Back to You

by Jessica Scott

  “There’s nowhere for a hamster to hide in there.”

  “Uh huh, Daddy. Fluffy can get into really small spaces.”

  He looked down at his son. “Define ‘really small.’ ”

  “Paper towel tube.”

  There was a tiny hole in the front of the printer, no more than an inch wide. He peered in and could just barely make out her beady black eyes and whiskers. “No way.”

  It turned out that extracting a hamster from a printer was a delicate operation. More delicate than Trent figured he had the patience for at past-four a.m., but the desire to not drag a bloody mess out of the printer instead of a live rodent gave him a miraculous reserve of patience.

  Twenty minutes and twelve pieces of the printer later, Fluffy was successfully extracted from her prison and secured back in her cage with excessive amounts of duct tape sealing any openings and a small suitcase lock securing the door.

  Ethan studied Fluffy for a moment, then looked up at Trent like he’d hung the moon. He threw his arms around his father’s neck, his breath a huff in Trent’s ear. “You’re the best daddy in the whole wide world,” he whispered.

  Trent’s heart swelled in his chest as he hugged his son tightly. After a long moment, he eased him back. “I think it’s time for you to get back in bed, don’t you think?”

  Ethan chose that moment to yawn mightily and rub both eyes. Getting him back to sleep turned out to be as much of a production as getting the hamster out of the printer. He had to brush Ethan’s teeth again, get him a drink of water, help him go potty, and find his stuffed bear.

  It was approaching dawn by the time Trent finally crawled back into bed. Laura made a sleepy sound and he eased in beside her, shifting until her body was nestled against his. He buried his face against her hair and breathed the scent of her in.

  She sighed and snuggled closer, pulling his hand up to rest near her heart. “Did you find the rodent?” she mumbled.

  “Mmmhmm.”

  “My hero.” Her words were a whisper against his forearm. He kissed her shoulder and closed his eyes. An overwhelming sense of the rightness of things nailed him center mass. He felt. He felt the fear of losing his family, he felt the fatigue of five a.m., he felt the stress of combat that weighed him down. He felt love—an overwhelming love for his wife, for his family.

  He felt all of it and the power of the emotions nearly crushed him with their rightness.

  He was home. He had a second chance.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Trent stood in the courtroom at the First Cavalry Division headquarters, his hand clasped in his wife’s. There was a stubborn set to Laura’s jaw as she swiped a piece of lint from his collar. As always, her eyes were what gave away her worry.

  He captured her hand in his. “It’ll be fine, Laura. Stop fidgeting.”

  “I can’t.”

  He smiled tightly. “I know.”

  Patrick walked into the courtroom, a file tucked beneath one arm. Like Trent, he wore his Blues, a sharp dress uniform used for formal occasions. Trent had been to other Article 32 hearings and they’d all been held in the duty uniform of ACUs. Trent assumed that the formal uniforms they were wearing today had been decided by the location.

  “You need to pull your shit together,” Patrick said by way of greeting.

  Trent frowned. “What are you talking about?” His voice was flat.

  Patrick gripped his shoulder. “Look, I know Story’s death is hitting you hard but you need to put all of that emotion away. I need you to be fully present. Don’t bring any baggage into this courtroom.”

  Trent swallowed and breathed deeply. “Roger.”

  “I’m serious, Trent. They’re going to try to get you to react. You need to dial it back. Just sit there and let me handle this for you.”

  Laura would help him do that—she was the only person who could. Her silent, supportive presence wrapped around him like a warm blanket.

  She was not just here for show. The rings on her finger meant something. He squeezed her hand tightly.

  Laura had dressed sharply today: a neat pencil skirt and a crisp white blouse. Her hair was tied back in a perfect bun. All she was missing was a pair of wire-rimmed glasses and she’d looked like a sexy librarian. It dawned on him that he should have told her that.

