“How long have I been here?” Questions, I had so many questions.
“Ten days. It took nine of those days for that little lady to track me down. She’d make a damn good detective. You’re a hard guy to find anything on. Fuck, bro, you wiped everything from your past, from your records and vanished. Why?”
The pain and questions in his eyes matched mine as he ran his knuckles over my tender shins.
“Less questions, less pain and no need to relive a fucking past where I couldn’t save her, bro.” A lump formed in my throat and I turned my eyes toward the window, gazing at the dimming light of a blue sky.
“Kaden, it wasn’t your fault. I know how hard you tried. You can’t keep blaming yourself.”
I know what he said is true, but when she killed herself, she killed a part of me with her.
“I can’t do this right now, Brad. I'm tired.”
My best friend, my brother, stepped into my sight and I closed my eyes to keep him out. I needed the dark to envelope me again and take me back to my Ari. The Ari whose eyes pulled me into her and her lips on mine were as sweet as wine as I drank from her soul. It was where I wanted to be. Where I needed to be.
I didn’t want to be here without her.
I needed to be back on the edge where the sounds of war soothed me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Gracie-May
Kaden's duffle bag and belongings were flown in earlier today and delivered to the hospital. I set it all by the bed and watched as he slept. Eighteen hours had passed since he awoke from the coma and he was doing remarkably well.
Brad had stayed by his side for almost the entire time, leaving only to head to his hotel room for a quick shower and a couple of hours sleep. It was obvious, he was a good friend to Kaden.
The soldier had slept, stayed awake for a while, drank unassisted and had even taken some food.
Around seven in the morning, my shift ended, handover was done and I left to go home, sleep, shower and have something to eat. Ben was awake and in the kitchen when I arrived home, an open beer on the table before him. I hurriedly cooked breakfast and I ate in silence alongside Ben. It was the same as every other morning. I had eggs, toast and coffee. He washed his down with a beer. When I started to rise from the table, I copped a hard slap to the face, for what reason, I had no idea.
The impact caused me to fall forward. He reached out and dug his fingers into my hips, I cried out in pain before he pulled me hard against his chest. The stale smoke and beer on his breath caused my stomach to roll and I fought not to throw up all over him. His free hand landed at the back of my neck, I was dragged further forward and he slammed his lips against mine. Bile burned the back of my throat and I fought to get free.
He wouldn’t let me free and clung on as he struggled to stand on his new prosthetic leg. I knew there would be fear in my eyes, hate was in his.
A hand connected hard against my face, the pain was like I’d been struck with a hot poker. I fought against the tears welling in my eyes, vowing not to show weakness.
In our struggles, dishes and left-over food had been knocked to the floor and Ben snarled.
“Clean this fucking mess up before you leave and you best leave me the keys and some beer money if you know what’s good for you. I'm going to the track with the boys today while you fuck off to that place you seem to fucking live at.” He wobbled on his prosthetic leg before limping from the room.
I never knew what caused him to snap the way he did, to hit me. Nor why he hated me as he did, but he did and somehow, I had to deal with the fact I was trapped with a husband who no longer loved me. A man who may very well kill me one day.
I swiped at the fallen tears on my cheeks and squared my shoulders with determination. I retrieved money from the cookie jar which he never looked in and dropped it on the table with a spare set of car keys. Heading back to my room, I forgot about sleeping, instead I showered and changed into fresh day clothes.
I pulled my hair into a braid and set it to fall down the side of my face in an attempt to hide the red hand print. Water welled in my eyes for more than just the sting of his hand and harsh hateful words.
I walked back to the hospital and headed to the room where my soldier would now be. He’d recovered sufficiently enough, the doctor was confident he could be moved out of the dormitory area, where the severely ill were watched over. He was still under ICU care but the room gave him more privacy. He was asleep and I sat watching as his chest rose and fell with each steady breath. His heart appeared to beat strong while his body recovered and his mind continued to wage war on itself. The healing of his wounds would be a slow process but the scars of war were embedded deep, maybe forever.
I picked up his bag and the jacket on top from where they had been placed in the corner of the room. A small black note book fell from the pocket of the jacket, so placing the bag down again, I picked it up from the floor.
The smell of dust, war, a country far away wafted from the cover. I ran the fingers over the hard and worn cover while fingers of the other hand rippled the gold laced edges of the pages.
I flipped it open, his writing was a neat, almost perfect script which was not seen very often thanks to technology. So much care had been taken in the writing of the words inked into the pages.
I pulled a chair to the side of Kaden’s bed just as Brad entered the room and sat in a chair by the window. His eyes are tired, his smile weary and sad.
“Kaden hasn’t spoken to me since I told him you weren’t Ari. I think he believes I’m lying to him.”
