Pieces of Broken Time (5 page)

Blake pushed forward despite his vision flashing white and his instinct to give in to the blackness threatening him. Unable to feel much of his body, he made the excruciating forward movement to reach the burning mass. The nauseating stench of leather and other things cooking over an open flame made his stomach lurch again. He found Trent on the driver’s side, bleeding. He had no time to assess the damage. He had to get his friend out.

“It’s going to blow,” Trent whispered, trying to push him away.

“Buddy, I’m getting you out of here.” Blake grabbed Trent by his jacket, hauled him out of the fiery compartment, and dragged his friend as far away as he could.

“Jen . . .” Trent’s faint voice broke into Blake’s clouded haze of fear, pain, and confusion. Then Trent coughed and spat out blood.

“You’re going to be okay, buddy. Hang in there.” He looked down at Trent and the last thing he remembered was a blast buffeting him from behind.

The deafening screech of metal exploding, the scent of burning flesh, and Trent’s plea . . .

“Take care of our girl.”

And then Blake’s world turned pitch black.

January 15, 2002

Four weeks after he had been airlifted to Landstuhl, Germany, in critical condition, Blake had finally been deemed stable enough to return to the States for further treatment.

His parents had flown to Europe to be with him. During the first days together, Blake had repeatedly asked them to leave so he could be alone. He couldn’t bear the sight of his parents in agony at what their son had become. The nightmare was his.

As he was being prepped for the trip, he overheard the doctor talking to his parents about his condition. It was an out-of-body experience, listening to them talk about him as if he still had hope. Hope had dissipated the moment their convoy was hit with the RPG and Trent died in the blast.

“Your son is likely to experience mood swings related to PTSD,” the doctor said.

He heard his mother gasp and sobbing followed. She was no stranger to the terminology, having married a soldier.

“Is he going to be okay?” Claire asked.

“The healing will be a long process. He’ll need more skin grafting and physical therapy. The blindness, however, is permanent. It’s going to affect his balance and his depth perception, but with therapy, he’ll be able to adjust to his condition. At this point, I’m more concerned about his mental ability to recover. It is normal to have survivor’s guilt, but we have to monitor his behavior. For now, I’m giving him anxiety medication. If you feel that he is exhibiting behavior that is self-destructive or he is isolating himself, you need to contact his doctor right away. The common symptoms are irritability, angry outbursts, trouble concentrating, and sleep problems. It is a natural response for a traumatized person to shut himself away from the rest of us. The effects from the trauma might be delayed, so there’s a chance it won’t manifest until later on. Blake will likely ignore the indicators.”

Blake seethed as another sob followed the doctor’s statement. It was one thing to hear the diagnosis and symptoms again and again, but having his actions dissected felt like an invasion of his privacy.

Suck it up, Connor. These are your parents. They have the right to know.

He ground his teeth, sucked in a long, deep breath, and got a grip on his emotions before asking the nurse if he could make the one phone call that had been on his mind since he had regained consciousness.

“Take care of our girl.”

The last tear he’d ever shed over Trent’s words made its way down his cheek. He wiped it away and cleared his throat. “Jennifer?”

“Blake? Is that you?”

“Yes . . .”

“Oh, Blake. He’s gone. Trent is gone!”

It was all he could do to listen to the sound of Jennifer’s pitiful crying while fighting his own demons. Trent, who had still had his entire life to live, had perished from the explosion, and he was alive.

It should have been me.

After what seemed like eternity, her sobs were reduced to hoarse whimpers, and Blake knew he had to say something. “Hey . . . you’re going to be okay. Trent is now in a better place. He died doing what he loved best, and you should be proud of him.”

“I-I-I . . . am . . .” She hiccupped and sniffled.

“You have to be brave and strong. I will try to call you whenever I can.” It was going to be a difficult promise to fulfill.

“Thank you. Am I going to see you soon?”

Her feeble question burned worse than the explosion that had ravaged his body.

“We’ll see once I get back to the States.” He closed his good eye and committed the sound of her voice to memory. It was a lie and he knew it. There was no chance he’d allow Jennifer to see him this way. Not in a million years.

Another persistent tear escaped his lashes while he cursed the life he no longer wanted to live.

Chapter 3

September 14, 2002

Every morning at six, Blake awoke to the sound of a distant neighbor’s clucking chickens and barking dog. It was his usual time these days. Gone was the morning wake-up call that arrived well before sunrise from his commander, raising hell. No barked orders in a huffy military voice to get up and get ready for another day in paradise. After spending close to eight years in the military, it had been his life, his passion, and the very air that he breathed.

Contrary to what many believed, Blake hadn’t joined the army because of family tradition. While his father had joined right after graduating from high school and marrying his high school sweetheart, Blake had joined the service for his own beliefs and principles. At this point, though, he couldn’t even remember what those reasons had been. They didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. The life he’d once known was over.

Regardless of what his mother said about “winning the ongoing battle with life”, Blake knew he had nothing left to offer the world—not his experience, his expertise, not even his dreams.

He’d always dreamed of being in the music business, playing in small clubs, and sharing his talent and passion. He’d even pursued it in hopes that a degree in music would give him the perfect fallback plan after his stint in the military was over.

What a load of crap!

A music degree, or any degree for that matter, was useless to him now. The roadside explosion had blinded him in one eye and left him with a scarred face and an even more scarred body with one hell of a limp.

The kind of body only a mother can love and a circus can make a buck on.

The phone rang at exactly six fifteen, as it had every morning for the past nine months.

