Bound By Blood: (The Betrayed Series Book 2) (35 page)

“Who is Sasha?” Alex’s eyes shift away from mine as guilt consumes his features.

“That’s not my story to tell, Goddess. I’m afraid you’re going to have to ask him on this one.”

A small pang of irritation prickles at the nape of my neck, working its way through my body. If he has someone else and is stringing Emma along, I swear to all that is holy I will gut him. Apparently, what I thought had been a single thought floating through my mind was said aloud.

Alex lets out a sorrow-filled laugh. “It’s not what you think, I promise. But, you should ask him. Maybe . . . Maybe he will talk to you.” Alex places a kiss on my forehead just as the door creaks, signaling someone’s entrance. I stiffen in his arms, each muscle tensing involuntarily.

Alex traces little circles along my spine as he whispers, “I’ve got you, and you’re safe. No one will harm you ever again.” Instantly, I relax into his embrace, our bodies melding together once more.

My father steps through the entryway, striding toward the edge of the bed, bag in hand. Scrunching my brow, I scrutinize my father’s appearance. He’s wearing his Dress Blues, which makes sense since we’re sending Noah home. But his ocean blue eyes hold a deep sorrow that wasn’t there before. Dark circles under his eyes mark the sleepless nights he’s had, and his jaw has had a rough shave. A pang of sadness crushes me as I stare at his tired face.

He’s been affected just as deeply as I have. Healing, hmph . . . Yeah, load of good that does when your mind chooses not to let things go. Putting on a smile to try and take away some of the strain, I greet him in a cheery voice. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Hi, Princess.” The deep tenor of his voice never fails to bring back the good memories of us when I was a child.

“Whatcha got?” I probe, looking pointedly at the bag.

Chuckling, he responds with mirth, “Oh, nothing, just discharge papers for you.”

Narrowing my eyes, I shoot him a mock glare as I cross my arms over my chest. Both Alex and my father laugh loudly at my playful attempt to lighten the mood.

“That doesn’t look like discharge papers,” I say, jutting my chin toward the bag.

“Oh, you mean this?” He holds up the bag.

Nodding my head, I say dryly, “You know that’s what I mean.”

“Ahhh. Always the spoiled princess.” He smirks, striding closer.

Scooting over, I push up close to Alex, bumping my butt into his groin, making room for my dad to sit. Alex groans in my ear, whispering, “Be nice.” Chuckling, I wiggle my bottom a little more until his firm hands grasp my hips, holding me still. With a small amount of room cleared, I pat the bed, motioning for him to have a seat.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he looks at me with love and affection, a genuine smile gracing his weary face. “You got me. I did bring something for you.” He passes the bag to me as I scoot into a sitting position.

Opening the bag, my eyes grow misty as I pull out the contents. A demure, 1940’s style, knee-length black dress caresses my fingertips. The artfully designed dress is breathtaking with its carefully pleated bust and faux buttons. The flawlessly classic design of the dress is incredibly chic and made to hug the curves of my slender frame. Clearing my throat, I continue uncovering the contents. My fingers deftly retrieve a pair of black, patent leather, peep-toe Mary Janes.

Peering up from the bag, I meet his saddened blue eyes. My heart lurches in my chest. Everything inside me screams to take that look away, to replace it with happiness.

He nods toward the bag. “There’s more, Princess.”

Without removing him from my sight, I reach into the bag and brush against something soft and fuzzy. Gasping, a small sob escapes past the tight confines of my lips. I don’t even have to look to know what he’s done, who he’s brought to me. Slowly pulling my hand out of the bag, an old, worn bear comes into view. The fuzzy brown bear still wears his military uniform with a name patch, just like any soldier, that says Tango Bravo.

His dog tags hang loosely around his neck, his little hat sitting atop his head. It’s a wonder his BDUs aren’t tattered after all these years. A jolt runs through me as I stare at Tango Bravo, the bear he gifted me to help me remain strong all those years ago. The deep love and affection I have for my father knows no bounds. A fact clear with the message he’s sending me today . . . he’s bringing Tango Bravo to me again. He’s a symbol of our relationship—the strength and courage we’ve been required to carry just to endure.

Tears fall wildly down my face as I lunge into my father’s arms. Without hesitation, he pulls me in, engulfing me with his warmth.

His husky voice is riddled with emotion as he says, “I just thought you could use an old friend.” Pulling back, I blink away the tears and kiss his cheek.

“I will always need you, Daddy. Don’t you ever think otherwise.”

He hugs me closer as he whispers, “I’m so sorry, Princess.” I nearly groan. Not him too. Noah was right; they aren’t as strong as they appear.

“Stop.” My voice holds an edge of steel. Shock registers in my father’s blue irises as he looks at me warily.

“Do not apologize. It’s not your fault. It’s hers and hers alone. No one could have prevented it. And if you say you never should have met her, then I will smack you because that means I wouldn’t exist. Now, I do not want to hear another word about it. Am I clear?” I give him a look I reserve for my rowdy ten-year-olds.

