Page 3 of Theirs to Treasure

There’s no such thing as pain. The fresh air comforts me and washes through me. It takes away my pain.

He’d been saying that to himself for the last hour, and it still wasn’t helping.

After centering the log, Sam hefted the axe and struck the wood, splintering it down the middle, taking him to his knees as the pain radiated through his head. He didn’t remember dropping the axe, but both of his hands were holding his head, and the axe now lay on the fresh grass.

“Sam, what the hell?”

Sam thought he heard someone calling out to him, but he couldn’t make any sense of it. The pain radiated through his head and down his neck, through his shoulders to his back.

He’d really done it this time. Through the haze, he realized he was lying on the ground. He was back in Afghanistan, despite the smell of evergreens.

Shot, I’ve been shot. No, that was a long time ago. He needed one of his painkiller shots. He tried to get up, but he couldn’t. He just needed to rest. Finally, blessed blackness engulfed him as he passed out.

* * *

Chance crashed to his knees beside the brother of his heart. Sam’s hands were still clenched around his head, but he was no longer making those horrific, keening cries. He was unconscious.

Chance checked his pulse and found it racing. Sam dripped with sweat. He needed the shot of pain killer and muscle relaxant he took when he had a bad episode. And this was the worst episode that Chance had seen.

What the hell had Sam been thinking, chopping wood?

Running to their house, Chance found the medication in the cupboard beside the kitchen sink and filled the syringe with the maximum dosage allowed. He’d give it to Sam and then carry his stupid ass inside.

He found Sam curled into a fetal position. Chance pulled out his left arm and administered the medication, dropping the syringe by the stump to pick up later. First, he was going to get his friend into the house and make him as comfortable as possible.

It might have been a few years since they’d worked together as volunteer firefighters down in San Clemente, California, but Chance easily hefted his friend over his shoulder and took him into the house. Actually, he was able to do it a little too easily, he thought. Chance hadn’t realized just how much weight Sam had lost, damn it. He’d been so focused on the Josie project he hadn’t been taking care of Sam.

He carried him down the hall to his room, and there Chance found the problem. Sam had been working on his computer. The military doctors specifically said that with his type of head injury, Sam needed to stay away from computer screens for at least a year, or he would end up with severe migraines. Apparently, Sam was paying as much attention to that advice as he was to Chance’s advice to take it easy and rest. Hence the wood chopping.

Chance laid Sam down on his bed and couldn’t help a small grin. No matter how bad Sam’s world was, he couldn’t help being an anal son of a bitch. His bed was made to regulation standards.

Chance opened the windows to get a breeze going but closed all the blinds to make sure the room stayed dark. Then he checked Sam over. He breathed easier and he looked like he was sleeping deeply. Chance shut down the computer and left his friend’s room. He went out and scooped up the syringe from the backyard, put away the medication in the kitchen, and then pulled out a bottle of Scotch. Fine, it was only one in the afternoon, but sometimes you needed something stronger than a beer.

He went out to the back deck and looked out at the evergreens lining the other side of Lake Snomish. He ruminated on how much he loved his property as he took a long sip of Scotch. When Betty and Butch retired here from Southern California, he’d come for a visit, and fell in love with the area. After the company he was working for went public, and the eighteen-hour workdays had substantially paid off, he reevaluated his life.

The fact that he had an ulcer at twenty-six that the doctors said was only going to worsen made him really take stock of his choices and their consequences. When he reviewed his life choices, he realized all he had done was make money, gotten a great title, and a cushy office. He hadn’t built anything that he was personally proud of.

When Butch had his cancer scare, Chance had come here to support Betty, and it all became crystal clear. Life was fragile and precious. People were important, relationships mattered, and family was the heart of everything. With the money Chance had made, he could now focus on building his family, and that started with making time for the two people who had raised him.

Betty and Butch Hutchins had fostered over twenty children in the sixteen years that Chance had lived with them. They worked magic—no matter how abused, how hateful a child acted when they first came to live with them, Betty and Butch usually turned them around. Many kept in touch with Betty and Butch, and some came back to visit. That gave Chance a large extended family.

Two others really made the difference in Chance’s world. Josie already lived with the Hutchins when social services first placed Chance with them. Josie had been six or seven and he’d been three. Josie captured his heart right off the bat. Then when he turned four-and-a-half, she’d gone back to her “birth” mom, breaking his heart. Zee was also heartsick and scared. She clutched at Betty and Butch and at Chance when it came time for her to leave them. She told them all how much she loved them and would keep them in her heart forever. Chance never saw or heard from her again.

Sam was the other foster child who made up the rest of Chance’s heart. In all ways that mattered, they were truly brothers. When Chance was six years old, five-year-old Sam moved in. He came with a black eye and a broken arm, and he wouldn’t go near Butch, but he was fine around Chance and Betty.

It took Butch five months of gentle coaxing before Sam would accept a hug from him. Sam stayed for three years before he went back to his mom. Chance overheard Betty and Butch saying that Sam’s dad was in prison so it was safe for the little boy to go home.

Chance was ten years old when Sam came back. This time he looked fine, but he could barely stand up straight. When Chance asked Sam what was wrong, Sam took off his shirt and Chance saw terrible bruising and tape around Sam’s chest. “What’s that for?” Chance asked, pointing at the tape.

“It’s what they do for broken ribs,” Sam answered.

“How did your ribs get broken?”

“A friend of my mom’s had too much to drink and didn’t like the way I was looking at him.” Sam pulled down his shirt.

“Jesus,” Chance breathed. Then he looked around to make sure that Betty hadn’t heard him swear. Sam looked at him and smiled.

“You still afraid of Betty?” Sam asked.