23. nix
NIX
I should have tried harder to dissuade Murphy from enlisting.
Failure uncurls in my gut, spreading through my body like a virus. Infecting every cell and vessel. Sitting heavy like a lead weight in my veins and my heart.
If I had just tried harder.
If I’d found the right words to stop him from following in my footsteps. But I’ve never been good with words. I’m more of an action man.
If I’d just tried harder.
I wouldn’t be sitting on an overnight flight to Frankfurt beside my wife, who cried herself to sleep, to be with our son who’s lying broken and battered in a hospital bed.
I wouldn’t be putting Abbi through the torment of this trip for the second time.
She doesn’t deserve this kind of pain again.
I never wanted Murphy to experience this.
But he was so proud to enlist and even prouder to be accepted as an Army Ranger. I remember the light in his eyes, the way he glowed from the inside out. At that point, I had to respect that his life choices were his own, and I had to let him go.
I rub my sternum to stem the ache, but it doesn’t help.
Pressing my head back into my seat, I close my eyes, but the images that assault me have me snapping them back open.
Burned flesh, screams, fire, body parts, death, and gore.
Screams so vivid I swear they’re coming over the airplane speakers and the stench of burning flesh filling the cabin that I glance around to see if others can smell it.
The captain’s voice comes over the speakers, announcing that we’ll be landing in around fifteen minutes. I shuffle in my seat, adjusting it to the upright position, then turn to Abbi as her eyes flutter open.
“I can’t believe I fell asleep,” she murmurs, her voice full of disbelief.
I’m not surprised. Her nervous system was overloaded, and all of her tears would have flooded her system with messages to calm down.
I lean across and kiss her temple, gently sliding her loose hair away from her face.
Her eyes are swollen and her nose is red, but she’s never looked more beautiful than she does right now.
“Did you get any sleep?” she asks as she sits up, adjusting her seat to the upright position.
I shake my head, and her eyes fill with worry.
“Nix, you need to sleep.”
I force a smile on my lips, but I’m certain she sees right through it. The pitch of the plane changes, dipping forward, and I take Abbi’s hand in mine, bringing it to my lips. “I’m okay.”
She studies my face closely and squeezes my hand. “How bad?”
I’m not going to pretend that I don’t know what she’s asking, but I don’t want to tell her.
“I need to know, Nix. I need to know what I’m going to see,” she pushes. “I need to prepare. Right now, my mind is going to the absolute worst-case scenario.”
Maybe it’s better to prepare her so it’s not such a shock when she sees him.
I swallow the sawdust in my mouth and try to get the words into some semblance of order that makes sense.
Everything’s so jumbled, mixed with my own experience and what my old warrant officer and friend told me over the phone.
There was no requirement for him to contact me.
He did it out of respect for me and our long-standing friendship.
Otherwise, we’d be none the wiser that Murphy was lying injured in an American military hospital in Germany.
“He’s lost part of his leg in the explosion,” I murmur and Abbi gasps. Saying the words out loud makes it real in a way it wasn’t before.
She buries her face in my shoulder. “No.”
A single word murmured against me, and I feel as though I’ve been struck by a bullet.
If I’d just tried harder.
“He was in surgery, so he couldn’t tell me much more. He didn’t know the full extent of Murph’s injuries, but he knew that,” I tell my wife.
Abbi sobs against me, and I cup the back of her head, pressing my lips to her hair and breathing in her warm scent. She and our kids are everything to me. They’re the reason I draw breath. I can’t believe I lost sight of that in preference of building a business and financial security.
After dumping our bags in our room and quickly freshening up, we grab a snack and head straight to Murphy.
He should be out of surgery, and I’m hopeful we’ll be allowed to see him.
I need to lay eyes on my son. I need to make sure he’s breathing and alive.
The loss of his leg doesn’t matter right now.
We’ll deal with that, but I need him to be alive.
I need him to still be here with us.
Our steps echo down the long hallway until we reach the last door on the right.
The sound of beeping machines and the smell of antiseptic fills the space.
We pause for a brief moment, look at each other for comfort, and draw a deep breath.
