Breaking Free

by Teresa Reasor

  She studied his expression. She tried to swallow but she didn’t have enough moisture there to complete the action. She wanted to say talk to me, Hawk, but the words stuck in her throat, and her face felt numb.

  She stepped closer to him to avoid a nurse pushing a mobile computer. “They’re going to do a more thorough neurological exam later today to see how much brain damage Brett’s sustained. I’ll have to stay with him for a few weeks after he’s discharged.”

  “He can stay with us at my house.”

  Zoe stopped. Would he be so quick to offer that if he were thinking of backing off from their relationship? Her heart pounded as though it might come out of her chest. God help her if he was getting cold feet, or tired of her. “We have to talk about this some more, before we bring it up with Mom and Brett.”

  “Are you worried about what they’ll think?” he asked.

  “Are you?”

  Hawk turned to face her, his gray eyes intent. “No, I’m not. I just know moms are a little protective of their little girls and well---it puts me in the position of having broken my word to look out for you.”

  Was that all it was? She’d have given her good leg just to feel a little relief. A moment passed before she could catch her breath. She smiled. “You haven’t done anything I didn’t want you to.”

  “I think your mom might have a different perspective on that, honey.”

  The door opened behind them and they looked up. Clara stepped out in the hall. There was a frozen look to her features, and she appeared pale. “Something’s wrong with Brett.”

  ****

  Dr. Connelly leaned against the adjustable table next to the bed, Brett’s chart held in both his hands. “It’s called expressive aphasia. It’s caused by an injury to the area of the brain that controls verbal communication.”

  Zoe’s stomach grew hollow with fear. Her gaze shifted to her mother. Her features looked wooden with control.

  Brett’s voice, still weak, held a taut note, “So that’s why I feel as though the word is right there on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t get it to come.”

  “That’s very common with head injuries,” Dr. Connelly said with a nod.

  “Mom was showing me pictures and I couldn’t remember---”His expression grew tense as he concentrated on getting the right word to come out. “C-Cat---”

  “Katie Beth,” Clara supplied the name for him.

  Brett shot her a frown. “Yeah.”

  “Who is Katie Beth, Brett?” Dr. Connelly asked.

  “My niece.”

  “You know who she is, but you can’t say her name when you look at her picture.”

  “No, I couldn’t get the word to come to my mind.”

  Dr. Connelly nodded. He looked down at the chart he held. “You don’t seem to have trouble identifying the people in this room.”

  “No.”

  The doctors gray brows drew together. “Who’s the woman standing next to your bed?”

  “My mom, Clara.”

  “And this young lady.” Connelly pointed with the chart.

  “My sister, Zoe.”

  “And the fellow next to her?”

  “Lieutenant Yazzie, Hawk, my commanding officer.”

  “You have all these people here supporting you, son. You’re not alone in this.”

  “I’m going to contact the head of our speech pathology here on staff. As soon as we’ve finished our tests, they can do their own evaluation and get you started.”

  Brett nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Your brain has sustained a trauma, Brett. I’ve already talked to you about the extent of that.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re a living miracle. You woke up.”

  “Yes, sir, I know that.”

  “It’s going to be tough,” Connelly continued. “You’ve done tough before with your SEAL training.”

  Brett’s jaw tightened and Zoe read his fear behind the careful blankness of his expression.

  “As long as you go at it with as much determination as you did that, there’s a good chance, you’ll overcome this.”

  “I hope so, sir.”

  Zoe heard doubt in the word hope and laid a hand on his shoulder. “You will, Brett.”

  “We’ll have more information in a few days and know better how to progress from there.”

  As soon as Dr. Connelly left the room, a taut silence followed.

  “Guys, I think I’d like some time alone for a little while,” Brett said.

  Zoe’s gaze met her mother’s over Brett’s head.

  “All right, sweetheart.” Clara bent to kiss Brett’s cheek and his arms went around her.

  “Love you, Mom.”