Blake rolled his eyes, dreading the pep talk waiting on the other end just like it had been every morning since he’d returned home.

She called to make sure her son had eaten, washed up, and attended therapy. Coddling wasn’t something he’d ever been accustomed to, but his regrettable condition, coupled with her recent retirement, had made him an easy target for her mothering. Her daily phone call, though brief, was always geared to remind him to stop wallowing in self-pity.

Blake sighed and flicked the button on his cell. “Mom, tell me you’re not going to give me a lecture again.” He pulled a pillow over his face.

Wake-up calls should be outlawed, and cell phones thrown out the window. If it wasn’t for emergency purposes, he’d bury the damn thing underground and forget it.

“Oh, is this a bad time?”

He jumped and dropped his cell phone in the process. “Shit.” He groped for the phone until he found it next to a tattered
Playboy
. “Jennifer?”

“Yes.” There was a long pause before she spoke again. “You mentioned you’re always up early, so I thought I’d call.”

“Yeah, I’m up.” He paused, too, wondering why in the world Jennifer Owens was calling him when he’d stated that he would call her when time permitted.

“I miss him, Blake,” she said.

So do I.

There was no point in saying it out loud. She knew as well as he did that Trent shouldn’t have died.

“I know.”

Closing his eyes, he heard Trent’s voice as clear as the day he’d asked.

“Take good care of our girl.”

“Why haven’t you come to see me yet?”

The question startled him. Blake was supposed to have checked on her and been a guiding hand in the bleak days following his friend’s death, but he hadn’t kept the promise he’d made to the dying man. He gripped the cell phone tighter.

“What do you mean?” He tried to control his voice, but it still came out sounding as broken as he felt.

Jennifer sighed heavily before responding with a muffled reply. “I received a letter from him today. It was dated a few days before he died. I don’t know who sent it to me, but it’s his handwriting. I don’t understand why he wrote at all. It’s as if he knew . . .”

In his muddled thoughts, Blake tried to remember if Trent had ever mentioned anything.

The man had written several dozen letters, since e-mails and virtual chats had failed to satisfy his longing. Trent had kept paper stuffed into every pocket he could fit it and needed little more than a five-second break to start writing, including the short stops during their patrols in the streets of Kabul. He’d written about his day, what he’d seen in the field, and whatever had reminded him of her. Blake remembered cringing when the rest of the guys had taunted Trent and called him a pussy. It had been a joke to them, but Trent had a soft spot where Jennifer was concerned from the first day he’d met her.

Blake forced his right eye to focus on the ceiling, struggling for the right words. He didn’t have it in him to comfort her. He was emotionally drained, aching, and just plain tired. “What did the letter say?”

“Trent apologized for not being here with me, for breaking his promise to come back home to me, alive and safe.”

Although Blake wanted to offer reassurance and tell her everything was going to be all right, he wasn’t able to force the words out of his mouth. There was no way in hell it ever would be all right, and he couldn’t lie to her like that.

“And?” He fought against breaking down like a pathetic weakling.

If the guys could see me now.

“I shouldn’t be bothering you. I—”

“Look, I’m sorry. I’m usually a good listener, but I’m just having a bad day.”

Liar! It’s not even seven o’clock.

“Already? But you just woke up. I know I should leave you alone, but you were closest to him. He always sounded happy whenever he talked about you.”

Yeah, and it sucks, because here I am alive, and he’s not. What damned good is that?

Blake scrubbed his hand over his face. “Please forgive me for being rude. It’s just been rough ever since Trent—” 

“I know, I just . . . I don’t even know how to deal anymore. Trent told me in the letter to expect a visit from you. Why haven’t you come yet?”

Damn it . . .

Chapter 4

Jennifer had gone to bed feeling dejected and nursing a headache. When she opened her eyes to another day, the same headache lingered. The sunlight streaming through the vertical blinds hurt her eyes and made her head pound even more. She turned to face the wall, and Trent’s pictures greeted her. She slipped her hand out of the covers and slid a finger across his smiling face.

She’d been young when she’d met Trent. After a devastating car accident that had claimed the lives of her parents, she had come to San Francisco to live with her spinster aunt. Trent was her next-door neighbor back then. They had become friends, and he’d helped her to cope with her loss. He was five years older than her, and by the time she had graduated from fashion design school, he’d been called for deployment.

Jennifer had suspected that Trent had feelings for her. She, on the other hand, had been uncertain of her feelings. So, when it felt as though she’d blinked only to see Trent on one knee and looking so expectant, surprise had been one of the emotions scrambling around her head.

“It would make me extremely happy if you’d be my wife.” He held out an elegant solitaire ring, his sparkling green eyes imploring.

“Oh, Trent . . .”

“Please be my wife. I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you. I’m sure I can make you happy, Jen.”

Tears filled her eyes. How could she say no to the man who had helped her through the toughest time of her life? She cried even though she was happy. Guilt stirred within her, because she knew her feelings for him were different. She loved him, she was sure of it, but not in the same way he loved her.

“Yes.” Her answer left her stunned, and for a moment she questioned if it was driven by love or his impending departure. Then she saw his face, his smile brighter than any she’d ever seen, and she dismissed her doubts, chalking it all up to those proverbial cold feet everyone talked about.

Trent kissed her hand, and he slipped the ring on her finger.

Jennifer felt her knees buckle, and she wondered if it was from the tug at her conscience or the tickle of happiness.

“You’ve made me the happiest man alive.” Trent kissed her tentatively at first, but then moved into a more passionate exchange that left her breathless.