to keep you guessing. You never know when I’ll be here and when I won’t,” Steve joked.

  “Well, to be honest, I’d much rather you show up with some food! Breakfast, lunch, snacks—it doesn’t matter what it is.” Heather laughed as she took a seat next to his bed.