Chapter 4
Four
Colt
Sleep comes easy, just not for long periods of time.
Nightmares are part of it. Discomfort is the rest.
Aside from the normal beatings, which were almost daily, there was a new guard toward the end and he hated me. Hated all Americans, really. Wanted me dead. And did his level best to make it happen without being too obvious.
My broken sternum and bruised kidney can attest to that.
When Igor finally got me out, he had to take me to a tiny hospital in Alaska until my superiors could bring me to D.C. for better care and debriefing.
I barely remember those first few days when I’m awake.
But in my dreams, it’s all pretty vivid.
Gunshots ringing out when we finally got through the gate.
The bitter cold.
And the pain.
So much goddamn pain.
The now familiar stitch in my side screams for mercy as I drag myself to the bathroom.
I take care of business and then wash up, resting my hands on the cabinet so I can rest before making that walk back into the main room. Then I look in the mirror. Big mistake.
Who the fuck is this ugly bastard staring back at me?
Hair too long, bruises all over my face, and a bump on my nose that will require surgery to fix, they broke it that many times.
Fuck.
I’m desperate for a shower but don’t think I can manage it now.
It’s a good thing, too, because I’ve just gotten back in bed when there’s a knock on the door and Briar steps in.
She looks almost as bad as I do. Okay, not really, but the dark circles under her eyes weren’t there two days ago, and her expression is shrouded—like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. And I hate myself a little knowing it’s because of me.
Stepping out of the shadows like I did probably wasn’t the best move, but I wasn’t brave enough—or physically strong enough—to get into the Sapphire Room.
I followed Banks first because he was the easiest to find.
Badass hockey player living in a big house—with a wife or live-in girlfriend and… a baby.
Watching him carrying in that car seat was jarring—because in my mind it’s still five years ago. My life is picking up where it left off. The hard part is going to be understanding that everyone else’s moved on.
This isn’t the time to think about all that.
“When was the last time you slept?” I demand, forcing myself into a sitting position.
She knits her brows together, giving me a pointed look. “Don’t worry about me. You’re the one who’s hurt—are you bleeding again? Where are you bleeding? Sit up, let me see.”
I didn’t even notice the blood on the sheets and try to twist to get a look at the bandage from my kidney surgery, but it hurts too much.
“I said, let me see.” Firm fingers on my shoulder, holding me upright as she checks the wound. “This is opening, Colt. What have you been doing?”
“I thrash in my sleep,” I admit. “Nightmares and shit. They wake me up.”
Her eyes find mine worriedly. “Do you need—”
“What I need is to see Dash and the others, explain and—”
“You’re in no position to see anyone. They’re going to kick your ass when they find out you’re alive.” Her hands are on her hips now. “The best thing for you would be to come home with me.”
“You, uh, live on your own?” I’m almost afraid to ask.
She scowls. “What kind of question is that? I’m not in college anymore. I have a job, responsibilities, a life. There have been a lot of changes since you’ve been gone… things you don’t know.”
That stings a little, but I nod. “Then tell me.”
“We will, but first we have to come up with a plan to break the news to the boys because this is going to hit everyone hard. And somewhere in there, you’re going to have to tell me how you came to be at the cemetery when I was there.
” Big green eyes burn with intensity and curiosity, and probably a touch of annoyance.
“I was following you,” I say blandly. “How else?”
It’s almost comical, the way I can see how much restraint it requires for her not to lose her temper.
That’s my girl, the fiery redhead I fell in love with. Long before I was willing to give those feelings a name.
“Let’s pack up your stuff.” She looks around. “Is this all you have?”
“My entire life reduced to one duffel,” I admit with a lopsided grin. “It makes packing and moving a cinch.”
She purses her lips. “It’s not funny, Colt.”
I sigh. “I know, baby. But all I can do is crack a few jokes and try my best not to dwell on the last four years.”
Her expression softens but she quickly turns away, pulling clothes out for me. “Sweats, okay? I think those will be easiest for you.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” I’d like to say I yanked them on and dressed myself, but the bleeding must be indicative of an infection or something because I’m weaker than I was a couple of days ago. So, standing up to put on my damn pants is apparently beyond the realm of my current capabilities.
“You need help.” It’s not a question, really.
My girl kneels in front of me, gently putting my feet into the sweat pants, lifting them to my knees, and then offering me her shoulder as I stand so she can support me as I pull them up.
This isn’t how I pictured our reunion.
And it pisses me off.
“Thanks,” I say quietly, at least managing to pull a T-shirt over my head.
“Do you have things in the bathroom?”
“Just a toothbrush, toothpaste, and deodorant.”
“Let me grab those.”
She bustles around doing everything except looking at me, and I desperately want to ask what she’s thinking. Feeling. She’s upset with me, and I can’t blame her. But how will we get past this if we don’t talk?
“Briar, I want to tell you—”
“Not now.” She shakes her head, still not looking at me. “Please. Let me get you settled at the house and then see if we need to call in a doctor. Or take you to the E.R.”
“I’ll be okay,” I say. “I pulled something when I was in Nashville and—”
“You were in Nashville?” She frowns.
“I thought maybe I’d talk to Atlas first.” This time I’m the one who looks away.
“I chickened out. And also, I didn’t realize it was a big, public funeral.
I didn’t want to do anything to interrupt that.
It’s a good thing, too, because I did rip out my stitches getting there, so I was back in the E.R.
for a few days before I could fly to L.A. ”
A million emotions cross her face in that moment but then she just picks up my bag.
“Let me put these in the car. I’ll be right back.”
I hate feeling helpless. Nervous. Unsure of myself.
This isn’t what I want but I keep reminding myself that it’s been five long years since Briar saw me.
She thought I was dead. That’s the part that really guts me.
What we shared right before I left goes a lot deeper than her virginity.
That was the beautiful, meaningful cherry—no pun intended—on top of the sundae that represented the future we talked about.
I had to get through training. That much I told her. Then I would talk to Dash.
Well, I didn’t tell her that.
We spent two days loving and dreaming and planning.
She’d work for a year while I figured out the next phase of my career. Then I’d come home and ask her to marry me.
I stupidly didn’t tell her that either.
Instead, I wrote letters.
Letters she never got.
Mother. Fucker.
I get pissed off all over again when I think about the sheer arrogance of my superiors—making life-changing decisions without telling me.
It’s easier, they told me during my debriefing. To let go of everything in your past. And so that there’s no one they can use to manipulate you. No one they can torture you to get information about.
What they didn’t understand is that I would have—and almost did—die before I told them about Briar or the boys. There was nothing they could do to me to get me to give up the only family I have.
The family—and woman—I may have lost now thanks to those damn decisions.
Some were my own, but the rest was all them.
And something scarier than the worst torture I endured?
Not knowing if I can fix this.