Chapter 3
Present Day
Brick sat on the deck of his cabin in the mountains of New Mexico as he sipped his mug of black coffee. A memory of Bones rattling around in his head, repeating his favorite quote about coffee. “It ain’t worth drinkin’ if it’s not black.”
The memories of his lost teammates came just a little less frequently these days, and when they did, they were welcome more often than not. Brick didn’t want to forget the men he fought with. They were worth remembering.
It had been a hard four years since they’d died. He’d been honorably discharged from the Navy, had endured several surgeries to put the bones in his face back in their proper places. It had been far more difficult to put his mind back together. The PTSD had been relentless.
It was after a long talk with his therapist, when he finally accepted he wasn’t the only one suffering repercussions because of the shit he’d been through in the military, that he’d hit on the idea of creating a place where people could go to get away from their worst memories.
He’d spent quite a few weeks camping after his discharge, trying to come to terms with his new reality, and it had helped tremendously. He figured if it helped him, maybe it would do the same for others.
So with Tex’s help, he’d reached out to some men he’d met after he’d been discharged. Men who were going through the same thing he was, mentally. Struggling to find their place in the world without the military to fall back on.
Tex was a friend who had his finger on the pulse of the men and women who put their lives on the line for their country.
He was a former SEAL, one who’d lost his leg—and dedicated every day since to watching over others.
He’d even found the parcel of land for sale here in New Mexico, and Brick and the six others had met and camped out for several days, getting to know each other, talking about their visions for what they hoped to accomplish.
By the time they went their separate ways, The Refuge had been born. It was a labor of love…and they’d made it work.
Tiny was the only other SEAL in the group. He was six feet tall and all muscle. He had a pretty face, more than one guest claiming he looked like the lead male actor in that eighties movie, Sixteen Candles. The others laughed their heads off every time, much to Tiny’s chagrin.
Tonka had been a member of the Coast Guard Deployable Specialized Forces.
He was most at home working with the animals.
Spike had been a Delta Force operative, Pipe was SAS—the British equivalent of a Navy SEAL—and Owl and Stone, who rounded out their group, had been Night Stalkers…
the Army’s legendary helicopter pilots. The latter pair had worked together, been POWs together when their choppers had gone down in enemy territory, and were now doing what they could to move on with their lives.
The Refuge sat on a few hundred acres near Los Alamos.
The townspeople had been overjoyed when they’d bought the land, because the other interested party had been a developer who most certainly would’ve put in a subdivision with hundreds of houses.
The Refuge had started out with a few yurts, and now had most of the things a luxury resort offered.
Though the owners frequently referred to it as a “camp,” since the majority of the mountainous acreage remained intact.
The main lodge was the hub of the property.
There were comfortable couches in the lobby, where people could congregate and visit informally.
The dining area was large enough to accommodate most guests at one time, and there were smaller rooms for therapy sessions and more intimate gatherings.
The Refuge employed a chef, but meals were always laid-back and buffet style.
Guests were welcome to visit the huge kitchen anytime for snacks, to gather what they needed for hikes or picnics, and even to bake, if that was what helped calm their PTSD.
There were a dozen cabins scattered around the lodge. They ranged from one-bedroom studios to three-bedroom suites. Each had a bathroom and shower, as well as a fridge and microwave. Housekeeping was offered every couple days to guests who wanted it.
A therapist came in three times a week to meet free-of-charge with guests who wanted to talk.
They had a barn with horses, a cow, and goats.
Cats roamed the property…and of course, Brick had Mutt.
He’d found the injured stray not too long after he and the others had moved to the area to oversee construction.
He was some sort of terrier-hound mix. His legs were long and gangly, he’d had an awful case of mange, but worst of all, his front left leg was completely mangled.
The vet had no idea what had happened, but guessed he’d been in a fight with a wild animal and lost.
Brick hadn’t wanted a dog. At the time, he was busy with all the paperwork and legal stuff that had to be done to get The Refuge up and running.
