Man of Honor (Battle Scars)

by Diana Gardin

  “I talked to Aunt Tay,” she relays. “She told me that the only place she thinks he would stay is with his parents—my grandparents—here in Louisville. That’s why we came here.”

  I nod, tucking every bit of information into my mind. “Do you know where they live?”

  Nodding, she turns toward the door. “Let’s go!”

  I tug her gently back to me. “Not happening. I want you and Greta to go get a room and stay put while Grisham and I check it out.”

  The firm set of her chin is my first clue. My second is the way she narrows her eyes and stares with rugged determination right into mine. “I will not step aside while you go look for my brother. I’m coming, too.”

  Greta pipes up. “She’ll go crazy, waiting in a hotel room for you, Drake. She won’t sleep. She’s better off with you.”

  Turning away from them, I run both hands through my hair and tug on the ends. I want to roar with frustration, but I hold it together somehow. A rising tide of aggravation, helplessness, and anxiety is rising, threatening to overtake me at any moment, pulling me down into the dark depths of emotion. I take a deep breath and turn back to face her.

  “Let’s go.”

  Indicating that we should all go in the Challenger, I place Mea in the front seat while Greta and Grisham climb into the back.

  Then we weave through the quiet streets of the Louisville suburbs. I follow the directions Mea gives me, turning onto residential streets and stopping at red lights. The Challenger handles the streets like a champ, but the noise it makes probably has all the residents checking out their windows for the offensive sound.

  Crawling slowly down the avenue Mea has declared as her grandparents’, I approach a quiet, two-story Colonial-style home set back on the tree-lined street. The Sanchezes, according to Mea, are a retired elderly couple. Mea had never spent much time with them growing up, but from what she said they were probably devastated when their only son was arrested and imprisoned for such an abhorrent crime. It just goes to show that love for your child never changes and never waivers, no matter what he’s done.

  Mikah’s car, a black two-door sports coupe, is parked at the curb.

  Before the Challenger is even fully stopped, Mea leaps out her door and is running toward the house.

  Cursing, I exit the car, hurtling behind her. Grabbing her in my arms, I pick her up off the ground and hold her to my chest. Her legs kick out wildly as she screams.

  “Drake! Let me go! Let me go!” Her voice is vehement, potent, wild. She’s a strong little thing, I’ll give her that, but my arms are like iron around her and I’m not budging. There’s no way in hell I’ll let her go barreling into that house all by herself. If it’s up to me, she’s not going in there at all.

  Just behind us, Greta’s gentle voice attempts to calm down her friend. “Mea—”

  The navy blue front door opens then. We all freeze, the spectacle we’re creating in the front yard becoming clear as an elderly man calls out, “What’s going on here?”

  My hands tighten on Mea, but she steps forward, dragging me along with her. I can’t hold her back without hurting her, and that’s not a chance I’ll take.

  “Grandpa Sanchez? It’s me, Mea.” Her voice is tentative and sweet, a spoonful of honey wrapped in chocolate. “Is Mikah here?”

  The man squints, leaning against the front door as he scrutinizes Mea. “Mea? My God. This week keeps getting better. Please come in off the lawn.” He gestures toward us to come inside, but still I hold my girl captive. Grisham is standing beside me, his posture loose and ready for anything. One of his hands is slung casually around Greta’s waist, but I know he’ll turn deadly serious if he thinks there’s even a hint of danger.

  “Mea?” Her grandfather’s voice carries the lilt of a Hispanic accent, and he’s beckoning to her like any loving grandparent would.

  Giving her some leeway, I slide my hand down her arm to grab ahold of her palm, holding it carefully in mine. When we reach the front steps leading to the door, I pause, my grip on Mea tightening. My mind is working at double speed, trying to take in our surroundings at the same time I’m evaluating the attitude and posture of her grandfather. I’m also trying my damnedest to keep Mea at my side, partially sheltered by my size.

  But she doesn’t currently have any regard for her own safety. She’s only trying to get to her brother.

  She puts one foot on the bottom step, and I halt her progress. Looking up at the old man, I call out to him.

