Chapter 5 Holt #2
Just then, the doctor walked in. “Hello, everyone,” he greeted them.
“Hello, Director Dillinger. Welcome back. You’ll be pleased to know that we got the bullets out and managed to stitch you up.
You were very lucky that the bullets didn’t hit anything serious.
The one in your chest was very close to your heart. ”
She heard his mother gasp, but Holt kept his eyes on the doctor. “How long will I have to be in here?” he asked. “And when can I get back to work?”
“Not so fast, Director Dillinger,” the doctor said, scanning the tablet. The nurse, who had just checked all of Holt’s vital signs, gave him. “If all goes well, you’ll be out of here in four to five days.”
“That’s not too bad,” Holt said. “And can I go straight back to work?”
“No!” The doctor’s voice brooked no argument. “I’m afraid I can’t let you go straight back to work. I’m recommending a leave of absence for at least five to six weeks.”
“What?” Holt bellowed and instantly regretted it. He felt like a white-hot bolt of lightning struck him in the brain.
“That’s one of the reasons why,” the doctor pointed out. “Your head injury is quite severe.”
“You know what you could do, Dad?” his son suggested. “You could come visit with your grandson and me for six weeks. I know he’d love to see you for the summer.”
“That is a brilliant idea,” Holt’s mother agreed. “I’ll be there too and it will be nice to have the family all together for a summer vacation and not just a few days over Christmas for a change.”
“I don’t know,” Holt said, starting to feel drained, and his head was pounding. “I have so much wor…”
“I’ve already said you can’t work for at least five to six weeks, Director Dillinger,” the doctor reminded him.
“I suggest you take your son up on his offer, or we’ll just keep you here.
” He gave Holt a smug smile. “The choice is yours.” He checked his watch, handed the tablet back to the nurse, and gave her some orders.
“I’ll be back tomorrow.” He said goodbye to Holt’s mother and son before leaving the room.
“So that’s settled then,” Holt’s mother said. “We’re all going to …”
Her voice started to fade as a warmth spread through him, blotting out the pain in his head and other parts of his body.
The effort of staying awake and holding a conversation was more exhausting than Holt had anticipated.
His eyelids felt heavy, and he could feel his body trying to pull him back into sleep.
But there was something nagging at him, some detail from his dreams that felt important.
“Oh, I have to take this call,” Holt managed to make out his mother saying before she kissed his cheek. “I’ll be right here, love.” She turned and left.
“Dad,” his son said, his brow furrowed with concern. “Before you go to sleep. Who is June?”
The question hit Holt like a cold splash of water. “June?” he repeated, stalling for time while his foggy mind spun. “Why do you ask?” He managed to slur out the words as his body grew weaker and weaker.
“You were calling out her name when I came into your room,” his son explained. “It sounded like you were having an argument with someone, but there was no one here except the medical staff.”
Holt was quiet for a long moment, fighting off the waves of exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm him. How could he explain June to his son? How could he describe a marriage that had lasted less than four years but had shaped the rest of his life?
His son knew that Holt had been married before Lillian, but they’d never discussed the details. It was easier to let people assume that his first marriage had been a typical young romance that had simply run its course. The truth was more complicated and infinitely more painful.
“Just someone I used to know,” Holt finally said, the words feeling inadequate, but all he could manage in his current state.
He could see that his son wanted to ask more questions, but exhaustion was winning the battle against consciousness. Holt’s eyes drifted closed despite his efforts to stay awake, and he felt himself sinking back into the medicated haze that had claimed him earlier.
As sleep took him again, his dreams were once more filled with images from his past. But this time, instead of the warehouse and Marcus Volkov, he found himself remembering quieter moments.
June laughing at something he’d said over dinner in their tiny Cambridge apartment.
June studying at their kitchen table, law books spread around her like armor against the world.
June sleeping curled up beside him, her dark hair spread across the pillow.
He remembered the day she’d told him about the job offer in Miami, how excited she’d been about the chance to reclaim her family’s legacy. He remembered his own excitement about the FBI acceptance, the feeling that everything was finally falling into place for both of them.
