Yours to Keep by Claudia Burgoa

Chapter Four

Vance

Mason Bradley wasn’t kiddingabout the therapist or having a few on speed dial. I spent almost ninety minutes rehashing my day. For many, it wouldn’t be considered a typical weekday, but it was for me. I spent years going into missions, killing who I thought were the bad guys, and ensuring my team came out alive.

The therapist didn’t see it that way since the men I killed were part of my old unit, my brothers-in-arms. She couldn’t understand how I wasn’t rattled after killing Bennett. I was losing my fucking mind when I thought he had killed my entire family.

I explained as simply as I could. “Well, maybe it’s because I was raised in a house where emotions are secondary.” After that, she said I could work as a consultant for The Organization, but I needed more therapy. Something about underlying issues or emotional blockage was mentioned during the session. I tuned her out because I had permission to help my brother. The rest didn’t matter.

With the green light from the therapist, I’m allowed to join the rest of the meetings and the planning. As far as we’re concerned, we’re walking into a trap. If anyone asks me, I will leave the two idiots from The Organization that my unit captured to die. Yes, they might be part of The Organization, but they’re a liability.

I’m more interested in eliminating the rest of my unit. The thing is if they don’t die, they’ll come back and hunt us. My family and the families of all the men in The Organization will be in danger.

We spend hours planning, looking at different outcomes. In the end, we decide to strike after midnight. We wait until four in the morning. I watch the action since the Nerd Herd team is flying a few droids to give the team more visibility. Also, a couple of the droids are armed. If needed, they can act as snipers.

Is it weird to say that I’m proud of my baby brother? He is good at what he does. In another life, we could’ve been a team. Maybe in this life, I can get a job with this company and work with him. That’s up in the air. Perhaps they don’t want anything to do with me. After all, I’m responsible for this mess.

Okay, that thought might be another reason the therapist told me I needed to be in therapy. I spoke, she listened, and I guess I didn’t convince her that I was okay.

But…I. Am. Okay.

Aren’t I?

These thoughts are giving me major anxiety. I decide to walk it off, but before I can do that, I ask, “Do you need me?”

Mason Bradly shakes his head. “No. We’re almost done. We’ll contact you if we think we need something else.”

I salute him and leave the security room of The Lodge. The parking lot is almost empty. The only light comes from the full moon. I zip up my jacket, looking around me. Everything is silent. Too silent. It feels like that stillness one experiences before the storm. I shake my head because that’s just stupid. It’s over, isn’t it? Unless my old unit recruited more men, and they come later. I should tell The Organization.

To ensure that everything is under control, I decide to walk around town, check the outskirts and make sure the Aldridge mansion is safe. That’s when I spot Mason Bradley. He’s barking orders over the phone while jogging.

My chest tightens. That’s not the attitude of a man who just led a successful mission. What the fuck happened?

“Where are you going?”

“I have to get to Grace,” he answers and then goes back to his call. “Assemble the team. His brother is an orthopedic surgeon. Check his credentials.”

I swallow hard. Why do they need Hayes? “Is everything okay?”

He shakes his head. “Beacon was injured. They’re airlifting him to San Diego. We need you to fly one of the helicopters to Portland.”

Panic slams against my chest. The fear of losing another brother is pressing my lungs tightly. It takes me several seconds to reboot and remind myself that they don’t need me to fall apart. I have to push aside any feelings and fly these men to my brother. I need to see my brother.

“What happened to him?” My voice sounds distant. I’m having trouble separating my duties from my life. My love for my brother, from what I need to do to ensure that he’s okay.

“I’m not sure,” he answers. “He’s going to be fine. We’ll know more as soon as we land in San Diego. I don’t know if your brothers want to join us. Maybe you can tell them.”

Another wave of fear. What if he was shot in the head? He’s gone. “What am I supposed to tell them? I thought the armor was bulletproof.” I don’t know why I add the last sentence, and my voice comes out loud, angry.

He glares at me. “It is.” He lets out a loud breath along with his frustration and continues walking at a fast pace as if nothing is happening.

“This is my brother you’re talking about. He’s another number to you, but he’s my family.”

He comes to a complete stop. His eyes burn with anger. The man is as tall as me, six-four. I notice he has more wrinkles around his eyes than he did a couple of days ago. He’s exhausted, if not devastated.

“Do you know who took your brother camping when he was a kid? I was the one taking him to father-son events. My wife treated him the same as she treated our children. I trained him. He’s like a son to me”—He pauses and amends his statement—“He’s our son, so you don’t come and tell me he’s a fucking number. He. Is. Mine. I’m glad you’re finally considering him part of your family, but he’s always been mine.”

For a moment, I’m speechless. Beacon always talked about this family, but he never told us they had been taking care of him since he was a kid.

“I…I’m sorry. I just need to know what happened to him.” This is not the time to discuss why we were estranged when he probably knows all about it.

After taking a deep breath, he says, “Long story short, one of our guys attacked him with a knife. He fell from a platform that’s about a story high, maybe higher. He can’t feel anything from the neck down.”

“Fuck!”

“That’s about right. We’re going to assemble a team of doctors that should arrive in San Diego at almost the same time we do.”