  “Morning, sir. Is your son inside?” Trying to keep my tone friendly is difficult, almost impossible. I don’t feel friendly, I feel fierce. Protective. Feral.

  His eyes widen as his head swivels in my direction. He’s about to open his mouth to speak, when a shadow lands across the door beside him, and another man fills the doorframe.

  This man, taller, broader, but vaguely resembling Mea’s grandfather, lays a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go on upstairs with Mama? Give me a few minutes to reunite with my children, Papa?”

  I’ve never met the man before, and during Mea’s stories she never described him. I think picturing him in her head was too horrifying for her, and so she never told me what he looked like. But I can feel it. Her fear, all wrapped up in her loathing, swirling around us like a cyclone of poison. Icy fingers of dread find their way down my neck, and I step completely in front of her as she shrinks back.

  Grisham mimics my stance, stepping in front of Greta as he keeps his sights set on Carolos Sanchez.

  Sanchez looms in the doorway, but he’s attempting to keep his posture disarming, unintimidating. He doesn’t intimidate me, but Mea’s trembling body behind mine is a dead giveaway that he’s scaring the shit out of her. There’s no way in hell I’m letting her go inside that house. I thrust my chin toward Grisham, a wordless order to keep his eyes open while I turn my back on the enemy.

  Cupping Mea’s face, I bend down to her level and stare into her eyes. The melted chocolate color is so rich, so inviting, that I could drown there. But they’re quickly filling with terrified tears, and her bottom lip quivers even as she tries to lift her chin. She’s falling apart, and seeing her like this is doing two things to me. It’s breaking my heart in two clean pieces, and it’s making me more pissed off than I can ever remember being.

  The rage is threatening to swallow me whole, driving through my veins with the pumping force of my blood. It’s expanding my muscles, lengthening my limbs as I prepare to fight for this woman. Her fight is now mine, and I plan to take this son of a bitch down.

  “I’m right here, sweetheart. He can’t hurt you. Not this time.” The underlying river of anger flowing beneath my words isn’t lost to Mea. She focuses on me, nods. Her hands find my wrists, grab on tight.

  Extending a hand toward Mea, Sanchez ignores the rest of us completely. “My baby girl.”

  A snarl rips from my throat. I turn to face him again, but Grisham reaches a hand toward me, as if to tell me to wait, to hold myself together.

  “I informed your brother this morning that his being here would achieve what I wanted: your being here. Won’t you come in to see him?”

  Mea straightens behind me, she takes a deep, trembling breath. Her chest puffs out as she gathers her strength, her storm growing wild, wild, wild as she prepares to face her abuser.

  “Is Mikah okay?” She steps out from behind me. Whatever she’s done to gather herself, it worked. Her voice is strong, none of the trembles I saw just seconds ago. One hand drifts down to her stomach almost absently as she stares with hatred at her father.

  Her father tilts his head. “He’s inside. We’ve just been having a chat. I explained to him that all I want is to be in my children’s lives again. I was gone for a long time; you can’t know what that feels like. To be ripped away from your children. From your wife.”

  Mea’s words are angry; she spits fire while she speaks. “Mom died after you went in! And what happened to her is your fault! I never want to see you
again. I just want to get my brother and go!”

  Carlos’s eyebrows rise to his hairline. He’s truly shocked, while he stares at her. He’s attempting to put something together in his mind, but then he frowns with obvious dismay. “Is that what they told you? That it’s my fault your mother’s dead?”

  Mea reacts like she’s been slapped across the face. Her eyes go wide, and she grips her stomach like she’s in pain. I take a step toward her, allowing my hands to caress her shoulders while I stare with venom at Carlos. All I want to do right now is pick her up and throw her in the Challenger. Lock the doors. Make sure she’s safe. And then I want to rush the house and murder the man who continues to hurt her. Now with lies.

  “Shut up! Just shut up.” Her voice is lost on a whisper, carried away in the morning breeze. But Carlos hears it.

  “Your mother was sick. I had nothing to do with that.”

