Insanity

by Xavier Neal

  “Want us to catch a taxi?” Glove offers from over my other shoulder.

  “Do not be silly,” Mindy scoffs. “I did not buy this SUV so that my boys could take a taxi when they got home.”

  The two of them hesitate until I bark, “Get in.”

  We ride mainly in silence to their apartment. Mindy does her best to keep up motherly appearances, asking all the right questions, while they answer without actually answering, now knowing what we do for a living is classified. My attention is plastered out the window. I know there's something she hasn't told me. She's waiting. I know her. He's alive, but what?

  Glove and Lordy hop out at their apartment, insist that I let them know how he is when I get a chance, and that they're around if I change my mind. As soon as the door shuts, my attention stays out the window pretending to watch them walk to their apartment.

  “Tell me the rest now.”

  “Slugger--”

  Still holding my gaze out the window, shaky, I grip the door handle tighter, my eyes falling shut. “Now.”

  “He took two bullets last night. One in the upper chest. One in the shoulder. They had to put him under to stabilize him. They said he should've been awake by now...but,” her voice gets caught in itself, “but he isn't.” She lets the words linger in the air, the possibility of my father literally on his death bed in the same hospital where my mother died, the same hospital where my girlfriend almost died, causing a very distinct ball of insanity to begin to funnel inside of me. Mindy tries again. “You know your father Slugger. He's just like you. You two do things at your own speed.”

  I nod and she pulls the car back out onto the road. “Was Striker on duty?”

  “He wasn't.” the words feel like another blow from death. A reminder that Death plans on coming out on top with this one. My eyes squeeze tight once more. Get it together Marine. Stay strong. They need you to be strong. “He did however haul his ass up there as soon as he heard and has been all over every doctor and nurse to the point where they threatened to kick him out if he didn't calm down.”

  I nod again. When Striker isn't in control, he's much like the rest of us. A fighter. The calm demeanor we all rely on, non-existent.

  “Everything will be fine Slugger,” she reaches out and gives my thigh the pat I know all too well. The lie. The comfort. The pat of the familiar poison I am sick of fucking taking. Hope.

  After a silent ride to the hospital, she leads me up to his room, my arms folded tightly across my chest. Defenseless. Helpless. That's how I feel every time I walk into this goddamn place. I hate it almost as much as I used to hate him. While our relationship miraculously got better, I don't see that happening with this place. Ever.

  The door opens and the sight inside forces my throat to swell. My father is lying eerily still beneath the white sheets, machines beeping all around him, tools and gadgets known for making me cringe in his presence, and by his bedside, Haven with a book spread open, reading to him. My angel. My angel in a pair of jeans and one of my old sweat shirts, tags dangling from her neck like they don't belong anywhere else. I feel my knees buckle. It's too much. It's all way too fucking much. I struggle to breathe as she raises her face to me, a soft light coming across it. There it is again. Hope. And the worse part of it this time is that fucking thing is on my face, not only for him, but for her too.

  “Clint,” her voice almost airless when she speaks. She drops the book and flies at me, tossing her arms around my neck, on the tips of her toes trying to reach. I lean forward and hug her tightly in return. Squeeze. Inhale the scent that was banished from my mind months ago. I've missed her. I've missed this. God, I've fucking missed this. In a tiny whisper she says, “I'm sorry.”

  Unsure if the apology is for the fact my father is lying in that bed basically dead or the fact that she destroyed the only piece of humanity inside me, I pull away. “I'm sure he'll pull through.” Our eye contact is brief and I step aside, moving my body for the chair on the opposite side of where she was sitting.

  She nods and pushes the strands of hair that have fallen from her pony tail out of her face. “I'm sure you're right.” Haven moves back over to the chair she was in, picks the book back up, and places it in her lap, the confident girl I left behind a mere shadow, the girl I once rescued more apparent. Why? Did being around Michele give her some sort of confidence boost I never could? Not now Marine. Focus.