But he couldn’t resist Mutt. In the end, adopting him had turned out to be one of the best things he’d ever done.
Only having three legs didn’t slow the dog in the least. And late at night, when Brick couldn’t sleep, having Mutt nearby kept him from sinking into a deep depression.
All in all, Brick was satisfied with his life.
The Refuge had immediately proved to be a huge success, and it felt good to aid others.
He and his friends had opened three years ago with the intention of helping military veterans, but quickly realized PTSD manifested itself in traumas of all kinds.
Now they hosted women who’d escaped from abusive relationships, employees who’d survived workplace violence, even those who were struggling to recover from chemical dependency.
The Refuge was a place people could find the peace and quiet they needed to continue their healing journey. Being here wouldn’t cure anyone of their demons…but it was a place where they could shove those demons aside for a short while and just breathe.
Taking another sip of his coffee, Brick reached down and gave Mutt a pet.
He was curled up in his usual spot, a pile of blankets on the deck next to him.
He’d bought an expensive dog bed, but Mutt’s preference was simple blankets or towels.
Brick figured it was a throwback to his time on the streets.
As he lazily stroked Mutt, Brick allowed more memories of his battle buddies to surface.
Vader and the others would’ve loved this place.
It was as far removed from what they’d done as could be.
His friends’ families had open invitations to visit whenever they wanted—for free.
The same went for the families of the men and women his co-owners had worked with.
The Refuge, and New Mexico in general, was peaceful…less populated than most of the states. Being in the middle of nowhere meant they didn’t usually get random visitors. If someone came to The Refuge, it was intentional. No one accidentally stumbled upon them.
Which is how Brick and the others wanted it.
A quiet and safe place where people could come to recenter themselves.
To clear their minds. Get a break from all the noise in the world.
They had Wi-Fi, of course, and cell phone reception was decent around the main property, but guests were encouraged to disconnect if they could.
Closing his eyes, Brick could admit he was pretty content. His life had taken a one-eighty-degree turn after he’d gotten hurt and lost his teammates. And while he’d had to work damn hard to get to where he was now, he was satisfied.
A part of him, deep down, mourned the fact he didn’t have anyone with whom to share his life.
He’d always figured he had plenty of time to get married, have kids, and settle down.
He’d been so busy with his military career, everything else had taken a backseat.
And now, while he was satisfied with helping others, he recognized that he was lonely.
He’d just turned forty, and while he knew it wasn’t too late to fall in love, reality was, he simply didn’t meet many single women. And those who visited The Refuge certainly weren’t ready for relationships.
He’d recently had a long talk with Tiny about the subject. His friend was five years younger but felt much the same. Going into Los Alamos to the bars was always an option, but the small town wasn’t exactly a hub of single women.
Inevitably, Brick’s thoughts turned to the one woman who’d been on his mind frequently in the last four years.
When Alaska Stein had shown up at his bedside in Germany, claiming to be his fiancée, he’d been utterly shocked.
Yes, he’d emailed her now and then the few years prior, and his mom had never really lost touch with her, updating Brick with the little she knew—she’d been only slightly less successful at sharing details with his mother.
Those emails aside, he wouldn’t have classified them as close friends any longer. Not since he’d left for the Navy.
But after Germany, that had changed. They emailed constantly, and sent messages over social media almost as frequently.
He’d quickly learned that she traveled around Europe far more frequently than he’d imagined.
She’d take a secretarial job, stay a couple years, then move on.
She’d lived in more places in the last couple decades than most people visited in a lifetime.
Brick eagerly checked his messages every morning, hoping for a note from her.
She made him smile just as often as she made him worry.
Being a single woman in a foreign country wasn’t dangerous, per se…
but it wasn’t exactly safe either. And Brick knew better than anyone how simply being American could make her a target for those who weren’t happy with the United States’ foreign policies.