  Mea begins to walk up the porch steps, calling Mikah’s name. As a unit, we all move with her. Carlos finally glances at us. When he meets my eyes, his gaze hardens to a metallic glint. Waves of disorder and contention roll off of him. He reeks with it. His intentions, whatever they are, aren’t good. They aren’t genuine. He only knows one way to deal with Mea. And that’s to hurt her.

  Not this time.

  I don’t want her near that man. I won’t allow it to happen.

  “Mikah!” she screams again.

  I grab hold of her, stopping her from moving any closer to the door.

  “Mikah’s in there,” she says to me. Her eyes are just as pleading. “I have to get him.”

  Gripping her hand tighter, I shake my head. “No.”

  Carlos watches the interaction between us with growing interest. His lip curls in disgust as he zeroes in on my hand on his daughter’s. The man is seriously twisted. Years in prison haven’t mellowed him, haven’t made him any less fucked-up in the head. He still views his daughter as his property. Something belonging to him that he can do whatever he wants with.

  He chuckles.

  My head snaps toward him, my hands balling into fists.

  “Mea?” Mikah appears at the door. We all turn toward him.

  Mikah is all amped up. He’s fidgety, jumpy. He eyes Carlos, but he looks relieved when he spots me standing beside Mea on the porch.

  “Are you okay?” Mea is asking him over and over again. But Mikah doesn’t answer, just keeps staring daggers at Carlos, like his stare alone can knock the man off his feet.

  “Hey, man.” I keep my voice soft, because Mikah looks like he might go off the deep end with the slightest loud noise. “Let’s get out of here, all right? Your sister is ready to go.”

  Mikah’s eyes meet mine, and all I can see in them is despair. Dark, dark, desperation. I didn’t notice the hopelessness in his eyes the last time I met him. I think the fact that he was away from this situation, hanging with his sister, living a good life, kept that muddiness clean. But now, I see that he has so much more darkness in him than his sister does. Where she’s dark, she’s also light. So much light lives inside of her, enough to drown out the twilight. Enough to lighten the murk.

  But the same can’t be said for Mikah. What happened to him when they were children, what he saw happening to his sister, changed him forever. It changed her, too, but maybe she didn’t realize how much Mikah blamed himself for what had happened.

  Seeing it all there in his eyes causes my stomach to cave in on itself. “Mikah.”

  He slides his gaze away from me. Then he kisses his sister. Right before he shoves her, hard, toward me.

  Pulling a revolver from the back of his jeans, he points it at Carlos. His hands are shaking, not steady at all. But the steel in his eyes? It’s unwavering. “You will never hurt her again. I won’t let you.”

  In my haste to follow Mea from the Challenger, I hadn’t grabbed my piece from the glove compartment. I have a license to carry, although most of the time I don’t. I keep my pistol in my car where it’ll be safe, and where I’ll have it if I need it.

  I need it now.

  And I don’t have it.

  28

  Mea

  My eyes are lying.

  That’s not my brother, pointing a gun at the asshole we’re forced to call our father. Nausea boils up inside of me, causing me to clutch my stomach. Nausea that tastes like fear when it reaches my mouth, threatening to overflow from me as vomit on my grandparents’ front porch.

  “Mikah.” I lose the word on my tongue. It never makes it free of my mouth. I think it’s stuck on a breath that I can’t expel.

  Everything happens so fast, too fast for me to comprehend. I’m shoved backward, behind Drake, as he takes a step toward my brother.

  No.

  No.

  No.

  “Mikah.” Drake’s firm voice. “This isn’t how you do it, man. Walk away. He’s not worth you losing the rest of your life to a cell.”

  When I peek out from behind Drake, I don’t recognize my brother. His expression is so furious while at the same time serene. He’s made peace with this decision. Nothing that Drake is about to say is going to change his mind.

  He came here to kill Carlos.

  For me.

  For me.

  No.

  No.

  No.

  Mikah stands just to Drake’s left, Carlos is frozen about fifteen feet away from us. He hasn’t moved, he hasn’t taken his eyes off my brother. And then he shifts his gaze to me. Hate. Spewing from his eyes like the blackest sort of tears. It’s deplorable, the way he looks at me. Like I’m a piece of trash he tried to throw out.