  It wasn’t like he was going to jail at the end of the day. But he could have told her how beautiful she looked when they were alone, and he’d missed the opportunity. It was such a little thing, but right now the oversight weighed on him. He squeezed her hand again and then had to let her go so that he could take his seat.

  The court started to fill up. Shane and Carponti flanked Laura as everyone filed into their seats. They led her to the row directly behind where Trent would be sitting. They’d only be separated from him by a low wooden wall.

  Trent kept his expression carefully blank as Adorno walked into the courtroom. She looked harder than he remembered. Stiffer.

  She did not sit with her husband. She didn’t even look at him. She stood close to another lawyer, who was having a hushed, intense conversation with Lieutenant Randall. Trent glanced at Patrick, who was watching the interchange with interest.

  “What’s going on?” he asked as he took a seat next to Patrick.

  “I have no idea, but whatever it is, Lieutenant Randall is not happy about it. He’s killing that poor piece of gum.”

  Patrick was right. Randall was doing violence on the gum in his mouth and glaring daggers at his wife, who refused to look at him.

  A major walked into the courtroom and leaned across the low barrier separating the counselors from the crowd. He whispered something in Lieutenant Randall’s ear, then they both motioned for Patrick. Together, the two majors and the colonel walked into a small room next to the judge’s bench.

  Trent felt Laura lean in behind him. “What’s going on?” she whispered.

  He turned around. “No idea.”

  “Do we want to take bets on whether this is a good thing or a bad thing?” Carponti asked, leaning across the low wall.

  “Not particularly a fan of knowing the odds,” Trent muttered.

  Trent caught his wife staring at the door beyond which Patrick had disappeared with Colonel Pritchard and the unidentified major.

  “Sure wish I knew what was going on,” Laura said quietly.

  “Yeah.” Trent leaned one arm on the low wall, capturing her hand in his, needing the comfort of her touch.

  An uneasy silence had settled in the courtroom. A stray cough. A rustle of fabric.

  The door opened. Patrick stepped through, followed by the other two men.

  His friend’s expression was polished and unexpressive. But in his eyes Trent saw a glimmer of victory.

  He held his breath as Patrick took his seat, turning to talk to him. But he didn’t get the chance—he was interrupted by Randall’s shout.

  “Oh, bullshit!”

  “Watch it, lieutenant.”

  “Fuck you, sir. You were supposed to take care of this.”

  Randall’s lawyer’s face flushed. “And you were supposed to keep your dick in your pants. But instead, you went and pissed off the key witness.”

  The major was standing next to Adorno. He was clearly her lawyer. She lifted her chin, glaring at her spouse. “The only person I’m willing to testify against is my husband.” Her voice was high-pitched and grating but her words were some of the most beautiful words Trent had ever heard.

  “You realize I can make her testify about Captain Davila’s actions,” Randall’s lawyer said harshly.

  “You could, but that puts your client at risk as well,” the major said, leaning against the low wooden wall. “Or you could cut your losses and we could all just recommend that the charges are dropped given the, ah, recent developments and the witness’s unwillingness to cooperate.” He grinned. “Unless of course you’re so vested in this case you want to try the young commander over there without any real evidence.”

 
“Goddamn it, this is bullshit!” Randall exclaimed, his face bright red.

  “Lieutenant, one more outburst and I’m going to resign as your attorney.”

  “You can’t do that. The only reason you’re still a lawyer is because of my father.”

  “Yeah, well, putting up with you for the last few months has made me reconsider my debt,” his lawyer said calmly. “There’s nothing I can do. Even you have to see that.”

  Adorno leaned forward, barely a foot away from her husband. “I hate you. I hate what you made me become. I lied because of you.”

  “I didn’t make you do anything.” He looked down at her with disgust.

  Her bottom lip quivered. “I lied because I loved you and you convinced me that Captain Davila was ruining your career.” She glanced from Trent to her husband. “Well, I’m done. You’ll have the divorce papers tomorrow. And if you really want to move forward with this sham, I’ll gladly testify about everything.” She smiled coldly. “With proof.” She turned to her lawyer. “Sir, can I go? I need to go.”