  “I love you too.” Her eyes grew glazed with tears as she straightened, but she quickly blinked them back to offer him a smile. She left the room.

  Zoe hugged him hard and met his blue gaze head on. She ran a comforting hand over his fine halo of hair that stuck straight up in the air. He looked so much like he had as a little boy with his hair cut so short. He was still her big brother, but she suddenly realized their roles had reversed. “I know this is a blow, but you’ll be fine.”

  “Sure, Sis.”

  “Hawk, I need to speak to you privately for a minute,” Brett said

  “Sure.”

  ****

  Hawk approached the bed as soon as the door closed behind Zoe and her mother. He had seen that battle ready expression on Zoe’s face so often he only briefly acknowledged it on Brett’s features.

  “I need you to take some pictures for me,” Brett said. “The equipment we use, some of the people we work with. I have to know how wide spread this memory-language thing is.”

  That sounded like a reasonable suggestion to Hawk. “All right. How bad do you think it is?”

  “If you can’t remember your own niece’s name, it’s bad.”

  Hawk laid a hand on Brett’s shoulder. “You knew who she was, you just had trouble with her name. You haven’t forgotten her.”

  “No, but Jesus!” Brett’s frustration and panic were plain in his expression, his voice.

  “You need to relax, Brett. You’ve just woken up from a month long sleep. You haven’t given yourself time to get acclimated to being awake again. It may just be a temporary thing.”

  “That isn’t what it sounded like to me.”

  Hawk agreed. But getting worked up over it was going to be counterproductive.

  “You know how it is when we get ready to go into action, how we shake off outside stressors. You need to home in, Brett. Focus on getting back on your feet first, then tackle this language--,” He hesitated. Beating around the bush wasn’t going to help. “problem.”

  “There wasn’t a moment your mother or your sister ever doubted you’d wake up. Zoe’s been here every day, talking to you, doing P.T. on you. If you have half as much faith in yourself as those two ladies do, you’ll have this thing ironed out in no time.”

  The anxiety leached out of the man’s features after a few moments. “Thanks, Hawk.”

  “No problem.”

  “So, are you sleeping with my sister, or what?” Brett asked.

  CHAPTER 22

  From her position on the back porch, Zoe listened to her mother and Hawk talk as they cleaned up the kitchen after dinner. “I’ve been doing some physical conditioning to get back up to speed, now that I can run again,” he said.

  He’d never stopped training, just running. She had grown accustomed to his daily schedule in the last few weeks. Even though he’d had to pamper his knee, he hadn’t missed a morning in the rec room lifting weights or of late using the exercise bicycle.

  He had more discipline, was more deeply committed to his job, than anyone else she knew. Could he commit himself to her with half as much resolve?

  Everything grew quiet. Her mother came out onto the porch. She sat next to Zoe on the glider and sighed as she set it in motion.

  “I’ve missed this,” Clara said.
“I think you’re right, this is the best room in the whole house.” She tilted her head back against the top of the glider and closed her eyes. “Are you and Hawk having an affair?”

  Zoe’s stomach lurched. She wasn’t ready for this. She stared out at the large, orange, ball-shaped sun that hung on the horizon before turning to look at her mother. “We’ve gotten really close. He’s been a rock for me, for Brett.”

  Her mother opened her eyes and looked at her. “And me. You don’t have to sing his praises to me, Zoe. I know he’s a good man.”

  “But?” Zoe heard the defensiveness in her own voice.

  “No, buts.” Clara met her gaze head on. “You’re an adult, this is your business. I just want you to be careful.”

  Careful. It was too late for careful. “How did you do it, Mom? How did you watch Dad leave and not die inside every time? How did you not resent the fact that he wanted the Marine Corps more than he wanted us?”

  “That isn’t true, Zoe.”

  The shock in her mother’s expression, her voice, had Zoe studying her features.

  “Your father never wanted to leave us, Zoe. He loved us. He didn’t want to go.” Clara grasped her arm. “That last time--You weren’t completely recovered, and he knew we needed him home. But he had a commitment to his men. They were depending on him.”

