Capturing Peace (Sharing You 0.5)(51)

I listened to him break down harder than he had the entire conversation, and tears filled my own eyes when he continued to scream his son’s name over and over again. His son, who he’d fought so hard to be able to see, who wasn’t even a year old, who was taken way too soon.

My chest ached for my friend, and my body screamed at me to get Parker and hug him tight. To keep him safe from anything that could possibly happen to him.

I knew then that I’d made the wrong decision. That I’d been quick to act on the first insecurity that popped up—all because of some other guy’s experience—and had possibly ruined everything. I needed Reagan and Parker. They were my family . . . my peace.

“Don’t let them go,” Saco said minutes later, his voice hoarse.

“What?”

“My son is gone, St—” he broke off with a cry. “I can’t get him back. You can . . . don’t let them go.”

“Brody, what can I do? I’ll get on the first flight to Oregon, I swear. But what can I do?”

“Just don’t let yours go. Promise me.”

“I’m not. I can’t let them go.” I grabbed a shirt and threw it on over my head before searching for my wallet and keys. “I’m so sorry. I’ll get Hudson, and we’ll be out there as soon as we can, all right? I’ll call you when I know details.”

“He can’t be gone,” he whispered.

Knowing there was nothing I could say, and that he needed someone now, I kept him on the phone as I left for Hudson’s apartment, and continued to listen to him cry until he told me his brother had just shown up and ended the call. Hudson hated me right now, but I knew I’d f*cked up and was prepared to do anything to make it right again. But right now I was fighting with myself over whom to go to first. Reagan, or Saco. I needed to see her just as much as I needed to get to Oregon.

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 f*cking hurt.

“I talked to him yesterday . . . what the f*ck 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 f*cked 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.”