  I lean back in the chair and stare on at the future version of myself. It pains me to think that. But it is what it is now. I've spent my entire life making sure never to be like this man and that's exactly what I'm becoming. Married to my job. My family second. Not here when those who need me really need me. I run my hand along my jaw as it tenses. Tight.

  “Haven now that Slugger's here, why don't you go home and get some rest?” Mindy suggests, keys still in her hand. “He can--”

  “I'm not leaving Whiskey,” she insists pulling on the sleeves of my sweatshirt so it covers her hands. The tags rattle. The sound feels amplified. I look away. “Not until he wakes up.”

  Mindy merely nods and turns to me. “Slugger--”

  “You know I'm not going anywhere--”

  “Right,” she sighs softly. “But I doubt you've eaten. If I bring you back something to eat will you at least eat it?” My shoulders shrug. I don't want to lie and make false promises. Deal out more of that bullshit known as hope than necessary. “Fine. Will you at least pee?”

  The stab at the last few times I've been stuck here, grabs my attention, and I offer her a faint smile, a very faint one. “Maybe.”

  She leans over and pops my shoulder before leaving the room. My guess is to check on her husband. Or to cry for the possibility of the loss of my father in the privacy of her own home.

  Alone. We're alone for the first time in a little over half a year, in silence so loud it's deafening. When I left for Scout Sniper School, putting her as far away from my mind as possible was the goal, and it was accomplished, but when I went away to HORN training, it became a little harder. Then when Jazz explained that I'd have to face that shit that was eating me alive in order to survive I didn't think she meant Haven. Apparently she meant it all. There were training days where we were trapped alone in a room with nothing more than our own thoughts. My eye lids lower for a second fighting the idea of going back to dealing with all those fucking emotions.

  “Welcome home,” Haven's sweet voice speaks up, grabs my attention, and forces it into submission. It scares me she can still do that after all this time.

  “Thanks.”

  I let my eyes meet hers and all I can think about is how I wish my father was awake and that Haven and I were home, in my bed, her under me, falling back inside her. Fuck. I adjust my jeans before a bulge can grow.

  “You look good,” her compliment is followed by her biting her bottom lip. That's my job. A loan groan comes out of my throat. This is going to be a long fucking... however long it'll be.

  “You too,” is all I say before turning to look at Sir laying in the bed chest rising and falling, but lifeless. She does look good. In fact, she may have gained a couple more curves than she had when I left. Her skin is still a gorgeous mocha color, her hair a little longer, but her eyes, her eyes still bright as the Heaven’s above ready to rescue me all over again. Shit. I’ve got to get a fucking grip.

  “Striker thinks he'll pull through.” I nod at her. “He says he thinks Whiskey just needed an excuse to take a nap.” His attempt to make the situation light fails on me, but by the soft smile on Haven's face it worked on her. Good. “He'll pull through Clint.” The way she says my name drags my eyes back onto her. “Just like I did.”

  My lips press together before I shrug. “Or die, just like mom did.” And that's where the conversation ends. I slouch down in my seat, eyes watching the machines around him do their jobs while he lies there, status unknown.

  “Another trophy Slugger?” Dad questions from the door frame in my room, right as I am putting it on my shelf.r />
  I smile. Even though he missed it because he always misses it, it still feels good that he gets to see my trophies. My plaques. I still like that there are these things he can see that show him I'm great at something. I really am great at baseball. The best.

  “Any more and I'll have to clear mom's Harley from the garage to make room,” the joke is followed by a faint yelling from down the hall.

  “You will not touch my bike Johnathan Walker!”

  He chuckles and I laugh along with him. “I could've told you that dad.”

  “Sometimes...I swear she loves that thing more than me,” dad shakes his head and I laugh again. “Nice job by the way. Another championship.”

  “Yes sir,” I turn and stand proudly, my chest sticking out.

  “Sorry I missed it.”

  “It's okay.”

