Breaking Away (Military Romantic Suspense) (Book 3 of the SEAL TEAM Heartbreakers)

by Teresa Reasor

  The doctor’s office looked similar to all the ones they’d visited since Alex’s birth. Similar to all the others they’d visited since they’d been attacked and held hostage at gunpoint by terrorists for three days in their home.

  James absently touched the scar that ran along his eye socket. His face and body had been pulverized, and he’d been in the hospital for nearly two weeks. Marsha and the baby had been in for a few days. But the physical reminders were nothing compared to the psychological issues he and his wife were dealing with now. She still had nightmares. She still had all the symptoms of PTSD. He saw them in himself, too.

  Surgeons, psychologists, pediatricians, cardiologists, neurologists, internists, plastic surgeons. They’d seen them all as a family. One right after another. It was the only thing they did as a family lately.

  He scanned the bookcases full of an arrangement of textbooks, medical related knick-knacks and keepsakes from patients against one wall. Two patient chairs sat before a paper-strewn desk. Did all these guys hire the same decorator?

  Were they all trained to face life and death with that same calm, purposeful focus? That at least was something he could understand.

  That first visit with the pediatrician had been the worst.

  Just remembering the doctor saying, “Alex has Aarskog Syndrome. It’s a very rare genetic disorder that can affect several parts of the body. You’ve already noticed the webbing of his fingers and the wide spacing of his eyes. And of course his reproductive organs have been affected to a small degree, but that is a cosmetic thing and can be corrected later.”

  He’d gone on to list extensive orthodontic treatment, and the possibility that Alex’s cognitive function might be completely normal or he might have some learning disabilities. They couldn’t judge that yet.

  All they wanted to do was test and test.

  What had that doctor known of their hopes, their dreams for their son? What did it matter to him or any of the others they’d been to in the last ten months?

  James maintained an even expression for Marsha’s benefit, though the fear roiled through him.

  Dawson continued. “Our main concern right now is the size of the hole. I hear a pronounced murmur with the stethoscope. And the echocardiogram I ordered in the hospital showed an abnormality. We had hoped the medication we prescribed would help the hole close. It might yet.”

  Marsha’s features blanked as she fought back tears and reached for James’s hand. He clasped it automatically. She had gone through the entire pregnancy alone. His platoon had been called up before she’d even been aware she was pregnant. He’d arrived home a couple of weeks before she delivered. And as soon as their son was born they’d been slapped with the news that there were genetic problems.

  His son could be…retarded. He flinched from the word. Alex had a heart problem on top of that. The news had hit him like a solid punch to his the solar plexus. He hadn’t breathed freely since.

  He and Marsha didn’t drink. And they didn’t have any health issues. What had caused this? He dragged his thoughts back to the present.

  “How big a hole?” he managed around a throat tight with fear.

  Dr. Dawson turned his attention to him. “A number of babies are born with abnormal openings in the wall that divides the atria or the two chambers at the top of the heart. It’s called an atrial septal defect. I know you’ve heard that term from your pediatrician and from our first evaluation.”

  Marsha nodded.

  “For the most part those holes close on their own within a few weeks of birth. And some people have them their whole lives without any symptoms. But Alex’s appears larger than normal. And it hasn’t responded to the medication. But there is a procedure we can use to repair it.”

  Alex whimpered and struggled to sit up in the stroller. Marsha pulled her hand free from James’s grasp and lifted Alex from the seat to hold him in her lap. Tears shimmered in her eyes before she silently wiped them away.

  How many tears had to fall before their son was well? Would he ever be? The frustration and pain built inside James’s chest until he wanted to yell. There was nothing he could do for his boy and there seemed to be nothing he could do for his wife, either.

  The doctor rose and took up a pad of paper. He leaned back against his desk and drew something on it, then turned it so they could see the image. “This is a normal heart. It’s divided into four chambers. This is where Alex’s hole is, and the relative size of the hole.” He colored in a section opening the two chambers to each other. “Oxygen-poor blood flows into the right side of the heart, down into the right ventricle, then is pumped into the lungs, where it picks up oxygen. In the left side of the heart, arterial blood rich in oxygen flows from the lungs into the atrium, then down into the ventricle, where it’s pumped out into the body. Because of the hole between the chambers of his heart, the oxygen-rich blood is mixing with the oxygen-poor blood and Alex’s heart has to work overtime to pump all that blood out. What it does eventually is cause one side of the heart to grow larger, and left untreated, can eventually, after several years, damage the vessels in the lungs. That’s several years down the road for Alex. Luckily children seem to tolerate the condition very well.”

  “Are you going to do some kind of surgery to repair it?” James asked.

  “Eventually. If he does as well in the next six months we’ll wait. He’ll have to stay on the medications he’s been taking for the last four months.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” Marsha asked.

  “The tests we’ve just done have given us a more thorough picture of the issue. If he should have some distress, we can do the surgery right away. I’d prefer to wait until he’s eighteen months to two years of age, though.”

  “Why did this happen?” James asked.