  The major grabbed his briefcase. “Call me and we’ll figure out how to war game this with the division commander.”

  When Lieutenant Randall opened his mouth, his lawyer held up his hand. “Not one more word, lieutenant. Go. Now.”

  The court cleared. Patrick whistled, smiling at his friend. “I think that’s a first in my career,” he said lightly. “You were onto something when you said the army has something in common with Days of Our Lives. Maybe more in common with the Springer show, though.”

  Trent held his breath as Laura spoke from behind him. “Does that mean what I think it means?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I think it does.” Patrick’s cell phone vibrated on the desk. He glanced at the text message then looked over at Trent. “Colonel Richter has made some adjustments to the case.”

  “That was fast,” Trent said. “What does that mean?”

  “You’ll have to talk to him.” Patrick’s expression revealed nothing.

  Trent glanced at his wife, his heart slamming against his ribs. She reached for him, squeezing his fingers gently. “I’ll see you in a little bit.”

  * * *

  Trent wiped his palms on his uniform pants and took a deep breath before knocking on the door of his brigade commander’s office.

  His pulse pounded in his ears, blocking out all other sound. Laura had wanted to come with him, to hear firsthand what Colonel Richter had decided to do about the charges against him, but one did not take one’s spouse to a meeting with the brigade commander. No matter how much he might have wanted her there, it simply wasn’t done.

  Colonel Richter looked up from where he was placing picture frames in a small box. The big colonel had been a centerpiece of Trent’s life for as long as he could remember. The man had even been his battalion commander the first time he deployed.

  Now he stood in his commander’s office, unanswered questions on the tip of his tongue. Did Richter think Trent deserved a court-martial? Why hadn’t he intervened? As the brigade commander, he had the choice to continue the process started by his battalion commander or stop it.

  Trent had chosen not to walk into his commander’s office to ask for help. He’d waited, patiently, for a leader he’d trusted to act.

  Apparently now that the evidence against Trent had crumbled, the waiting was over. He had no idea what to expect as he stood on the carpet in front of his brigade commander’s desk.

  And waited.

  “You always think you’re ready to change command,” Colonel Richter said by way of greeting. “But there are always things you leave undone.”

  Trent swallowed and said nothing, standing at the position of attention, even as his glasses slid down the bridge of his nose.

  “It’s hard to believe it’s been two years since I took charge of the brigade. But it’s time for me to go.” Colonel Richter wrapped the photos in an old brown t-shirt and lowered them into the box. Finally, he paused and stared into the box of photographs.

  “All charges against you have been dismissed.”

  Seven simple words that could have been said at any point in the last year and a half. Seven small words that changed Trent’s life, lifting the burden from his shoulders.

  Why now? He clenched his fists by his sides, anger and frustration clawing at him. Why did you wait until my life was almost completely destroyed?

  But there were things one simply could not say to a full colonel. Trent cleared his throat and breathed deeply, trying to rein in his churning emotions.

  The charges that had been hanging over his head for the last year were gone. It was over.

  Relief, palpable and damn near crushing, washed over him. Absently, he rubbed the aching scar over his heart. It always ached, but lately it didn’t seem to be keeping him up at night like it used to.

  “You want to ask me why, don’t you?” Colonel Richter said, pausing to look at Trent before placing another picture in the box.

  “It crossed my mind, sir.”

  Colonel Richter studied him quietly. “It’s purely selfish on my part. I didn’t want to leave this unfinished. The new commander has no ties to anyone in this brigade. He doesn’t have to live with the decisions you and I have made during this war. He’s a Pentagon man.” Another picture into the box. The office looked barren, devoid of the passion and intensity Colonel Richter had brought to the brigade. At one time Trent would have followed him anywhere. He was that kind of leader. One of the few real warriors among the senior ranks.