It takes us less than an hour later to pack a few things and head to Portland. A few minutes after we land, my brothers and I board one of the private jets taking us to San Diego. Neither Henry nor I pilot the jet. We’re too worked up and worried about Beacon. Jerome Parrish joins us. Hayes is flying in The Organization’s jet. He’ll be part of the medical team. Whether or not he’ll be allowed in the operating room is up for debate. When we arrive at the hospital, Hayes heads toward the door where it reads medical personnel only.

The rest of us stay behind and donate blood in case Beacon needs it.

“I hate hospitals,” Mills says, scrunching his nose. “They smell of antiseptic and death.”

“My wife smells of antiseptic sometimes, and I find it kind of hot,” Pierce says.

We all glare at him. He laughs. “Sorry, you should’ve seen your faces. Leyla is a veterinarian. She does smell like that sometimes, though, not that I find it hot. She is hot. That’s just to lighten up the mood.”

“No one will ever be as funny as Beacon,” Mills says. “He knows when and how to deliver jokes. That one was pathetic and even scary.”

“We’re all worried and talking nonsense,” Henry says as we enter the lab.

A nurse gives us a curious look.

“We’re here to donate blood for Beacon Aldridge,” Henry answers her silent question.

She bobs her head a couple of times. “Take a seat. The technician will be here in a couple of minutes.”

After she leaves, Henry says, “He’s going to be okay. You told Grace the story of that time we thought he died. He didn’t. This is the same.”

“He’s in a fucking hospital,” Pierce reminds him. “Beac couldn’t feel anything when they were flying him here. Do you know what that means?”

“That for a few weeks or months, we won’t have to worry about his whereabouts?” Henry answers, and if his eyes weren’t watery, I’d think he’s an insensitive asshole.

He’s not. He’s just trying not to think about the worst-case scenario. I’m surprised Pierce is the one looking at everything that can go wrong. Mills and I remain quiet. Though, I’m waiting for the moment when they’ll say, “this was your fault, asshole. If our brother dies, we’ll never forgive you.”

Fuck, I’ll never forgive myself for this.

“He’s being fucking dramatic,” I speak, not sure if it’s to divert their attention from me or because it’s true. “How many times has he injured himself?” I draw air quotes with my fingers.

“Yeah, but what if that was his second chance, and he’s out of luck?” Henry’s sudden change of tone makes my heart stop.

“He’s going to be okay,” I insist.

They all turn to look at me.

“Are you okay?” Henry asks.

“Of course, I am.” I wave my hands, showing them my body. “Look, not a scratch.”

“Are you sure?” Henry insists. “I mean, just yesterday you had to…fuck. I can’t imagine having to choose between my family and Sophia. That would fuck me up in so many ways.”

“Bennett was nothing like Sophia. And she’d be the one shooting you,” Pierce says with a bit of humor.

We all laugh because my sister-in-law doesn’t take shit from my brother. Henry might be an asshole with a god-awful temper, but she tames the man.

After sobering up, Pierce says, “Seriously, you guys were together, and you had to kill him. This can’t be easy for you.”

“I fucked around with him. It wasn’t serious. This wasn’t the first time I had to choose between him and everything else. We were over, and I was fine with that.”

As I speak the words, I realize they’re true. We weren’t together. When Grace asked if I was okay since I killed the man I loved, the answer was yes. That’s not my problem. I’d kill him again if it meant saving my family.

“I thought I loved him once”—I pause, scanning the room and looking at my three brothers—“but maybe it was infatuation. I had a choice, him or Beacon. Him or my family. He was trying to kill my family. There are days when I want to punch you because you’re fucking annoying, but you’re mine.”

“Fuck, did you hear him?” Pierce asks, pretending to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye. “He loves us.”

I give him the finger. “I never said that.”

He smirks. “You did. I love you too. Even when you look at me like you want to murder me.”

“We love you too, Vance,” Henry says. “I still think this is fucking with your head. If you need anything, I’m here for you. I’ll pay for your therapist.”

“I don’t need a therapist,” I lie.

“Maybe you’re numbed,” Pierce suggests.

I said the same yesterday morning. I might be inside, or maybe I just never gave a fuck about Bennett.

“Yet I believe that for the sake of my sanity, you’re going to start therapy,” Henry says. “Just humor me.”

Normally, I’d fight him. The last thing I care to do is side with him. From all my brothers, he’s the worst, or maybe he was, and therapy has changed him. I never stopped to think about it until now. The old Henry would be blaming me for everything that’s happened the past few weeks. This Henry has been asking if I’m okay. Same with Pierce, who keeps checking on me. Okay, maybe I should stop judging them and being an asshole to them.

When did the dynamic change? How did I not notice?

I’m the observant one of this family. It’s probably because I’ve been defending myself from them. Not that they’re attacking me, but in my mind, if you’re not my friend, you’re my enemy. Just because they’re insensitive assholes doesn’t make them bad people, just clueless.

“Okay, I’ll think about going to therapy,” I agree just as the technician arrives. Thank fuck this is the end of the conversation.

Later, when I learn that Beacon is fine, I might think about it. Because my brother is going to be okay, right?