  Zoe pushed back that small part of her that urged her to ask, “Why weren’t we first?”

  “Your father believed in what he was doing, Zoe. I knew when I married him he was a Marine. It was important to him. As important as being a SEAL is to Hawk.”

  Zoe stopped the glider as she leaned forward to prop her head in her hands. “The team is Hawk’s family. He’s been in the Navy since graduating college. I think it’s taken the place of the real family he didn’t have.” Who else did he have? Her stomach clenched at the thought. She looked up. “I know it’s more than that. He thrives on the camaraderie, the connection he has with his men. He has to protect and serve his country. It’s his life.”

  She sat back and ran restless fingers through her hair dragging it back from her face. Could she share him with his unit? If she stayed with Hawk, she had to find a way to deal with these feelings of abandonment. She couldn’t project that resentment onto him. It would eventually destroy their relationship.

  Her mother laid a hand on her arm, and Zoe looked up. “Now that Brett is awake, they’ll discharge him from the hospital pretty quickly. You said you wanted to stay out here with him, but if you need time to think, you could go back to help Sharon for a few weeks.”

  An empty ache hollowed Zoe’s stomach and squeezed her heart at the idea. How could she ever think she could leave him? God, she loved him so much.

  “How many more weeks before Sharon can drive?” she asked.

  “Three.”

  Zoe swallowed. “The doctor’s already released Hawk to go back to full duty. A few weeks or months after that his unit could be called up.” She closed her eyes against the urge to cry. “I want to spend as much time with him as I can.”

  Clara nodded. “I understand.”

  She really did. Zoe read it in her mother’s expression, in her eyes. “This is really hard, Mom.”

  “We don’t pick the people we love, Zoe. We just love wherever our heart takes us. I love Hawk too, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Zoe moved to lean her head against her mother’s shoulder and Clara grasped her hand tightly in hers.

  “You’ve done hard before. If it came easy, it wouldn’t mean as much. Your father and I crammed as much loving into our lives, in the months he was home each year, as most people do in a lifetime, Zoe. I don’t have any regrets. I always knew he loved me.”

  “Is that why there’s never been anyone else?” Zoe asked.

  “He was a hard act to follow. And I had you, Sharon, and Brett to think about. Brett’s so like his father.”

  Zoe squeezed her mother’s hand. “Yes, he is. He’ll come back from his head injury and get back to his unit. I know he will.”

  Clara drew a deep breath. “Sharon’s going through a depression because of the hysterectomy. She’s going to bounce back, but it’s going to take time.” She pressed her cheek against Zoe’s forehead. “We’ve all done hard,” Clara said. “I just wish we could do easy a little more often.”

  “Me too, Mom. Me too.”

  ****

  Damn, it felt good to be back in action. After only a week he was recovering his stamina and muscle tone. Having finished his reconnaissance, Hawk squatted within the cover of the thick brush, and eyed the block building they were using for the close quarter drill. The assignment was to surprise the pretend terrorists inside, capture them, and free the pretend hostages without a loss of life. He pondered several possible scenarios. Doc appeared next to him and Hawk signaled a withdrawal. They fell back to the road.

  Hawk checked the safety of his nine-millimeter sig, even though it was only loaded with simunition, and holstered it. He removed a scrap of paper from his jacket pocket and sketched a map of the interior of the building. He spread it out on the hood of the armored Humvee and motioned for Strong Man, Doc, Flash, and Bowie to gather close.

  “There are six tangos and two hostages. The hostages are being held in the kitchen on the west side. This is the plan.”

  Doc and Strong Man disappeared into the brush going west. Flash and Bowie followed a few minutes later. Hawk worked his way north, using the clusters of palm as cover. Scoping out the front door, he watched as one of the tangos inside paused before the window to look out, then moved away.

