Chapter 33 #2
Instead, his father released his hold on his shirt and placed both hands on his shoulders. His father had never been an affectionate man. He wasn't cold, but affection in the Bradford family had always been shown through actions rather than words.
"Maybe it's all my fault."
It was the first time in his life he had ever heard helplessness in his father's voice.
"I've never been a man who showed much emotion. I kept everything to myself because I thought showing emotion was a sign of weakness. You learned from me that a man should endure everything in silence. I didn't realize I was teaching you to isolate yourself."
"I once lost your mother too because of my foolishness and pride." His father confessed, the corners of his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I was too stubborn to admit I was wrong, convinced she would eventually come back because she loved me."
"Hell, I was wrong."
To hear those words from a prideful man who had never once admitted defeat left Clayton momentarily speechless.
His father let out a humorless laugh, one filled with more regret than amusement.
"By the time I realized she wasn't coming back, I would have done anything to bring her home. I would have crawled across burning coals if that was what it took. I don't want you to spend your life regretting the chances you were too afraid to take."
His father gave his shoulder one final squeeze.
“You’re the man who doesn’t easily give up, Clayton. You’ve risked your life to save complete strangers. So why are you surrendering without fighting for the woman you love?”
Finally, Grey let his hand fall back to his side.
He turned toward his wife and gave a quiet gesture that it was time for them to leave.
“We'll be going…. Maybe we'll come back when you're heads clear and you're sober.” His mother whispered and laid a gentle kiss on his cheek.
She then stepped beside her husband and gently slipped her arm through his and together they walked to the doorway. Just before stepping outside, she looked back one last time.
"Don't spend the rest of your life wishing you'd done something when you still had the chance."
Then they were gone. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving a silence so profound it seemed to swallow the room. Clayton remained where he stood, his parents' words etched into his mind.
Perhaps the greatest battles of his life had never been fought on a battlefield at all. The hardest one was only beginning.
-
The sky beyond the window had begun to brighten, a restrained amber glow slowly pushing back the last traces of night. Thin ribbons of light slipped through the curtains and stretched across the polished floor.
Clayton opened his eyes before the alarm beside his bed had a chance to ring. His head was clearer than it had been in days.
He slowly sat up, eyes surveying the messy bedroom. His shirt from the previous night lay crumpled on the floor. An empty bottle of whiskey from two days ago lay on its side on the nightstand.
He pushed himself out of bed and walked into the bathroom. The mirror greeted him with a stranger. Dark circles had settled beneath bloodshot eyes. Thick stubble covered his jaw, making him look several years older than he actually was.
He remembered what his mother had said the night before. "Look at you... I don't even recognize you anymore."
Neither did he.
He turned on the shower. A few minutes later, hot water poured over his shoulders, washing away the lingering scent of whiskey that seemed to have seeped into his skin over the past several days.
After a quick shower, he stepped out and reached for the razor beside the sink. He drew it slowly across the stubble on his jaw. By the time he rinsed the last of the shaving cream from his face, the exhausted man in the mirror had begun to resemble General Clayton Bradford once more.
He dressed in his familiar uniform before walking downstairs. No servant bustled around preparing coffee. Three days earlier, he had dismissed the only servant in the house because he wanted privacy.
A box of black trash bags sat inside one of the kitchen cabinets.
On impulse, he pulled one out and started cleaning.
The first empty whiskey bottle stood beside the television.
More were scattered throughout the house, and by the time he finished collecting them all, he realized he couldn't honestly remember emptying half of them.
He snatched his keys from the hook, slung the trash bag over one shoulder, and carried it out to the curb where the waste collection truck would pass later that morning. He set the bag down neatly beside the others.
He climbed into his car, turned the key, and eased out of the driveway. Golden morning light washed across the windshield as he drove to work.
At the headquarters office, his superior greeted him with a stern expression the moment he stepped inside. The look alone made it clear he wasn't pleased with Clayton's long absence.
"General Bradford. Three days, wasn't it? Three days without a word. Every operation and decision requiring your approval has been waiting for you. You know how rare that is."
"I know, sir. I have no excuse." He replied, already accepting that he might lose everything he had spent his life building.
Silence settled between them.
His superior let out a quiet sigh before speaking again. "Normally, this would end your career. But we will not punish the man we know for the actions of the man we don't."
Clayton blinked, almost imperceptibly. "Sir?"
"You will report to command counseling once a week for the next two months. Your discretionary leave privileges are suspended for ninety days. And finally, you will personally oversee every pending review and backlog you left behind until every last item has been cleared."
It was a lighter sentence than he deserved, far lighter than military regulations would have allowed for anyone else.
"We are giving you this chance so you can remember why you put on that uniform in the first place. Do not make us regret it."
He let out a relieved sigh. "I won't, Sir."
"And one more thing. Be mindful of your actions. Every eye is on you. One reckless decision can tarnish not only your reputation but also the rank you've worked so hard to earn."
"Understood, Sir." He snapped to attention and rendered a crisp salute.
His superior returned it.
"Dismissed."
"Yes, Sir."
Clayton turned sharply on his heel and walked out of the office.
He stepped into his own. The room looked exactly as he had left it, but his desk looked as though it had become a battlefield.
Neatly stacked folders had multiplied into towering piles. Fresh reports covered nearly every inch of the polished surface. Several binders marked with colored tabs that signaled different levels of priority waited on the side.
He'd been gone for only three days. Yet in a military headquarters that never truly slept, three days was enough for unfinished work to grow into a mountain.
Clayton took his seat.
He reached for the first folder. Like a commander returning to a battlefield after an unexpected retreat, he tackled the reports one by one.
Hours slipped by, and before he realized it, it was well past lunch. The towering stacks that had greeted him that morning had been reduced by a noticeable amount.
Rolling his stiff shoulders, he rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at the time. Since he'd reported for duty earlier than scheduled, he was entitled to a two-hour lunch break.
Clayton walked out of headquarters and climbed into his car.
Traffic crawled through the city streets.
When it finally eased, he found himself taking the familiar route to the hospital. His destination had been decided long before he left headquarters.
Several blocks away from the hospital, he pulled into a small florist he had passed countless times while driving to work.
The little bell above the entrance chimed as he stepped inside.
Rows upon rows of flowers stretched before him in every imaginable color. His gaze wandered over them before settling on a bouquet of fresh white roses. Out of all the flowers in the shop, he chose them because he knew they were Olivia's favorite.
The florist trimmed the stems before wrapping them in elegant ivory paper tied with a satin ribbon.
Clayton accepted them gently then returned to his car.
Five minutes later, he arrived at his destination.
The hospital was as busy as ever, with patients and staff hurrying through the double doors.