I look at Breaker.
He looks at me.
There’s a tremor in his expression. It is something raw and something reverent. And then he gently takes my hand, lifting it, kissing it.
“We’re…” he whispers, his voice breaking as his eyes shine. “We’re having a baby?”
I nod, tears spilling again. “Breaker…”
He leans in and kisses me, slow and careful and desperate all at once. Then he reaches down and places his hand on my stomach. My hand covers his, and my world narrows to that touch — our future — our love.
“A fresh start. A new life. A family… for both of us.”
The nurse slips out, but we barely notice. We dissolve into each other, hands trembling and lips searching, our tears salty and mingled. I can’t stop smiling, even though my face hurts, and Breaker just keeps looking at me, like he’s stunned by the miracle of me still existing. Then there’s a sharp knock at the door.
The door opens, and the instant I see who stands there, I freeze. My eyes go wide, and Breaker’s breathing stops.
Chapter Fifty
Breaker
In the blink of an eye, my hospital room is a war zone of chaos, but instead of blood and bullets, it’s color, noise, the stampede of Velcro sneakers and the shriek of laughter. At least a dozen Girl Scouts pile in, all with beaming faces and hair ribbons, looking like some kind of Pee Wee commando unit. Their sashes are festooned with badges, glitter, and, if I’m not mistaken, a few stray band-aids and gummy bear stickers. They flood the tile floor like a riverburst.
“Mr. James!” they holler, their voices colliding in a sonic boom.
I’m so stunned that for a second I think I’m still concussed, and maybe I hallucinated the entire thing. Until I look at Riley. She’s covering her mouth, failing to hide the laugh that’s bubbling up. She’s radiant, even with her hair a mess and dark circles under her eyes. I want to tell her that, but right now there’s an army of short humans climbing my hospital bed like they’re storming a castle. The same ones who covered me in glitter, ribbons, makeup, and humiliation just days ago. One of them, a curly-haired little brute with badge clusters so dense they look like armor, leads the charge.
“We heard you got HURT,” she announces, as if that’s the most fascinating thing in the world. She’s clutching a massive construction paper card that, if I squint, is shaped like a motorcycle. There’s a cartoon version of me on it, replete withfake beard, googly eyes, and a band-aid across my forehead. The interior is a confetti bomb of signatures and crayon hearts and at least one illustrated kitten.
“In an accident!” another pipes up, eyes bright behind Coke-bottle glasses.
Thank God, I think, and fight down a wave of relief so sharp I almost laugh. All the adults must be lying to protect the girls, sparing them the actual horror show I just lived through.
I clear my throat. “Yeah. It was a big accident.”
“You look really ugly now,” a third girl says, with the brutal honesty of children and drill sergeants.
“Is your face always going to look like that?” Says the girl to her left.
Riley doubles over, nearly collapsing. I swear I see tears in her eyes, and not the traumatized kind, but honest-to-god joy.
The bravest of the girls steps forward and says, “We brought you something else, too. Because you did a good job helping us with our float and makeup and being our model and stuff.”
Another girl elbows her. “She means ourbeautifulmodel.”
“Oh my god,” I mutter, running my good hand over my face.
My soul tries to crawl out of my body. I’m a grown-ass man who’s been in the Marines, who did three tours and ran rescue missions in shit-stained desert hellholes. I’ve detonated IEDs and torn open enemy bunkers with my bare hands. But nothing in my life, not even the sight of Killian’s dead eyes, prepared me for a room full of Girl Scouts treating me like I’m the prom queen.
The patch is a violent shade of green, embroidered in what looks like a cross between Comic Sans and a ransom note: HONORARY GIRL SCOUT — TROOP 347 — BEAUTY BRIGADE
I just stare at the patch, then at the girls, then at Riley, who’s taken out her phone and is obviously taking pictures.
Riley wheezes. “Breaker… you got a beauty badge. You can put it on your cut.”
I want the hospital bed to swallow me whole.
But the kids are staring at me with the pure sincerity that the world doesn’t deserve. So I take the patch.