Stifling a laugh, he replies, “Yeah, we’re clear, Princess.” Squeezing me tightly once more, he places a kiss on my head before releasing me.

Standing, he points to the clothes on the bed and demands in his fatherly tone, “Now get ready. We have somewhere to be.”

With a mock salute, I slide off the bed, my muscles no longer as sore or tense from the trauma.

Stepping into the bathroom, I avoid the mirror, no longer willing to look at the scars that make up the expanse of my body. Thoughts creep into my mind one at a time as I get ready for one of the most emotional days of my life. But above all, I have to ask myself: Do I have what it takes to hold them all together?

D
EATH.
A
N INTEGRAL PART OF
life we cannot avoid, no matter how hard we try. It eventually comes for us all in some shape or form. The question is, when? Kylee’s slender fingers wrap around my large, calloused hand. She squeezes gently, grounding me, reminding me she’s here.

I can’t stomach the thought of looking at her right now. I don’t want her to see the pain swirling around inside of me. Unable to ignore her completely, I gently squeeze her hand in return while I stare at the city passing us by. I’ve always loved Korea, the bustling city, the amazing culture. But now . . . now when I look upon the city, all I see is the pain and suffering, the blood spilled and the loss we’ve all endured. Thoughts swirl around my mind, questions playing on a continuous loop.

What happens at the end? When we pass from one life to the next? Do we really get to see the loved ones we lost along the way or the friends we’ve had to part with? The questions roll around, breaking my heart a little more each time. My hand trembles as I think of all that I’ve lost, of everything that’s been ripped from me, a child that I will never have the opportunity to hold, to watch that child grow into something so beautiful . . .

It hurts to breathe.

I can almost picture it: a child with skin like hers, eyes like mine, hair the color of freshly ground cinnamon. An arrow of pain shoots through my heart. Closing my eyes, I will away the thoughts of what will never be, trying everything I can to ground myself and grab onto what I have here and now. It’s an impossible task . . . My grief threatens to swallow me whole.

As if she is able to read my internal struggle, Kylee’s soft fingers graze the line of my jaw. Expelling a breath, I open my eyes, my gaze landing on her beautiful face. How am I going to get through this? Understanding passes across her vision. Quietly, she whispers so only I can hear, “Together, we get through it together. One day at a time.”

My stomach quickens, the love I have for her expanding as I relish her strength and wisdom. Bending forward slightly, I place a chaste kiss on her head.

“What would I do without you?”

“Be a miserable man whore hell-bent on destroying yourself with women and booze?”

Choking out a laugh, I peer down at her deceivingly innocent face. “Is that right?”

“Mmm. Most likely,” she replies.

“Thank you,” I say honestly.

“What for?”

“Grounding me. Showing me that I’m not alone.”

“You will never be alone, Alex. I will always be here. Plus, you have all of those pesky, protective brothers I just inherited.” She scrunches her nose playfully. I love that she is so at ease with the guys. They love her nearly as much as I do.

Kissing her head one last time, I respond, “Yes, I do have all of you. I’m glad you’re here to remind me.” She smiles as she pulls back from my embrace, echoing the words I once said.

“It’s you and me. Nothing will change that.”

Nodding, I turn my gaze back to the window, losing myself in thought once more. It’s strange not having that friend you always counted on to be there. The one that you know is the glue that binds it all together. Noah’s death means everything has to change, and I’m not so sure that any of us are ready for that.

Brighton looks up in the rearview mirror as he pulls the vehicle to a stop. “We’re here,” he mutters. The underlying pain in his voice is hard to ignore. It’s one we all feel, only his goes beyond what I could imagine. Noah was to Brighton as Sam is to me . . . Irreplaceable.

That friend that you’ve grown with, done stupid things with, and more than anything, has become a part of you, has become your family. Filing out of the vehicles, we make our way to the tarmac to say our farewells to our friend and colleague. I’m stuck, rooted to the spot as we round the corner. The sight before me is one I’ve heard about but never experienced firsthand. All of the air expels from my lungs as my eyes grow damp with tears. Each breath is forgotten as I stare at the men and women in arms.

What I expected to be a small affair has turned out to be quite the opposite. Active duty military personnel line either side of the C130, ready to send our brother home with honor. General Nolan stands off to the side, wearing a solemn expression as he gazes out over his troops. The Honor Guard stands at attention, waiting silently for the moment when they send the body of our fallen comrade home. The surreal emotion of it all hits me as a pang of sadness ricochets through my chest. This is real. He’s really gone. I have to march up there and send him home.

Kylee squeezes my hand briefly before letting go. She steps away and mouths the word “breathe” to me. Nodding, I step up with my brothers, taking our place among the Honor Guard. We asked . . . no, we pleaded for permission to send our brother home ourselves, a request that was easily granted.

Replacing our somber expressions with one of honor and respect for our friend, we step forward as a unit. Moving through the ranks together as one, never missing a beat, is the Colonel, a constant companion at our side. I’m happy to see that he joined us when asked. It was an easy decision for all of us. He’s become part of our tight-knit group. Someone we’ve all come to care for in our own way.