I’m more interested in eliminating the rest of my unit. The thing is if they don’t die, they’ll come back and hunt us. My family and the families of all the men in The Organization will be in danger.
We spend hours planning, looking at different outcomes. In the end, we decide to strike after midnight. We wait until four in the morning. I watch the action since the Nerd Herd team is flying a few droids to give the team more visibility. Also, a couple of the droids are armed. If needed, they can act as snipers.
Is it weird to say that I’m proud of my baby brother? He is good at what he does. In another life, we could’ve been a team. Maybe in this life, I can get a job with this company and work with him. That’s up in the air. Perhaps they don’t want anything to do with me. After all, I’m responsible for this mess.
Okay, that thought might be another reason the therapist told me I needed to be in therapy. I spoke, she listened, and I guess I didn’t convince her that I was okay.
But…I. Am. Okay.
Aren’t I?
These thoughts are giving me major anxiety. I decide to walk it off, but before I can do that, I ask, “Do you need me?”
Mason Bradly shakes his head. “No. We’re almost done. We’ll contact you if we think we need something else.”
I salute him and leave the security room of The Lodge. The parking lot is almost empty. The only light comes from the full moon. I zip up my jacket, looking around me. Everything is silent. Too silent. It feels like that stillness one experiences before the storm. I shake my head because that’s just stupid. It’s over, isn’t it? Unless my old unit recruited more men, and they come later. I should tell The Organization.
To ensure that everything is under control, I decide to walk around town, check the outskirts and make sure the Aldridge mansion is safe. That’s when I spot Mason Bradley. He’s barking orders over the phone while jogging.
My chest tightens. That’s not the attitude of a man who just led a successful mission. What the fuck happened?
“Where are you going?”
“I have to get to Grace,” he answers and then goes back to his call. “Assemble the team. His brother is an orthopedic surgeon. Check his credentials.”
I swallow hard. Why do they need Hayes? “Is everything okay?”
He shakes his head. “Beacon was injured. They’re airlifting him to San Diego. We need you to fly one of the helicopters to Portland.”
Panic slams against my chest. The fear of losing another brother is pressing my lungs tightly. It takes me several seconds to reboot and remind myself that they don’t need me to fall apart. I have to push aside any feelings and fly these men to my brother. I need to see my brother.
“What happened to him?” My voice sounds distant. I’m having trouble separating my duties from my life. My love for my brother, from what I need to do to ensure that he’s okay.
“I’m not sure,” he answers. “He’s going to be fine. We’ll know more as soon as we land in San Diego. I don’t know if your brothers want to join us. Maybe you can tell them.”
Another wave of fear. What if he was shot in the head? He’s gone. “What am I supposed to tell them? I thought the armor was bulletproof.” I don’t know why I add the last sentence, and my voice comes out loud, angry.
He glares at me. “It is.” He lets out a loud breath along with his frustration and continues walking at a fast pace as if nothing is happening.
“This is my brother you’re talking about. He’s another number to you, but he’s my family.”
He comes to a complete stop. His eyes burn with anger. The man is as tall as me, six-four. I notice he has more wrinkles around his eyes than he did a couple of days ago. He’s exhausted, if not devastated.
“Do you know who took your brother camping when he was a kid? I was the one taking him to father-son events. My wife treated him the same as she treated our children. I trained him. He’s like a son to me”—He pauses and amends his statement—“He’s our son, so you don’t come and tell me he’s a fucking number. He. Is. Mine. I’m glad you’re finally considering him part of your family, but he’s always been mine.”
For a moment, I’m speechless. Beacon always talked about this family, but he never told us they had been taking care of him since he was a kid.
“I…I’m sorry. I just need to know what happened to him.” This is not the time to discuss why we were estranged when he probably knows all about it.
After taking a deep breath, he says, “Long story short, one of our guys attacked him with a knife. He fell from a platform that’s about a story high, maybe higher. He can’t feel anything from the neck down.”
“Fuck!”
“That’s about right. We’re going to assemble a team of doctors that should arrive in San Diego at almost the same time we do.”
It takes us less than an hour later to pack a few things and head to Portland. A few minutes after we land, my brothers and I board one of the private jets taking us to San Diego. Neither Henry nor I pilot the jet. We’re too worked up and worried about Beacon. Jerome Parrish joins us. Hayes is flying in The Organization’s jet. He’ll be part of the medical team. Whether or not he’ll be allowed in the operating room is up for debate. When we arrive at the hospital, Hayes heads toward the door where it reads medical personnel only.
The rest of us stay behind and donate blood in case Beacon needs it.
“I hate hospitals,” Mills says, scrunching his nose. “They smell of antiseptic and death.”
“My wife smells of antiseptic sometimes, and I find it kind of hot,” Pierce says.
We all glare at him. He laughs. “Sorry, you should’ve seen your faces. Leyla is a veterinarian. She does smell like that sometimes, though, not that I find it hot. She is hot. That’s just to lighten up the mood.”
“No one will ever be as funny as Beacon,” Mills says. “He knows when and how to deliver jokes. That one was pathetic and even scary.”
“We’re all worried and talking nonsense,” Henry says as we enter the lab.
A nurse gives us a curious look.
“We’re here to donate blood for Beacon Aldridge,” Henry answers her silent question.
She bobs her head a couple of times. “Take a seat. The technician will be here in a couple of minutes.”
After she leaves, Henry says, “He’s going to be okay. You told Grace the story of that time we thought he died. He didn’t. This is the same.”
“He’s in a fucking hospital,” Pierce reminds him. “Beac couldn’t feel anything when they were flying him here. Do you know what that means?”
“That for a few weeks or months, we won’t have to worry about his whereabouts?” Henry answers, and if his eyes weren’t watery, I’d think he’s an insensitive asshole.
He’s not. He’s just trying not to think about the worst-case scenario. I’m surprised Pierce is the one looking at everything that can go wrong. Mills and I remain quiet. Though, I’m waiting for the moment when they’ll say, “this was your fault, asshole. If our brother dies, we’ll never forgive you.”
Fuck, I’ll never forgive myself for this.