  “Have a seat.” Colonel Richter paused and moved to the small couch. He rubbed his hand over his mouth, his gaze distant and unfocused for a moment. “I had to let this situation develop the way it did for a lot of reasons, none of them good. I know you felt like I left you out in the cold and I’m sorry for that.” He cleared his throat. “But the truth is, I could not have acted before now.”

  “Sir, if I may: What changed?” It was as close to demanding an answer to the question of why as Trent dared to dance.

  “Lieutenant Randall’s father has been stepping on my neck since this whole thing started. He’s a sneaky old bastard, I’ll give him that. He had his boss call the division commander and when the chief of staff of the army calls a division commander, the commander tends to listen.” Colonel Richter leaned forward. “I had to play this out the right way or it could have been taken out of my hands. Once Randall’s wife changed her story, the case fell apart and I could dismiss the charges.”

  Trent’s career had been sacrificed to placate a spoiled lieutenant’s father. He’d known that, of course, but somehow hearing it from Colonel Richter made it sound more calculated.

  The brigade commander’s expression was grim. “Division is deploying to Afghanistan next spring. I could use a few officers with Afghanistan experience. It’s a different fight than Iraq.”

  Trent had been there almost a decade ago, when special forces was fighting the war from horseback and the conventional forces were attempting to remove a mountain range from the face of the earth at Tora Bora. His first taste of combat had slammed into him like the main gun on his tank. The need for adrenaline had hardwired itself into his bloodstream on that first tour in hell.

  He could go back. Back to war. Back to the heady mix of combat and terror.

  Away from his family. Away from Laura.

  Story had died because he hadn’t been able to keep away from the fight.

  His blood burned with the futility of it all. Everything he’d sacrificed—all the time he’d missed with his family—all of it had been for nothing. He had a long way to go before the grief would not be raw and cutting.

  It was a battle he would no longer fight.

  Trent swallowed, clenching his fists by his sides.

  “I can’t go with you, sir.” He summoned the energy to meet his commander’s gaze, which was filled with resigned disappointment.

  “Think about that answer, son.”

  “Sir, I’m no
t your son,” he said, quietly crossing the line. “I appreciate you dismissing the charges, sir. But my time in the army is done.”

  Colonel Richter stood and Trent rose to his feet. “I understand you’re upset. Think about this before you make any irrevocable decisions.”

  Trent bit down on the inside of his cheeks to keep from saying anything else. It took what felt like an act of God, but all he said was, “Roger, sir. But I’ve given the army enough. I’ve done my time in hell.” He looked into Colonel Richter’s eyes, seeing the disappointment there. It was a terrible thing, to let down someone you admired.

  But it was worse, so much worse, to consider his life without his wife and family.

  “Are you sure about that?” Colonel Richter asked.

  Trent didn’t hesitate. He nodded once. And ended his career.

  * * *

  Laura looked up as her husband stepped into her office, closing the door behind him. An odd expression was twisting his features. Not victory. Not defeat. Fatigue. As if everything over the last few months had slammed into him all at once. She stood, crossing the small space to meet him.

  “Okay, you’ve got to tell me something before I go crazy,” she said, a hitch in her voice.

  Trent rested his hands on her shoulders, his eyes dark and shadowed behind his glasses. “The charges have been dismissed,” he said softly. “He offered me a chance to salvage my career by deploying with division in the spring.”

  He looked down at her hands where they rested on his chest. “I’m not going.” His voice was thick. She said nothing while she listened to him describe his conversation with the colonel. She listened and her heart broke at the stunning lack of loyalty that had been shown to her husband.

  The loyalty Trent had given the army had nearly destroyed their marriage.

  She brushed her lips over his as he captured her hands, his big palms rough against hers.

  “I screwed up everything with us, Laura.” He rubbed his thumbs over the flesh of her knuckles and the sensitive skin near her wedding ring. He sounded so broken. The words were so raw, ripe with his still-fresh grief and the betrayal of the army, for which he’d sacrificed everything.