Less than two minutes after I emerge from the cave, my cell phone buzzes in my pocket, and I check the screen. Fuck. Trevor’s the last man I want to talk to. Every time I think about him, I see Gil’s face. Feel his blade slicing across my chest or driving deep into my thigh. But I have to answer. I owe him that much.
“Trev. Been a while.”
“Whose fault is that?” Trevor’s voice holds an edge I haven’t heard in a long time. Not since we were teenagers. “Dani’s called you half a dozen times in the past few weeks, and you’ve ignored her every fucking time. Sent three or four word text messages back. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“That’s none of your goddamn business,” I snap and pull the phone away from my ear so I can end the call.
“You’re hurting her,” Trevor says, and that’s enough to keep me on the line. “You know his fucking birthday is next week. And Dani wants—needs—the only brother she has left to get on the phone with her and have an actual conversation.”
“Shit.”
“Shit is right. She’ll be home in two hours, and her phone better ring in under four. You hear me?”
“Yeah. I do. I’m sorry, Trev. I haven’t been in a good place.” Finding a bench under some trees where I can watch kids kicking soccer balls and families enjoying tacos and gathering around fire pits, I stretch my legs, the tight muscles reminding me I’m getting...older. Too old to keep running away from my problems.
“You don’t think we know that? ThatIknow that?” His irritation fades, leaving only weariness in his tone. “You went to Pakistan because of me. You got hurt because of me. You were driven out of the Air ForceandJSOC because of me.”
“No.” The single word escapes, harsh and rough, and I slam my hand down on the wood slats. The gesture stings my palm, but the pain is better than feelingnothing,so I do it again.
A woman passing by with her young daughter shoots me a look, and I blow out a long breath. “You’re not...wrong. But you’re not right either, Trev. For years, JSOC was all I wanted. Hell, they groomed me for it. And I probably would have made National Security Council or even Secretary of Defense one day if I’d actuallywantedit. But I didn’t. I haven’t for a long time. Pakistan was a shitshow, and yeah. I went there to avoid a court-martial. I was damn lucky Clarke didn’t decide to hold a grudge. But I knew what I was doing when I left my post and flew to Venezuela. And I don’t regret a goddamn thing. You and Dani—and Mom and Dad—you’re my family.”
“Then why go dark?” he asks.
The lump in my throat shouldn’t be so hard to swallow. Trev’s my brother in every way that counts. And was long before he and Dani found one another again. Fell in love. I have to tell him. If only because I can hear the pain in his words. He’s blaming himself for everything broken in me, and none of it is his fault.
“Because something in me died when Gil...fuck.” Trev’s the one who had to put a bullet in my adopted brother’s brain, and here I am whining about his death. I search for something to say that won’t drive more of a wedge between the two of us, but I can’t find a single damn thing that isn’t pure and utter bullshit. “Because I have a lot to figure out. Can we just leave it at that?”
“Yeah, man. Sure. Just...call Dani. You have four hours.“ Trevor hangs up without saying goodbye, and I stare at the phone for a full five minutes before I can even think about moving again.
We may be family, but our friendship? Pretty sure I just tossed that out like day old trash. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to close the rift between us again.
Mikayla
The heavy mist cools my cheeks as I follow Isaiah up the steep, narrow trail. We’ve been in Chiapas for two weeks now, and it’s rained every single day. At least halfway up the mountain where the grow sites are.
We were prepared for the rain, at least. The wind, not so much. It whips my poncho around my knees, and I’ve already lost two hats.
The two kilometer trek through steep, uneven terrain takes us over an hour to navigate. Our mobile lab unit sits at the base of the mountain, and every day, two of us make the climb to one of the five designated grow sites. They each sit in a little mini-caldera, scattered around the mountain like massive salad bowls, full to the brim with lush trees, moss, and of course, dozens of Blushing Note orchids. The plants cling to the massive trunks, wrap their roots around fallen branches, and I can only imagine what it looks like when they flower. If we’d been able to come two months later, we could have seen them in bloom, but by then, the weather would make hiking up here impossible.
Up ahead, Isaiah braces his hand on the side of the crevasse that leads to Site One. Something shifted in the weather last night, and today…the air is thick and oppressive, despite the high winds, and as I adjust my backpack, my chest suddenly feels like someone kicked me and then dropped a twenty-pound weight directly onto my lungs.
“Isaiah,” I wheeze, but he can’t hear me. It takes me precious seconds to shrug out of my backpack and sink to my knees in the mud. The zipper doesn’t want to cooperate, and my heart pounds faster and harder as I try desperately to find my inhaler.
One. Two. Three. Four.
I try to slow my breathing, but this attack came on so fast and hit me hard enough that my vision has already started to tunnel. Breathing through one of those little coffee straws the hotel uses would be easier than this.
There it is.My fingers brush the hard plastic, but they’re trembling so badly I drop the precious medicine twice before I get a good grip on it. Shaking the small cylinder takes everything I have, but I have to mix the Albuterol with the propellant or it won’t do me any good.
Breathe out. All the way. Force it. Come on. You can do this.
My chest is so tight, and I can’t hear the wind anymore. The burst of medicine doesn’t feel like it makes a bit of difference, but I know it’s helping. Or will, once I get my second dose in. But waiting even thirty seconds feels nearly impossible since each one stretches out before me like it’s a year long.
Mud soaks through my khaki pants now, and I rest my head on my backpack as I bring my inhaler to my lips a second time.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
“Dr. Mik!” Isaiah’s voice reaches my ears through a long tunnel, and then he’s at my side, his hand on my shoulder. “Breathe. Stay calm. I’m here.”
