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Like Saco last night, all that was going through my head was the definition of the warrior ethos from The Soldier’s Creed. “I will never quit,” is followed immediately by, “I will never leave a fallen comrade.” Those words went much deeper than the obvious, and right now, Saco was struggling. We needed to be there for him.
Pulling up outside Hudson’s building, I kept my car running and ran up the stairs to his apartment. I started banging on the door immediately, and didn’t stop until it opened.
I tried to dodge the flying fist too late and stumbled back as my hand went to my jaw.
“What do you want, you piece of shit?” he growled, and the look on his face was clear. He wanted to murder me.
“I know you’re pissed, I know. I’ll talk to you about that, but right now we need to buy tickets and get to Oregon.”
He hadn’t been expecting that, and his anger faded to confusion as his head jerked back. “Oregon? What—why?”
“Saco didn’t call you?”
Hudson stepped back and let me in, and I ran over to the kitchen table where his laptop was open and sat down. Goddamn, my jaw fucking hurt.
“I talked to him yesterday . . . what the fuck are you doing? I don’t want you in here, and I sure as shit don’t want you on my damn laptop. You ruined my little sister.”
I slammed my hand down on the table and stood back up. “I know that, Hudson. I. Fucking. Know. I made the biggest mistake of my life yesterday, but right now Saco needs us. He got in a wreck this morning with his son. Dude, Tate died. Saco’s so fucked up right now.”
“Shit,” he whispered, and pressed his fists onto the table, dropping his head. “You’re lying, right?”
“I wish I was.”
Straightening, he ran his hands over his face, and stood there staring at nothing for a few minutes before responding. “All right. Get us the first flight out of here, do you want my card?”
“No, I got it.”
“I’m gonna pack and call Erica, she’s at work right now.” He’d turned to head to his room, and turned right back around with a finger pointed at me. “This doesn’t change shit between us, you get me?”
I didn’t respond. I knew this wouldn’t change anything, and there was no point in responding to him. No matter what I said right now, we would end up fighting about it . . . and this wasn’t the time.
Chapter Twelve
Coen—November 5, 2010
HUDSON AND I stood back behind Saco for almost an hour after everyone had left the cemetery. The service had been short, and painfully heartbreaking, but nothing could compare as we watched the world’s smallest coffin be lowered into the ground.
There was nothing like it. No words to describe it.
Olivia screaming that Brody was a murderer had only served to have her hauled off by her father, and to have Brody collapse on himself as grief consumed him.
Never in my life had I wanted to hit a woman until that moment.
Stepping forward, I put a hand on Saco’s shoulder, and waited to see if he would respond. He didn’t. He stood there, still as stone, staring at the fresh mound of dirt.
“This wasn’t your fault,” I told him a few minutes later. “There’s nothing you could have—”
“Don’t let them go,” Saco mumbled. “They could be gone tomorrow. Be with them, enjoy them, love them while they’re here.”
I nodded but didn’t respond. I didn’t want to talk about Reagan and Parker with him now, not when we were staring at his son’s grave. I didn’t want to talk about what I’d thrown away, and was trying so hard to get back, when the person he loved most in the world was gone.
Instead, I took a step back, knowing he wasn’t ready to leave this place yet. Glancing at Hudson, he gave me a look and I nodded. We’d have to take Saco from here soon, or he’d drive himself crazy. He needed to keep grieving, but he needed to do it away from where he looked like he was about to lie down and never leave.
I’d called Reagan at least a dozen times a day every day since I’d shown up at Hudson’s place, but she’d never once picked up. Hudson had even let me use his phone, but she’d hung up the second she heard my voice. And every time, I felt like I was closer and closer to losing them for good.
After I told Hudson about the call from Saco and the story about my client’s relationship, and how those conversations had started the worries and insecurities that had snowballed out of control into what went down in Reagan’s apartment, he’d understood. He’d punched me again the second we got out of the airport in Oregon, but he’d understood. He knew I’d made a mistake, and he knew I’d do anything to get them back. But there was only so much I could do while I was a couple states away, and right now, Hudson and I needed to be there for our brother.
Reagan—November 7, 2010