  “Really Slugger. Last minute changes with the schedule and---”

  “It's okay,” I cut him off, the speech I've heard enough in my life to repeat it word for word just moments from being said. “I know. Being in the Navy means sacrifice.”

  Most seven year olds don't get what that word means, but it was one of the first I learned. I'll never join the military. I'll never fight for my country. I'll never put myself somewhere where I can't make my kid's baseball games! I won't be like him! I'll never be like him!

  I shake off the echoing words in my head and look over at Haven, realizing she's reading out loud again. She says maybe he can hear us and doesn't want him bored. Coping technique. Clearly. My hands scrub my face as I struggle to come back to reality.

  “I heard you graduated first in your class...” she tries to distract me from the obvious reeling emotions on my face.

  “I did.”

  “Where'd you go after?”

  Flashes from the training for HORN bounce around in my mind. Combat assessment. Night training. Speed tests. The empty room. I clear my throat. “More training.” She nods. I know she's going to ask more questions, but I can't say much more. “And you? How was the job working for Michele's parents?”

  “I wouldn't know,” the answer surprises me. “I didn't take it.”

  “Oh.”

  “We're not friends anymore.”

  The relief over this simple fact is felt throughout my entire body. At least something good happened while I was gone. I nod. “Sorry to hear that.”

  “No you're not,” she whispers. Both of us snicker a little. “But I'm still good friends with Mandy.”

  “I liked her.”

  “Yeah well she loves you,” the emphasis stops her giggles. “She's not the only one...”

  The silence returns. I can feel the air around me clench into a tight hold. Paralyzed. Stunned. Relieved. The one woman I've ever been in love with still loves me back. Why can't that be enough? Why can't love just be enough?

  “Clint I--”

  The door swings open and an unexpected female face joins us. Confused I tilt my eyebrows down. “Really?”

  “Told you,” Jasmine hums still in her black tight skirt and white blouse with a zipper in the front instead of buttons. Her cocky smile actually makes me smile and a loud huff comes from Haven.

  Jazz doesn't even bother glancing her direction. I stand up, place my hands on Jazz's hips, and help her turn around to exit my father's room, leaving the door cracked on the off chance he wakes up in these few minutes.

  “Miss me?”

  I fold my arms across my chest. “Why are you here?”

  “I thought we were closer than this,” her sarcastic tone is followed by that fucking grin. If I didn't know she was a Trust Fund brat, I would swear her and Glove share DNA. Unmoved I continue to stare, which is when she sighs, “Sorry to hear about your dad.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You know he'll pull through right? He has to.”

  “Has to?”

  “He's got your blood. You're not a quitter.” She gets a nod from me. “Anyway, I brought your work phone. You remember the agreement right?”

  “Always on. Always ready unless otherwise noted.”

  “Exactly. And don't think I won't be testing you over the next few days to make sure you live that concept.”

  “Yes ma'am.”

  “Ugh,” she tosses her head back in a groan. “You know I hate that.”

  “I know.” My response causes her to glare and I threaten to let myself smile. To have another peaceful moment in such an unpleasant time.

  Jazz glances back in the room quickly, sways her hips closer to me, leans up and whispers in my ear with one hand clearly visible to being on my chest. “You know she's watching us right now. And the next thing you're going to do is smile because you slightly like the idea of her being jealous.” And I do. Smile. And entertain the idea. Even though I can't see her, there's something about the idea of her getting just a little taste of the pain I went through with that Michele bullshit that satisfies me. I know it's fucking stupid. I know better. But I want just one moment for her to feel the twinge of emotional insanity that I did. A heavy object is now in my pocket. “Which is good, because this will help spark that reunion you've been dreaming about for months. I'll see you soon Grim....”

  The hand slides away as she does. At that moment I notice Mindy coming around the corner, outfit changed, now looking a little more like herself especially by the disapproving expression on her face.

  “Who was that Slugger?” the edge in her voice causes me to shake my head and slide back in.

