Page 8 of Pieces Into Place

Lexie is an artist. She has inherited our mother’s artistic genes and love of capturing beautiful things. Mom uses a camera, whereas Lex uses paints and an easel. She’s living down in San Diego with her boyfriend. Dad says he recently asked him for her hand in marriage. It’s a little old-fashioned, and I don’t think Lex will like it when she finds out, but I appreciate the gesture. I think I’ll call him when I get up and moving and make him ask me as well, just to fuck with him. He’s always been a little scared of me. Through all the questions and confusion of my situation, that simple thought makes me smile.

I seem to be the last to settle down in our family, which is unsurprising given my line of work. What no one knows is that I am planning to change that. I bought a ring last time I was home, and it’s been sitting in a hidden spot in my house for months. I was due to return by the end of this month and planned to propose to Kathrin then.

The accident makes me suddenly conscious of my mortality like a jolt to the soul. My heart is filled with dread and regret as I think of the pain on my mother’s face if something happened to me. I’d been skirting around my feelings for so long, but now I finally see the truth; every moment is nothing more than a fleeting gift, and I can’t waste them any longer.

Kathrin deserves the chance to share whatever time we have left together, so I quickly make up my mind to get off my ass and propose. I love Kathrin. She understands me. This is the logical next step.

The afternoon flies by. My mom fusses over me and ends up sneaking me some food. The woman is a saint. I’m ready to rest by the time they leave, but it’s difficult with the anxiety of being kept in the dark about my team and my girlfriend. I don’t have my phone, so I can’t contact anyone.

Thankfully, the night nurse comes in and gives me some medication. Renee left a few hours ago, but I haven’t formed a love/hate relationship with this new nurse just yet.

She asks the usual questions and pushes a syringe of clear medication into my IV. She mentions it’s my anti-seizure medication. I’m not used to it yet, and it has a sedating effect, which I welcome. Tomorrow, I will get some answers.

Chapter four

Kane

I’m able to get up and walk down the hall the next morning. It feels like running the last two miles of a marathon. My legs are like lead weights trudging through thick mud, and my lungs burn with every foot I walk. I have to stop twice, but I get it done. Better yet, the doctor is pleased that I haven’t had any seizures in four days. I’ll take any small victory at this point.

When I return to my room, I find Lieutenant Commander Marks standing in my room facing away from me, hands locked behind his back, and looking out the window. Seeing him has my heart rate spiking in anticipation of the news he has to offer.

“Sir, “I say breathlessly, “it’s good to see you.”

He turns to greet me, remaining formal in his stance. “Petty Officer Hudson, please relax,” he says, motioning to my hospital bed. I refuse to appear weak in front of this man, so I politely decline.

“I’m fine, sir. I just want to hear about my team,” I say, leaning slightly on the locked bedside table for stability.

He looks me straight in the eye and nods once. “You’ve no doubt been eager to receive information about the assignment you were on. I wish I were here under different circumstances,” he says, and my heart drops into my stomach. “Four members of your team have been injured in the explosion, including yourself. One of them didn’t make it.”

No. This can’t be true.

“Are you okay?”

I mentally shake my head. “I’m fine.” Although trained to face these types of situations, I still feel my heart racing faster than ever as a steady stream of adrenaline is released into my veins. The specter of death looms so close that I can almost feel its icy breath on the back of my neck.

“Who was lost?” I ask in a monotone voice that sounds distant, staring into his tired, brown eyes.

“Petty Officer Smith,” he says on a heavy exhale that causes my chest to tighten with grief and anger at the same time.

The ground feels like it shifts slightly underneath me, or maybe it’s me who sways. This can’t be happening. Smitty. My legs threaten to give out again, but I somehow manage to stand tall, swallowing past the bile rising in my throat. Emotions circle my chest and squeeze it tight. I want to fall to the ground and cry, but I work hard to shut down those feelings and remain strong. “Has his mother been informed?” I ask robotically.

“Yes, she has,” he replies softly.

Smitty was all she had. She was a single mother who sacrificed everything for him. Even in her advanced age, she runs her small farm from sunrise to sunset daily. Smitty used to tell me that he planned on moving home and taking over the farm. He wanted his mom to relax and enjoy her golden years, saying it was the least he could do for everything she’d done for him.

I remember when my best friend first came into my life. His infectious laughter and his kind heart made me wish that I had known him sooner. Now, he’s gone, and those we were fighting for justice against remain unscathed. I’ve never felt more helpless; why are the evil rewarded and the good taken away from us? How is there any justice in this life?

I look at this man, Marks, looking so damn regal in his uniform after having delivered some of the most difficult information humanly possible, and I wonder how he can do it. How many times has he delivered this type of news? What does he do after this? Does he just return to work and continue as if nothing has happened? Does he go to lunch?

“I should be getting back,” he says after a few beats of silence. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“When can I return?” I ask flatly.

Picking some non-existent lint off his uniform, he answers, “That depends on what the doctors say.”

“Thank you for coming here in person, sir,” I tell him.

“Get better soon,” he says before swiftly walking out the door.