  Dr. Dawson returned to his chair, leaned forward, and folded his hands on the desk. At five foot six inches tall and probably just a hundred and forty-five pounds, the doctor seemed too small, too frail, yet James had seen men that same size leave bigger men in the dust in battle. But at the moment, with his child’s future dependent on his actions, James felt he needed to know if they were putting their child in the right hands. His gaze brushed over the diplomas again.

  The doctor answered his question. “This occurs once in fifteen hundred births. Because of your son’s other genetic issues he ran a greater risk.”

  “What caused these other genetic problems?” James tried asking his question another way.

  “It was caused by a gene mutation on the X chromosome.”

  “It’s my fault, James,” Marsha said, her voice just above a whisper. “It’s passed from mother to son.”

  Her soft-spoken admission stole his breath. “You’ve never said you were aware of any problems, Marsha.”

  “I didn’t know until six months into the pregnancy. And by then it was too late to do anything about it. I just hoped and prayed. Even if I’d found out earlier, I wouldn’t have done anything differently. This is our child, James. I carried him inside me for nine months. I loved him from the moment I found out I was pregnant. Whatever issues he may have, I’ll continue to love him.”

  He attempted to keep his voice even while maintaining control of his temper. A sense of betrayal banded his chest. “You could have discussed this with me.”

  “A good SEAL’s wife doesn’t bother her husband with problems while he’s out of the country.” Her eyes held such deep-seated pain, he had no choice but to beat back his anger though an inner voice screamed, ‘Problems. Problems? This is more than a problem. This is—life altering.’ But then, what would he have wanted her to do? He ran a hand over his face.

  And to be honest, he hadn’t asked about the cause before, because with all the chemicals he’d been exposed to during combat, he might have had to hear the words, ‘It’s your fault’.

  Who the fuck cared whose fault it was? It wouldn’t change anything. Alex would still have to go through the surgery. And they’d still be struggling throu
gh all the shit that went with those three days of hell they’d endured.

  And after everything he’d brought to their door, how could he blame her for anything? It was a miracle she was still with him. He didn’t know how much longer she would stay.

  “I can suggest some support groups that might help, Captain Jackson. Or a psychologist. Seeing one might help you and your wife deal with the emotional issues that come with having a child with difficulties.”

  “We’re already doing all that,” Marsha said. She turned Alex so he could stand up on her lap. At ten months he was sitting up but hadn’t yet begun to crawl. But he liked to stand up with help.

  “Is the heart condition the reason he tires so quickly?” James asked.

  “Yes. It is.” Dr. Dawson leaned back in his chair. “He may have moments when his heart will feel like it’s beating really hard. And moments when his breathing is very rapid. The medications we’ve given you will help his heart work more easily and keep fluid from building up in his extremities.”

  When faced with something that scared the shit out of you, James had learned it was best to face it down. But until they did surgery, how was he to do that?

  Marsha placed Alex back in the stroller and strapped him in. As James continued to process everything the doctor had said, he watched his son. Alex represented everything they had ever wanted. Grief swelled in his chest until he wanted to howl from the pain. He locked it away and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

  Marsha’s hands clenched at her sides as she clamped down on the fear, anger and guilt that threatened to overwhelm her. James pushed the stroller just ahead of her as they crossed the medical office parking lot. The scent of the cream she’d put on Alex’s diaper rash lingered on her hands though she’d washed them in the ladies restroom. A whisper of James’s cologne reached her on the breeze to blend with the smell. His premature gray hair shone in the afternoon sun. His skin, dark with a tan, contrasting with his pale hair.

  Her fault. All of this was her fault. Her son’s health problems, his disfigurements were her fault. And now James knew.

  Would this be the last straw in their relationship? Would he leave?

  How would she feel if he did?

  Relieved. Relieved she’d no longer have to live up to his expectations and Alex wouldn’t have to live up to them, either. They’d both be free. Or would they?

  “I’ll put him in his car seat,” said James. He punched keys on the electronic keypad to unlock the Equinox. Marsha got into the car but turned to watch over her shoulder. James unstrapped Alex from the umbrella stroller and lifted him free. He held the baby close for a moment, his hand cradling Alex’s head. Pain flickered across James’s face. He said something to Alex that triggered a toothless smile and James smiled in return, but pain remained in his eyes, in the way his brows creased.

  Was that self-contained façade finally cracking? It had been five months since they’d been attacked in their home. And in all that time he’d fought against showing one moment of weakness. Even while lying in a hospital bed after the surgery to repair his fractured eye socket, cheekbone, and arm, he’d maintained a kind of stalwart distance and dignity. The nurses had loved him because he never complained.

  What did he talk about with the psychologist? Why couldn’t he share some of those things with her? Why didn’t they ever talk about what had happened in those three days?

  After he had strapped the baby in, put the stroller in the back, and was behind the wheel Marsha laid a hand on his arm. “What did you say to him to make him smile?”

  “I told him what a good boy he’d been at the doctor’s office.”

  “He loves the sound of your voice. He always smiles when he hears it.” Her son’s love for his father was the only thing keeping her from walking away from the marriage. She swallowed. “Are you ever afraid, James?”

  He rested his hands on the wheel and focused on something in the distance. “I’ve had moments. Everyone does.”

