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Her husband and daughter crowded onto the bed with her as they’d shown Rebecca the video of Kelsey crossing that stage, being handed her diploma—with honors.
Max would never forget Rebecca’s face at that moment. It was a face that said one thing above all else.
Relief.
As if that milestone meant that Rebecca could finally let go, too. That she was now ready for what came after this life.
And that was the worst part for Max. Because he was a believer, and his best friend was not. He never begrudged him that, and it was never a problem—before or since. People believed what they believed. Or not.
But he wished Mitchell could have had that comfort, at the end, when his wife died.
Rebecca passed away two weeks after Kelsey’s graduation.
In all the days that Max had spent in the military, in country, he’d never once cried. Period. But the day he watched his best friend say goodbye to his wife, his sobbing daughter in his arms… Max had never felt so helpless, so hollowed out.
The next few weeks were very, very hard. First, there was the funeral, which was simple and private. Just as Rebecca wanted it to be.
Then came the attempt to make sense of the senseless, to come to terms with the fact that a person who had been there, for many years was now gone. Of all the horrible things about death, the senselessness of it was what always bothered Max the most. There was an exquisite illogic to death. How was it possible that a human being with that indelible, brilliant, sparkling life force suddenly just… vanished from the earth? It didn’t make sense in country, and it sure as fuck didn’t make sense then.
Mitchell tried his best to keep it together, for Kelsey’s sake. Surprisingly, Kelsey had seemed to take Rebecca’s death much more in her stride than Mitchell. Perhaps it was by virtue of her, like her mother, being a believer, too. But for whatever reason, Kelsey… she did okay.
But there were some very dark weeks for Mitchell, times where he was almost catatonic, episodes of anger, then despair, then simply utter, frustrated confusion.
Max was there for all of it, making sure they got fed, being the shoulder for them to cry on. They both cried so very much.
And yet Max never could, knowing that they needed him to be steady, reliable, to be that safe harbor where they could lay everything down. Where they could be weak, sad, and despairing. Where no one would judge them.
Least of all him.
For during the entire awful episode, of helping them find normal life once more, despite the smoking, aching crater in their existence left by the departure of a woman so special to both of them, all Max could think about was how much he wanted to fix things for them. To make it better.
And then one day, it was better. At least a little. Then there were more good days than bad. His best friend was back, and Kelsey was laughing, and even if life would never be the same for any of them ever again, it would finally go on.
Though Max never did cry, he was never so grateful as he was when he knew he could be there for his best friend and his best friend’s daughter.
Chapter 28
In any normal situation, he would have been more than a little irritated at being talked about as if he weren’t in the room.
But as he lay there in his hospital bed, the morning sunshine angling its way across his feet, he could happily listen to his doctor and nurses yammer away all day long.
He was simply happy to be alive, notwithstanding the fact his entire body felt like he’d been put into a washer on spin cycle for about two years.
The huge bandage covering the left side of his head, the black eye on that side, too, and the neck brace thrown in for good measure made him feel like he was half-mummified.
His nurse, a sweet and kind woman named Kathy sidled away, slipping out his door, calling to him before closing it behind her. “I’ll see you in a couple hours, Max. Use your call button if you need anything before then.”
“I’ve reviewed the CT with my team here, and had Harborview take a peek, too,” Doctor Ravenna said. The man was Max’s neurosurgeon, though thankfully no such use of his particular skillset turned out to be needed. The man’s ice blue eyes locked with his. “We’re satisfied it’s a very minor subdural, and should resolve on its own. Complications from head injuries, while unlikely, can sometimes take a while to manifest. So, once you go home pay close attention to how you’re feeling. If you develop any nausea, dizziness, or decreased awareness, you need to call 911 immediately. Any questions?”
“That mean the ringing in my head is going to go away any time before I die?”
The tall, rangy MD did the doctor version of the slightest, subtlest shrug. “In time, that will resolve, too. Tinnitus can sometimes be persistent, but we don’t anticipate it will be with your injuries. Rest and recuperate, for now. Okay?”
“Sure, Doc.” Truthfully, the concerns over the possible course of his head injuries were minor, as far as he was concerned. The casts on both his left wrist and ankle were far more irritating to him than the prospect of a mere traumatic brain injury.
Though the left side of his head did feel like someone had gone ten rounds on a side of steak with a meat tenderizer.
“I’ll be back to check on you during rounds in the morning.” He laid a hand on Max’s arm. “Rest.”
