Chapter 1
Sam took one last look around his temporary office. After three months, it had grown familiar, but today represented an ending. Twelve years in the army led to a lot of memories, many of them good ones. He smiled as he picked up the photo of him and his team mates which they’d taken at the end of his last mission. He’d said goodbye to them in a big celebration just before they’d been deployed again. His gut wrenched as he remembered them flying off without him.
“Are you finished?” Major Hammond demanded.
The final lingering look also had the benefit of irritating the major. Sam rolled his eyes before he tucked the photo into his jacket pocket, turned and nodded. He followed the major from the building. The only thing Sam could think that warranted special attention from the man was that he was moving to Retribution Bay where the major’s estranged daughter now lived. Perhaps the major hoped Sam would put a good word in for him. If so, he was dreaming. Not after the way the major had treated Sherlock.
Sam handed over his security pass and then gave one last salute.
The end of an era.
As he drove off the base he slowed as if not wanting to leave. Part of him felt the elation of freedom, the opportunity to do what he wanted, when he wanted, but the other part felt like he’d been switched off life-support and was gasping for air.
The army had been his life since he’d left high school. He’d lived and breathed the rules, the structure, and it had been good for the rebellious eighteen-year-old he’d been. But now he wanted more. Their last mission had been his closest brush with death so far, and it had shaken him. He had other dreams, other goals he’d yet to fulfil, which was why he’d chosen not to sign up for another stint.
Sam drove through Perth towards the rehabilitation hospital where Sherlock currently resided. Arthur ‘Sherlock’ Hammond had been his teammate since the early days and it had taken Sam a while to come to terms with his methodical, structured personality. Hard to blame him when his father was Major Hammond, the most humourless and structured man in the army. Slowly the team had got Sherlock to open up, occasionally joke with them and go out after work. But it happened infrequently, as Sherlock regularly picked up new missions or extra tasks around base. It was one such mission that had landed him in hospital, and medically discharged from the army.
Sherlock wasn’t coping well.
Sam pulled into the parking lot and waved to the receptionist as he walked inside. “G’day, Kylie.”
“Sam, good to see you.” She smiled at him.
Sam walked along the grey corridor lined with noticeboards until he reached Sherlock’s room. Sherlock’s brown hair was a centimetre long, having grown out of the buzz cut since the accident. The dark bruises on his face were gone and most of the scratches from the bomb blast had healed. The plain white T-shirt he wore blended with the bed sheet pulled over his right leg, hiding the missing limb, and he stared out the window, not moving when Sam walked in.
“How’s it going, Sherlock?” Sam asked.
No response.
Frustration swelled in Sam. It had been over a month and Sherlock had grown more and more despondent. He’d never been the chattiest person, but now he took silence to a whole other level. Sam wanted a response from him, any kind of reaction to make sure he was still in there somewhere. “It was my last day today,” he said. “No longer in the army, just like you.”
A tiny flinch. Sam ignored the nausea in his stomach at being so mean. The army was the only thing Sherlock had ever known, his one focus, his one passion. It was over now and until Sherlock addressed it, he couldn’t move forward. If that meant ranting and raging at Sam, well, Sam was a big boy, he could take it. “Saw your dad. He accompanied me to my car. Probably wanted to make sure I wasn’t stealing anything.”
Sherlock’s fingers curled.
“He asked how you were doing.”
Sherlock’s head whipped around to stare at him. “Really?” The word was full of incredulity, but underlying it was a glimmer of hope. Sam was an absolute bastard.
“No, not really. I wanted to find out if you were actually listening.”
Sherlock’s eyes went dull and he turned away. No. They’d done it this way every day since the accident. Fed up, Sam grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “Look at me!”
“Why, so I can see how much better you are than me?” The words were bitter, but at least they were words. “You want me to be grateful to you for visiting every day?” Sherlock demanded. “Taking pity on the cripple?”
“You’re not a cripple,” Sam argued. “I’ve seen you walking on the prosthetic. Give it a bit of time and you’ll outrun me again.”
“Bull shit.”
“Don’t be such a dumb ass,” Sam said. “I’m not saying the situation doesn’t suck, but how you deal with it is up to you.”
“You’ve got no idea,” Sherlock yelled, colour in his face for the first time in weeks. “I’ve lost my leg, my career and my father.”
“Your father’s not worth grieving over,” Sam countered. “He’s always been an asshole, using you. But you do have your sister and she wants to see you.”
Sherlock scowled. “I missed her wedding. She’s never gonna want to see me.”
“You might be surprised at how forgiving she is. She married Brandon after all.”
