Jacked (Trent Brothers #1)(126)
She smiled back at me. “Just sayin’?”
I’d have to save telling her I’d already fallen for another day. “Just sayin’.”
GRAY SKIES HOVERED above us from the moment we woke, setting the tone for a very heavy, somber day. My shoulder pulled a little from the weight when we lifted the casket containing Erin’s uncle and the cremated remains of her aunt, but I bore it.
It wasn’t a burden, it was my atonement; my way of making some sort of amends for this senseless tragedy. So was enduring the cold bite of metal on my right hand from the lifting bars on the gleaming black casket. I considered wearing gloves but decided against anything that might give me comfort while I served my penance.
Erin and her parents had been surprised at first, but when the funeral director asked for pallbearers this morning I immediately volunteered. It was the least that I could do, not just for Erin, but for me, too. I needed to do this.
I would rather have been holding on to Erin, but each time I carried her uncle’s remains, I couldn’t even look at her. I’d allow myself glimpses to know her condition and to assure myself that she was okay, but I couldn’t meet her eyes. The once vibrant blue that gazed into mine last night when I held her in my arms were now red and sullen from sadness. While I was doing my duty, Erin was consoling her sister, Kate, and her mother, Christine.
No one from my unit was here, not that I would expect any of them to show. A sliver of angered disappointment rippled through me. None of the men that screwed up that night and caused these two innocent and greatly loved people to meet an early death were here to say they were sorry.
I’d carry that weight, too.
I wasn’t directly responsible. I didn’t cause this, but I was part of a series of actions and events that made it happen, and for that, I needed reparation. I had held Erin’s hand during the entire church service, seeking my own forgiveness.
As far as I could tell, none of the family knew the full circumstances of the night of the fatal wreck. We had ended our pursuit of the stolen vehicle because of the dangers and rising risk to civilians. Our field supervisor called all units to stand down.
Despite our efforts, our worst fear happened anyway.
As I helped carry the casket to its final resting place at the cemetery, I resolved that the truth would be a secret I’d take to my own grave. Not only could it put my unit in a compromising position legally, it would drive an iron wedge between Erin and me and I couldn’t let that happen. Whenever I held her, whenever I felt her lips on mine, I could see her being a part of my future and my inner selfishness coveted that.
The sun had finally broken free from its cloud cover, warming the dismal gray and muddled piles of leftover snow with its golden rays. I’d been raised to believe in God and Heaven and maybe it was just me, but I was taking the shining sun as a sign. We walked in step down a pathway that had been cut through the snow; the remaining ice crunching under our feet the only sounds breaking the solemn silence.
Erin’s mother let out a sob when we set the casket on the straps that would lower it into the ground, causing my chest to ache all over again. She was sitting in one of the folding chairs graveside next to Erin’s cousins.
I felt their pain.
I put my arms around Erin the first chance I got. She’d been stoic all morning—a rock for her mother, a pillar of strength for her distraught father. I was proud and worried at the same time.
Erin’s arms slid around my waist and her face rested on my chest while the priest and the words of his final sermon about Heaven and greener pastures made the entire moment almost unbearable.
I placed a kiss on Erin’s head, wishing my growing love for her could ease the turmoil I knew was brewing in her mind and heart. I could sense it, feel it in the way her hands were curling into my clothes.
Her body trembled, her breaths ragged and hitched.
I held her tighter.
I would be her rock.
“HIS LIVER IS lacerated. You can see it clearly here. Shit.” Bile threatened to erupt as I scanned the next picture.
“Ribs four and five are also fractured. A fragment punctured the lung. Blood is pooling in his abdomen,” Doctor Ben Parata said, pointing at his screen with the tip of his pen.
“These fractures on his ribs here are already mending. Jesus. I wonder how long he’s been going through this?”
We tore our eyes away from evaluating the MRI results and numerous X-rays to stare at each other, both of us at a complete loss of words. There was no restraint to the level of abuse this child had endured. That much was evident.
Ben blew out a deep, forlorned breath, echoing my own sentiments. “This kid is six?”
I nodded.
“He’s a baby for Christ’s sake. How? This is just… Unbelievable. This is the worst case of child abuse I have ever seen. I hope the person who did this goes to jail for a very long time.”
I couldn’t agree more. “Child Protective services have been notified. How could a parent do something like this?” The plethora of life-threatening injuries peppering this little boy was incomprehensible.
Ben shook his head. “I have no idea.”
My God, the unfathomable injustice. Do all women mentally snap after childbirth? The thought petrified me.
“What do we got?” Doctor Nate Tomic from Pediatrics stood beside me, resting his hands on his hips.