  “This is your fault. Remember that. All of this is because of you.”

  Drake stiffens like he’s been punched. But my father’s words don’t affect me. Nothing he does from this point on can hurt me. And this is no longer about him. This is about me, trying to save my brother.

  Stepping out from behind Drake, I sidestep his outstretched arm and step directly in front of Mikah. The barrel of his gun meets my collarbone. I barely register the feel of the cold, hard metal against my skin.

  Only Mikah. This is about him and me.

  “You have always been there for me.” Keeping my voice steady, I don’t break eye contact with my brother. “And I need you. I need you in my life. I need you in my baby’s life.”

  Patting my stomach with one hand, I keep staring at my brother. Waiting. Holding my breath. Searching for him behind the shroud in his eyes. He’s in there. My father can’t have stolen him from me.

  Immediately, Mikah’s eyes float down to my stomach. Then they fly back up to meet mine. He removes the gun from against me, because he never intended it to touch me, anyway. His voice rises.

  “Baby?”

  The strangled sound Drake makes beside me doesn’t pull my gaze away from my little brother. Drake and I can deal with this revelation later. Right now, I need to get the gun away from Mikah. Before he does something he can never take back.

  “My baby. Your niece or nephew. Right here.” I grab his hand, pulling the gun from his grasp. He lets it go easily, he’s so dumbfounded by what I’m saying. Placing the gun on the rocking chair beside me, I keep focusing on Mikah.

  “You’re pregnant.” His voice is full of awe. Of joy. And I watch as the darkness recedes from his eyes. Sighing with relief I realize that my brother is going to be okay.

  I can save him. We can save him.

  A movement out of the corner of my eye makes my head snap to my left. Carolos has lunged for the gun, moving too quickly for anyone to stop him. When I glance at Drake, I realize he took his eyes off my father when I revealed the fact that I’m carrying his baby.

  Whirling to face Carlos once more, I see he doesn’t hesitate. “You were always a slut.” He pulls the trigger.

  I squeeze my eyes closed, waiting for the pain. The burn. However it feels when a bullet slices through the skin. But instead, all I hear is Mikah’s grunt of pain.

  When I hit the floor, it’s wit
h Drake lying on top of me. The only thing I see is his face above me. He’s asking me over and over again if I’m hurt. If I’m okay.

  Grisham is on the porch, wrestling with my father. I try to sit up, and Drake lifts me into his arms. Carries me into the yard.

  “Where’s Mikah! Where is he!” I don’t recognize that voice. It’s frantic. It’s desperate. It’s mine.

  Greta is screaming as Drake lays me on the front lawn. He crouches next to me, poking and prodding my body, searching for a wound.

  “Talk to me, baby girl. Are you hit?” Drake’s voice is full of urgency. His warm brown eyes are wild, staring at me as he asks me over and over again if I’m hurt. When he presses down on my shoulder, I wince at the piercing pain.

  Gasping, I put a hand to my shoulder. When I pull it away, it’s coated with bright red blood.

  I try to look toward the porch. The pain is intense, now that I can feel it, but the pain in my heart is so much worse. All I want is to see my brother, know he’s okay.

  Please, Mikah.

  Sirens scream at the end of the street. Help is on the way. But all I can think about is if they’re too late, I’ll never forgive myself.

  Grisham comes down the porch steps, leaving an unconscious Carlos on the porch.

  “Is he dead?” Drake’s voice is grim, distant. His eyes don’t leave me. He has two hands on my shoulder, applying pressure to my wound. “Stay with me, sweetheart. You look sleepy. Don’t go anywhere.”

  I am so sleepy. I want to close my eyes and sleep for days. But I can’t. There’s something I need to know first…Someone I need to see…

  But I can’t remember any more. The world is going dark. I welcome the dark.

  The dark feels good.

  What’s that beeping?

  My eyelids are heavy; I struggle to open them.

  “Mea? Baby girl…come back to me.”

  Drake’s voice. He sounds scared. I force my eyes open, just because I don’t want him to be scared. He’s never scared. He’s calm, cool, and collected. He’s the strongest man I know.