  She should know by now that not only is dating not something I do, but that when I said I would love Haven forever I meant it. A Marine is only as good as his word. She bought me a goddamn tux for Christ sake, yet she still wants to question my loyalty to the woman whose name is fucking tattooed on me?

  The pressure of my circumstances forces me back in the seat beside Sir. Mindy shuts the door behind her, placing the Tupperware on the dresser beside her purse. I assume so her hands can fly on her hips. Which they do.

  “Clint Thomas Walker--”

  “I'm not having this discussion.” I declare.

  “You--”

  “Not. Having. It.” My eyes flare up and challenge her to challenge me once more. God I need to hit something. Anything to get some of this rage from running through my fingertips. I hope my punching bag is still there.

  I give Haven enough of a look to see a very hurt expression on her face. Betrayal. Sadness. Confusion. All looks that I wore to bed night after night when she was spending time with that French Fuck instead of me.

  A long groan comes from the bed and immediately I fly to my feet as my father finally opens his eyes. Mindy gasps, Haven sighs, and I shake my head at him while his eyes adjust to the sight in front of him.

  In a rasp he grunts, “I see you're still a damn good Marine.”

  “Yes sir,” I give him a strong nod. “And you were supposed to be a damn good cop.”

  “Hey,” he coughs a little. “I am. I didn't take a bullet in the heart.”

  And those are the last words he says before the nurse rushes in instructing us to give him some space, for her and the doctor. Mindy, Haven, and I do just that and escort ourselves to the corner of the one patient room where we listen to things about physical therapy, pain meds, and one more night in the hospital. By the end of the conversation, it’s concluded that Sir wants us all out of his room, especially Haven and me. We both need some rest and are welcomed back first thing in the morning. I know what he’s trying to do. I wish he wouldn’t.

  By the time Haven and I arrive home, the sun has left us and exhaustion from the day is threatening to take over. Inside the house I take a long look around noticing the small changes. There are little touches of a woman all over the place. It’s tidier. Smells like cinnamon. I can see some sort of candle centerpiece on the coffee table. It’s like Haven has breathed life into the entire house now instead of just our room. Her room.

  Cautiously she speaks, “If you give me just a few, I’ll move some of my
stuff out of your room.”

  Confused I lean my body against the arm of the sofa. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because it’s your room Clint.”

  “No Haven, it’s—” I shut my mouth before I say the wrong answer. My hand reaches up and rubs my forehead briefly. This conversation being a shell of what used to be between us causes an ache. A familiar dull pull in my chest again. Fuck. Me. “It’s your room. I’ll sleep down on the couch.”

  “Clint—”

  “No,” I state strongly. “You live there. You belong there. I’m the anomaly in the house. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight and move into the guest room tomorrow.”

  Her brown eyes look glossy. Tears right on the brink. I watch her hands tug the sleeve of my sweatshirt. “Can’t we talk about all this?”

  Firmly I say, “No.”

  Haven nods, quickly turns, and races up the stairs without another word. That was a dick way to have this happen. I know it. And I hate myself for it. But what the fuck am I supposed to do? I just got back from training and my father is lying in a hospital bed, alive, but injured. Sleeping arrangements with my ex-girlfriend don't need to be added to the list of shit to deal with. Not right now. Not ever.

  Official HORN Unit Duty Day 2

  I have spent much of my life training. Training with weapons. Training my body. One thing that I have always prided myself on is being aware of my surroundings. To be that level of aware can be the difference between life and death. Always be alert. And always be prepared for the enemy to strike. An easy lesson to train in on the field, if only I had been better trained for it off. With Haven. I might still have her in my arms now instead of the cold couch cushion.

  Feeling unknown pressure to my chest, my body snaps into defense mode. A suffocating grip goes around the body while my leg locks around theirs, prepared to snap it if necessary to buy me a moment of time.

  A set of green eyes I know like the back of my hand meet mine as her eyebrows raise, “Can I just say how much I love your reflexes?”