And he remembered the terrible moment when they’d realized that their dreams were pulling them in opposite directions, that choosing their careers meant choosing against each other.
In his medicated sleep, Holt found himself wondering what would have happened if they’d made different choices.
If he’d turned down Virginia and stayed in Florida with June.
If she’d been willing to give up Miami and follow him to Quantico.
If they’d found some middle ground that honored both of their ambitions.
But those were questions without answers, roads not taken that led to lives unlived. The reality was that they’d both been too young and too proud to compromise, too focused on their individual goals to see that love sometimes required sacrifice.
Holt had spent his career profiling criminals, understanding the motivations and triggers that led people to make devastating choices.
But he’d never been able to profile himself, never been able to understand why he’d let the best thing in his life walk away rather than admit that maybe his father’s death didn’t have to define everything he became.
Now, lying in a hospital bed after finally achieving the justice he’d spent forty-six years pursuing, Holt couldn’t escape the feeling that he’d won the wrong battle.
Marcus Volkov was dead, the Volkov organization was dismantled, and a dozen other crimes would never be committed because of the operation.
But what did any of that matter if he’d sacrificed his family, his happiness, and his chance at a different kind of life?
The irony wasn’t lost on him. He’d dedicated his career to understanding the psychology of loss and trauma, helping other people heal from violence and tragedy.
But he’d never learned how to heal from his own wounds, never figured out how to move beyond the fifteen-year-old boy who’d sworn vengeance over his father’s grave.
As the hours passed and the morphine did its work, Holt’s dreams became more fragmented but no less vivid.
He saw flashes of the life he might have lived with June, children they might have had, quiet moments stolen between their demanding careers.
He saw himself growing old beside someone who understood him completely, someone who’d loved him before he became the Director of the BAU, before he became defined by his pursuit of justice.
But dreams were just that, dreams. The reality was that June had moved on, built a successful career, and probably a happy life without him.
She’d remarried, had children, and become everything she’d always wanted to be.
And he’d become everything he’d thought he wanted to be, only to discover that professional success felt hollow when there was no one to share it with.
When Holt woke again, the room was darker, and his son was no longer beside the bed. A different nurse was checking his monitors, this one younger and more energetic than the woman from earlier.
“Good evening, Mr. Dillinger,” she said cheerfully. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been hit by a truck,” Holt admitted.
“That’s normal after what you’ve been through. But you’re healing nicely.” She smiled warmly at him.
Holt nodded, accepting the inevitable. He’d been through enough medical emergencies to know that brain injuries were nothing to take lightly, and rushing back to work would only set back his recovery.
“Where’s my son and my mother?” he asked.
“They went to get some coffee and should be back any minute,” she told him.
As the nurse finished her checks and left him alone again, Holt found himself staring at the ceiling and thinking about the choices that had brought him to this moment.
Forty-six years of single-minded pursuit, countless criminals brought to justice, and a reputation as one of the FBI’s most effective directors.
And yet, lying here in this sterile hospital room, all he could think about was a conversation that had never happened with a woman he’d lost nearly four decades ago.
Holt wondered where she was now. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit to having checked up on her.
He’d found she’d remarried, had a child, and gotten her father’s law firm back.
A flash of pride hit him. Holt had never doubted she’d do it.
He thought about maybe looking her up before he left Miami, but before he could entertain that idea, the door to his room opened, and his son and mother entered.
Holt pushed the idea aside, dumping it in his pile of bad ideas before turning to his mother and son, although the thought and image of June stuck in his brain.
While a weird feeling that she was close by filtered through him.
Holt shook it off and put it down to him being in Miami.
Since he’d arrived here, June had been on his mind.
Which was only natural, as this was her town.
But still, as he’d come awake, he’d felt it.
Like his dream had followed him into reality, and she was right down the hall from him. Stop it, man, Holt admonished himself.
The door to his room flew open.
“Sister, we need you in the emergency room,” another young nurse said. “Sorry, Director Dillinger.”
Holt gave her a weak smile, and the feeling hit him again, a lot stronger this time. And again he shook it and put it down to his being in Miami and knowing June lived here.