Cole's Redemption (Alpha Pack #5)(3)

Zan knew he sure as hell would, if he were so lucky.

Dammit. Not going to think about one more impossible dream heaped on the bonfire. The rest will be a pile of smoldering ashes soon enough.

As if to punctuate that miserable thought, Zan glanced over just in time to catch a snippet of conversation between Micah and Nix.

“Don’t know, man,” Micah was saying. “I’m not one to talk about whether he’s ready to be on duty. I mean, look at me.” He gestured to his own face, but Nix shook his head.

“Your scars don’t affect your ability to do your job, buddy. His situation is totally different. Just sayin’.”

Unable to bear witnessing another word, Zan averted his gaze and stared at the ugly gray wall of the Huey. Hurt speared him like a lance to the gut, and he rested his elbows on his knees. Was that what all of them were saying? Speculating out loud on whether he was fit to be in the field?

Doubting himself in private was one thing.

But seeing his brothers do the same—in front of him, as if he were stupid as well as deaf—was a whole different level of pain.

Lost in his head, he let the hours roll by, scarcely making an attempt to join in what little talk the guys managed. By the time they landed in a wide, grassy plain in Texas, Jax was gazing at him with worry etched on his brow as he stroked his goatee. The second he saw Zan noticing, however, he put on his poker face. Already on edge, Zan wasn’t about to let him get away with pretending nothing was wrong.

As soon as they were clear of the transport, Zan grabbed his friend’s arm and held him back as the others walked across the pasture to meet a trio of men in suits.

“Don’t do that,” he hissed. “Don’t pretend to my face that you’re okay with me being here when you think the same as everyone else.”

Anger flashed in Jax’s eyes. “You telling me what I think now? News flash—you’re a Healer, not a Seer, so you have no clue what’s going on in my head.”

“I have eyes. I can tell you’re second-guessing whether I can do the job.”

“Am I?” He took a step forward, got in Zan’s face. “I doubt any one of us could possibly second-guess you more than you’re doing all on your own. You saw concern, yes. But that’s because I’m your friend, jackass. I give a damn about you, that’s all.”

Put like that, the perspective made Zan feel about an inch tall. Blowing out a breath, he looked away for a moment, scanning the horizon without really noticing much. One of Jax’s hands clasped his shoulder, and he returned his attention to his friend.

“The thing is, your doubt is the only thing that matters. Don’t you see? When you have your confidence back, when you’ve lost the anger and fear and you can join the mission knowing you’re back to one hundred percent, then what anyone else believes won’t amount to shit.”

He swallowed hard. “But what if I’m never the same? What if I don’t heal?”

“Then you learn to compensate, like I did after my leg was mangled.”

“That’s different—” he began.

“No, it’s not. My leg physically healed, yes, but the strength and agility I used to have in that limb are not equal to the good leg. And it won’t ever be the same. But I’ve learned techniques to help me make up for it in a fight—techniques you and the others helped me perfect, I’ll remind you.”

“I get it,” he muttered.

“Do you? Nobody wants anything but the best for you, Zan,” he said, warm sincerity evident in his expression. “The guys are worried, and they may run off at the mouth too much, but every one of them is in your corner. Believe that.”

Hey, guys? Ryon pushed into their minds telepathically. Nick’s giving you both the stink eye, so you might want to cut the lovefest short, get your butts over here, and join the party.

Jax made a face and turned, starting off toward the group of Feds, who appeared decidedly unhappy. With a sigh, Zan followed him, sort of glad for Ryon’s interruption. Save for a mated couple, who could speak telepathically to each other, the Channeler/Telepath was the only one who could push his thoughts directly into others’ heads. Zan relished being able to hear someone’s voice clearly, even if just temporarily.

Those brief periods of contact might be all he had to look forward to.

As they reached the spot where Nick stood in front of his Pack, Zan noted that the meeting between his commander and the Feds looked more like a standoff.

“So, are you guys military or not?” one of the agents asked with a frown, arms crossed over his chest.

Nick had his back to Zan, but whatever the commander said did not go over well with the suits. A second agent, short and stocky, pushed the issue.

“Your outfit doesn’t look like any Special Ops team I ever saw. More like mercenaries, if you ask me.” This was said with a slight curl to his lips, as though he’d tasted something bad.

Zan got close enough to maneuver around and catch Nick’s response.

“Nobody did ask you.” The commander’s stare was hard and flat. “And now that we’re here, you all can pull back and let us do what the White House sent us here to do. Unless, of course, you’d like for me to get the president on the phone so he can tell you personally.”

The agents froze, and several of the Pack members blinked at Nick in surprise.