  Crawling beneath the brush, Hawk worked his way to the corner of the yard. He removed the field binoculars from around his neck to check the position of the men inside. There were three in the front room but three others he couldn’t see. He narrowed his eyes against the reflective glare of the setting sun and clicked his radio, “Three tangos here.”

  Derrick’s voice came over the radio at a whisper. “One in sight here playing guard to the hostages.”

  “Two in the kitchen,” Doc’s voice said into his ear.

  Hawk clicked his radio once to let them know he understood. Crawling to a spot diagonal to the front windows, he looked one last time, then tucked the binoculars inside his shirt. The coast clear, Hawk leaped to his feet and ran the distance from the brush to the front door.

  Hugging the wall next to it, he removed his pack and retrieved the block of C-4 Bowie had given him and the hardware he needed to rig the detonation. Careful to visually measure the amount of explosive he intended to use, he pinched off small squares of the plastique, mashed them into the door hinges. He checked the wireless remote to make certain it was working, then hooked the detonator to the plastique and wired the rest of the circuit.

  He eased off the front stoop and bobbed up to look through the window to check the position of the men inside. He meant to blow the door off its hinges, not take out the front of the house or injure anyone inside the room. In a real scenario, he wouldn’t be so careful unless hostages were in the room.

  Hawk crawled around the edge of the house to the east corner bedroom. Popping up, he checked to make sure the room was empty then stood up. He removed his K-bar and dug at the putty that held one of the windowpanes into the frame. He cut it away then pulled the pane free. Inserting his hand, he unlocked the window and pushed it up.

  Muffled voices came through the bedroom door from the front room. He paused, checking to make sure none of the tangos were on their way to check out any sound he had made. Nothing.

  He shrugged free of his pack and eased it inside the room to one side of the window, then boosted himself over the edge into the house. Even the rustle of his clothing sounded loud and his every muscle tensed as he waited to see if his entrance had been heard. He clicked his radio, letting the men know he was in position.

  A few seconds passed then he heard the distinct reply from each of the other men. They were in position.

  Hawk pulled down the p
rotective goggles, flipped the detonator on and pushed the button. A loud “whomp” shook the bedroom door. He dropped the detonator, and jerked the door open and instantaneously shot the first man he saw. A bright yellow spot of soap compound painted the front of the tango’s vest. “Down, get down.” The three other men in the room hugged the deck. A fourth ran into the room, his weapon drawn and Hawk turned taking him down.

  “Clear,” Hawk said.

  Doc’s voice came from the right.

  Hawk pushed the protective mask up then stumbled back at the impact as a simunition cartridge skimmed his cheek. His face stung like hell and he gritted his teeth against the pain. His vision obscured by the bright yellow compound, he ripped the safety helmet from his head. His eyes teared up. “Shit.”

  “All clear, the hostages are secure,“ Bowie’s voice said in his ear.

  “Hawk---” Doc appeared at his side and his expression going from amused to concerned in a nanosecond. “Christ! We have to get that shit out of your eyes.”

  “No, shit.” Half blinded by the soap, Hawk allowed Doc to lead him into the kitchen. He hung over the sink and rinsed his face and eyes over and over with water. The burning sensation finally eased but the welt on his cheek had begun to swell and it hurt like a son-of-bitch. Someone handed him a towel and he dried his face and hair with a couple of quick swipes.

  “Well, the good news is that you rescued the hostages, Lieutenant.” Lieutenant Arnold, team leader of the hostage team, said. “The bad news is you’ve been shot by one of your own men.” There was just enough smug amusement in the other man’s voice that it torked Hawk’s building anger to near explosion level. He shot Arnold a look that killed the asshole’s smile.

  He looked up to see his men clustered together in the kitchen, standing watch. He would not air his teams’ dirty laundry in front of another unit. He didn’t doubt for one minute he was being fucked with.

  “The loss of one man is not acceptable, we’ll be repeating a similar exercise at 0-eight-thirty tomorrow morning, until we get it right. And we’re going down to the shooting range and running practice drills until fifteen hundred today.”