  “Will you tell me about one of those moments?”

  “We can talk about this after we get home.” He put the key in the ignition.

  She grabbed his arm. “I want to hear it now.”

  “Why?”

  “So, I’ll know you’re human enough to be as afraid as I am.”

  “Is this about Alex, or is it about the break-in?”

  They’d called it the break-in for the last five months, but those two words did nothing to encompass everything that had happened in the three days they’d been held prisoner in their own home, threatened, terrorized, and beaten.

  Rage shot through her system. “Open your damn mouth and say something, or I’m packing my bags and Alex and I are leaving.”

  His look of surprise was followed by a laugh that held no humor. “I’ve been expecting this for months. Waiting for it to happen.” He shook his head. “This is what I’ve been afraid of.”

  “Why would you be afraid of something you’ve worked so hard to make happen for the last five months?” She hated the strident, high-pitched tone of her own voice, but there was no way she could control the wave of resentment and pain that rolled through her.

  “What do you mean I’ve worked for it?”

  “It’s what you’ve wanted ever since Alex was born. Your life would be simple, wouldn’t it? Walk away from your imperfect son, your imperfect wife and go back to the perfect world of your men, your career, your dangerous toys and forget about us.”

  “I’m not walking away from anything, Marsha. You’re pushing me away. You’ve been doing it since before the baby was born. I came home eager to be a part of Alex’s birth, and everything that went with that, and you shut me down. You could have told me about your suspicions. Instead you watched it blindside me in the hospital after the birth and again in the pediatrician’s office.”

  He was right. She’d closed down after three months of fear and dread. Guilt gave her voice an edge. “It’s my fault. I’ve told you it is.”

  “Well, I thought it was mine. All the crap that we’re exposed to when we’re downrange—” he shook his head and looked away.

  “So now you can relax and know Alex’s problems are on me.”

  “I’m not blaming you!” His voice rose. “Not for this. How were you to know, if your mother never mentioned it?” He gripped the steering wheel hard. “But I do blame you for shutting me out. For not saying anything before that scene in your hospital room after Alex was born. After ten years of marriage and all the stuff we went through to get pregnant, you could have at least given me that.”

  He was right. She could have told him. But she’d been so devastated herself. So ashamed she’d brought this on them. So hurt she’d brought it on her child.

  James twisted the key in the ignition and put the car in gear. “And back to your original complaint about me not being human… Hearing a man talk about cutting into my son’s chest and heart scares the shit out of me.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Flash thrust a cordless drill into the leather utility belt around his hips and climbed the ladder to the garage eave. Two more lights and he’d have all the motion-sensor lights in place. The cameras were already installed. Despite the early morning breeze whipping between the garage and the house, sweat ran down between his shoulder blades and dampened the hair around his face.

  The sound of wheels spinning on the patio behind the house next door stopped. He glanced over his shoulder to find the little girl, Joy, holding one of the hard plastic tires of the toy Big Wheel she’d been riding. She lifted the rear axil of the toy, and, after several attempts, succeeded in fitting the tire back on. She jumped back on the toy, and pedaled around the patio again. Just as she made another turn the tire came off again. She climbed off the low-riding toy, stood over it for a moment, then put her hands on her hips and glared at it. Her bottom lip thrust out and Flash smiled.

  Strong-willed he decided. If she weren’t, she’d already be crying and yelling for her moth
er.

  The parallels in her situation and his as a child weren’t lost on him. The major difference was her mother wasn’t a drug-addicted prostitute and she had stood up for herself and her daughter and broken away from the son of a bitch who had abused them. Or was trying to.

  Since moving in he’d kept a close watch on what went on next door. Not out of idle curiosity, but just to get the lay of the land. From his observations, Samantha Cross was caring, loving and afraid. Not sleeping much himself, he’d noticed how many times a night she checked the doors and windows.

  Flash climbed down the ladder and moseyed over to the gate leading into Sam’s back yard. He thought of her as Sam now, though there wasn’t a thing masculine about her. She had a distinctive, feminine sway to her walk and was built like a dancer, her body sleek and streamlined. She made five foot four look like five nine because of her body structure and long, slender legs.

  And her daughter, Joy, looked just like her, only in miniature.

  “Hey, sweetheart. You having a problem with your Big Wheel?” he asked.

  “Uh-huh.” She folded her arms and nudged the plastic tire with her toe. “The wheel falled off.”

  His lips twitched with amusement. “I see that. How ‘bout I check it out?”

  Her blue eyes lit with a smile. “Can you fix it?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll look and see.” He opened the gate, and squatted down to check both back wheels and axles. She’d lost the washers and the lock ring that held the wheel on. He could deal with that. “I’ll be right back. You stay in the yard.” He picked up the toy and wheel, carried it out of the yard and shut the gate. Inside the garage, he fished through some of the baskets inside his van for the necessary parts. Within five minutes he had the wheel back on and the toy in good working order. He crossed the drive and lifted it over the fence and set it down.

  “You fixed it!” Joy bounced up and down in excitement. “Thank you, Mr. Tim.”

  He smiled at the name she’d called him. “Don’t drive too fast, sweetheart.”