My stomach rolls and twists, and I lock my knees in place, so I don’t end up on the floor in a useless mass of arms and legs.
Tightening my hold on Abbi’s hand, as much to support myself as to support her, we step over the threshold and lay eyes on our son.
Abbi’s cry is louder than the beeping of the machines attached to Murphy.
She sinks against me, and I fold her into my embrace to keep her from hitting the floor.
I scan the room, taking in the clear mask over his face, the bandages around his head, the bruising on the rest of his face, the flatness of the sheet where his leg should be, and the plaster on his arm.
The air in my lungs freezes, and I’m grateful I have to concentrate on holding Abbi together, or else I’d fall apart too.
I guide her to the chair in the corner of the room and drag it closer to Murphy’s bed, then encourage her to sit, but she won’t let go of me, so I sit and pull her onto my lap.
She shivers in my arms as tears track down her cheeks in a silver path.
I don’t know what to say to her to make this better.
So, I stay silent as we both process our new reality. Murphy’s new reality.
If I’d just tried harder.
There’s no worse feeling than that of being a failure.
I experienced it as an almost teenager when I couldn’t do enough to help Mom after we lost Dad.
I felt it the day of the blast that stole Wyatt from us and injured Shane, leaving not only physical but emotional scars so deep I didn’t think he’d ever recover.
I felt it again when Abbi asked me for a divorce because I’d neglected her to the point she felt leaving me was her only option.
And now, sitting here beside Murphy’s bed, failure hits me acutely. He’s my son, and I didn’t protect him.
I curl my fingers into my palm and dig my blunt fingernails into the flesh as intense anger burns through my veins. Sinking into my anger is a more acceptable emotion than falling apart thinking about what the future holds for Murphy.
For long minutes, Abbi cries into my shoulder while I sit with my eyes locked on our son.
His chest rises and falls in time with the machine helping him to breathe.
The monitors beep rhythmically, showing us that his heart’s working fine, but mine is broken.
Shattered like shards of glass on the floor.
Abbi pushes away from me and climbs to her feet, resting her hands on the side of Murphy’s bed for support.
I watch as she catalogs our son, smoothing the sheet and blanket covering him.
She slowly moves around the bed, never letting go as if holding onto the mattress is the only way she’ll remain standing.
I study her closely, my muscles drawn taught ready to leap up in case she stumbles.
But as I watch her, I see resolve take the place of her shock and sadness.
I watch the mamma bear come to the surface, and determination rise to care for our son in any way he needs.
She carefully strokes his fingers and then reaches up to stroke the only unmarred patch of skin on his cheek.
Tears fall from her eyes, glistening down her cheeks and landing on the bedding, but she offers him a shaky smile.
“We’re here, Murphy. You’re not alone.” She leans down and kisses the place she just stroked, pausing there for a moment.
I climb to my feet and lean over him too.
“You’re in good hands, Son. And we’ll be here when you wake up.
We love you, Murph.” My voice cracks on his name, and Abbi reaches across, taking my hand in hers.
She squeezes, offering me her support and strength.
The simple action sends gratitude spilling through every part of me.
In that simple act, she reminds me there’s strength in being a couple.
A couple who supports each other through thick and thin.
Adversity and good times. Through hardship and prosperity.
She’s always been my reason for wanting to be a better man.
A better man for her and for our family.
I lost sight of that for a while, thinking money was more important than showing up and being available and engaged with the people I love the most. I refuse to let her or our kids down as we navigate this new normal for our family.
We sit in silence for hours. Interrupted occasionally by nurses who come and go to check on Murphy. It’s a waiting game. He’s under heavy sedation with pain medication, and as much as I want to see him open his eyes, the deep sleep he’s under is important for his recovery.
When darkness falls outside Murphy’s hospital window, I stand.
My muscles and joints creak from the lack of movement—sitting in the same position all day has made me stiff.
I stretch my arms above my head and tilt my head from side to side, almost pressing my ears to my shoulders.
Walking around the bed, I stand behind Abbi and gently brush her hair over her shoulder before leaning down to kiss the soft skin beneath her ear.
“C’mon, Abs. We need something to eat, a shower, and some sleep. We’ll come back first thing in the morning,” I murmur, then press another kiss to the same spot.
She blows out a long breath, tilting her head from side to side like I did. “I don’t want to leave him.”
“I know. I don’t either, but we won’t be any good to him if we’re dead on our feet when he finally wakes.
” I take her hands in mine and pull her to her feet, then wrap her in my arms. “You’re almost falling asleep.
You need to rest, and the nurse said they don’t expect him to wake overnight.
I’ll give them my number so they can call if anything changes. ”
She nods against my chest, but I feel her reluctance to leave. After a tearful goodbye, I tuck Abbi into my side, and we make our way across to our hotel.
She collapses on the bed before I close the door to our room. I order room service, then start the shower, and finally collect Abbi to carry her into the bathroom.
“I just want to sleep,” she grumbles.
She says that, but I know her, and I know she’ll be annoyed if she doesn’t shower. I kiss her forehead as I place her on her feet. “I know. I’ll do all the work.”
With quick, efficient movements, I remove Abbi’s clothes and mine, then guide her into the shower.
She leans her weight against me, and I welcome the contact of her flesh against mine.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen my wife naked, and even longer since I’ve had the privilege of skin on skin contact.
Completely my fault.
I soap up her body, trying to keep my touch clinical, but my dick hasn’t gotten the memo, and neither have Abbi’s pretty pink nipples. They’re drawn tight into peaks—despite the warm water—begging to be kissed. To be sucked. Pinched. Bitten.
More blood flows south.
She adjusts her position, and all it does is rub her beautiful ass against my growing cock and drag a grunt from me.
She does it again, and I know Abbi well enough to know she moved deliberately the second time.
It takes every drop of willpower I have to pull my hips away, but she doesn’t take the hint.
Arching her back, her plump ass rubs against my aching cock again, and a raw groan rumbles up my throat.
I dig my fingers into her hips to still her. “Abs,” I grumble, my voice like gravel. “You’re tired … we’re both exhausted, hungry, emotional.”
Her shoulders curl inward and her body sags, her head dropping forward.
I watch her fold inwards, become small, and I despise myself for making her feel as if she needs to take up less space.
I turn her around in my arms, our soapy skin sliding easily, and press every inch of my body against every inch of hers, flattening her breasts against my chest and my cock against her stomach.
With one arm wound around her waist, I hold her tight as I use my free hand to tip her chin up so I can see her beautiful eyes.
I press my lips to hers with a feather-light touch. “What do you need, Abbi?”
She blinks, long and slow, then swipes her tongue across her lips. “I just need to be close to you.”
“I’m not going anywhere. We’re here together … for as long as it takes.” I promise, then seal my words with a tender kiss. With the hot water pelting down on us, and my hand wrapped in her wet hair, I kiss my wife slowly, deeply, ensuring she tastes the promises I intend to keep.
She matches me, lick for lick, stroke for stroke, taste for taste.
Her desperation for connection ratchets up my own through every shared breath and soft sigh.
She’s so soft and pliable in this moment, and it would be easy to forget all the hurt I’ve caused her and take what she’s offering me, but I promised myself that I would earn the privilege of making love to my wife.
And I don’t feel as if I’ve done that … yet.
I pull away before we get to the point of no return.
Abbi grumbles as her eyelids flutter open, exposing pupils blown wide, leaving minimal traces of the warm brown I love so much.
I scan my eyes over her face, noting the puffiness of her lips, down her throat and the rapid pulse beneath her jaw, and further still to the exaggerated rise and fall of her breasts.
I follow the curve of her face with my knuckles, luxuriating in the softness of her skin, and she smiles softly.
I lean in and press a chaste kiss to her lips, then return her smile.
In this quiet moment, our connection feels strong, unbreakable, but I know how fragile we really are.
One wrong move, a thoughtless word, or dismissive response could shatter the precarious progress we’ve made.
And I don’t want to do that. I’ve worked too hard over the past months to give my wife what she needs to feel valued in our marriage.