Major

I’ve seen my share of wounded men and women overseas, but none of them meant as much to me as my sister. When we walked into her hospital room in the ICU, the foundation of my world was shaken.

This place smells like Lysol and death with a hint of hand sanitizer. I hate hospitals. The only good thing about hospitals is seeing the doors close behind you when you leave.

I have to make a conscious effort not to crush Violet’s hand when we enter Sam’s room. I know what her injuries are, but it’s harder to see them with my own eyes. She’s one big bruise, purple from head to toe. Her leg is in traction, her arm casted, her ribs splinted and her head bandaged. Her beautiful blonde hair hangs in bloody clumps on her shoulders and machines hum and beep around her, keeping track of her vital signs and sedating her.

“Can she hear us?” Violet asks the nurse at her bedside.

“She’s sedated, but there’s always a chance she can hear you.” The nurse smiles sympathetically and presses a button that inflates a blood pressure cuff on Sam’s arm.

“Can she feel pain?”

“She shouldn’t feel anything, no. The sedation helps with the pain and keeps her calm while the swelling goes down in her brain.”

“Can I hold her hand?” Violet asks.

“Yes, just be careful of the IV and you’ll be fine.”

Violet drops her purse and picks up Sam’s hand the second she has the green light. She’s never even met her, but she loves her because I love her.

“Hey, Sammy, we’re here now, and the kids are safe. Don’t worry about a thing. We’ve got it all handled.”

“Maybe you should introduce me?” Violet says.

“Oh yes, of course. How rude of me. Samantha, this is my girlfriend, Violet. Violet, this is my sister, Samantha.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Samantha,” Violet says, still holding Sam’s hand.

“She’s going to love you when she wakes up.”

If she wakes up. The doctor said it’s touch and go for now. The repeated blows to her head caused a lot of swelling. He said it was a miracle she was able to call and speak to me on the phone. That’s why her speech was so slurred.

I’m so fucking glad I had the sense to record her telling me what happened. If that fucker has caused her permanent damage or if, God forbid, she dies, I’ve got the victim’s firsthand version of what went down. Malory would never be able to stand up in front of a jury and tell what happened. She’s so traumatized right now, I don’t know if she’ll ever speak again period.

Malory’s limp body full of sedation triggered something inside of me that I haven’t felt since being in Iraq. After sitting with her for an hour on the pediatric floor, I wanted to go to the jail and shoot a hole the size of Texas in Craig’s head.

I may have tried it too, if it weren’t for Violet. She’s my lifejacket in this horrible storm. She’s keeping my head just above water enough to stay alive. Without her, I would have sunk hours ago.

“Do you want me to go and sit with Malory so she’s not alone? You can stay here with Samantha and we can meet up for dinner. Wait, where are the other kids? Do they need to be picked up from someone’s house? They need to know what happened, and they should hear it from family.”

She’s right, they do, and I should, but I feel like my loyalties are being pulled in three different directions. I don’t know who needs me the most. Davy and Summer aren’t under sedation, although they may want to be after I tell them what happened with their parents. They are my priority. I have to go talk to them.

“You’re right, I have to go talk to them. They’re staying with a neighbor, but they don’t know what’s happening. I’d feel better if you stayed with Malory. She’s more apt to wake up and be scared. They will have Sam asleep for a while.”

“Of course. Are they staying the night with the neighbor? What about school tomorrow? Someone needs to call them in absent. They’re going to need a while to process all of this.”

She’s amazing, thinking of all the things I’m blind to right now. My mind is on one thing, and one thing only—the wrong thing.

Craig. I want to kill him.

I’m usually the organized one, planning every part of my day right down to the minute, but emotions are mucking up the planner I keep in my head. I can’t see past the moment I’m in.

“Yes, good idea. I’ll get the school’s number from the neighbor and call them in for the week and see if they can spend the night tonight. What about the rest of the time? How am I going to be here for Mal and Sam and take care of Davy and Summer?”

“What about Sabrina? Do you think she can help?”

Why the hell didn’t I think of that? Sabrina would go to the ends of the earth to help Malory and me.

“What would I do without you?” I say and kiss her on the mouth. Just the brief contact with her lips wakes the insatiable beast in my brain that wants to take her to bed and never let her leave.

“You’ll never have to find out.”

I wrap her in my arms and hold her. She feels so right, the way her body molds to mine. Every curve of hers matches my muscles like two long-lost puzzle pieces.

“I hope not,” I say, propping my chin on the top of her head.

“I know not.”

I hold her longer than I should. I’m procrastinating having to break this horrible news to two innocent children.

“You should go.”

“I know.”

“You have to let me go to go.”

“I know.”

“If you can’t do it, just say so and I’ll go first.”

Handling a Man 101—challenge him, and he’ll do what you want him to. Well-played, Violet Washington.

“I’m going,” I say and hold her at arm’s length.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

I kiss her again and leave to do one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.

In the SUV, I dial Sabrina. “Hey, I need some help.”

“You okay, Sawyer?”

“No, Malory’s in the hospital. Can you go sit with her?”

“Whoa, there. Back up a minute, what’s wrong with Malory?”

“Her scum of the earth Uncle nearly beat my sister to death, and she witnessed it.”

“No . . .”

“Yes, he’s in jail, and Sam and Malory are at Crossroads Hospital. I have to go tell their kids what happened and make arrangements.”

“Bollocks, Sawyer, what happened? They were a good fit, I thought.”

“Guess he shrunk.”

“I’ll go straight away, what’s her room number?”

“734, the pediatric floor.”

“And Sammy?”

“Room 5 in ICU.”

“Ring me when you finish.”

“I will. Thank you, Sabrina.”

“No need for thanks, do what needs to be done and ring me.”

That’s Sabrina, no nonsense and understanding.

When I get to Sam’s house, I go inside before heading across the street to talk to the kids. I take down the ugly caution tape from the front door and wonder if Davy and Summer saw it when the neighbor brought them home from school. God, I hope not. Everything looks normal in the house, like every other night when I show up for dinner, except now it’s stone silent. I step carefully down the hall to the kitchen.

This is where it must have all happened. There are small appliances on the floor and a hole in the wall by the door leading down the hall to the bathroom. On the wall, down low against the baseboard, there is a bloody dent the size of a human head. Samantha’s head. This is where he had her pinned against the wall, kicking her. Malory must have been curled up in a ball underneath her.

I bend down to look closer. I don’t know why. It’s morbid to want to look closer, but I do. There is hair embedded in the cracks of the plaster, long blonde hair. I stand up and follow the trail of blood down the hall to the bathroom, where I know they must have hidden. The door is chopped to hell; there are deep cuts where the meat clever sunk into the wood, and even a few places where it went all the way through. The police got here just in time. A few minutes more, and he would have been through the door.

It’s hard to believe he was just drunk. This mess looks like a demented monster created it, not a sloppy drunk, cheating husband.

I push open the door. It creaks until it’s opened a foot or so. I turn on the light and peer around the corner. The smell of urine hits me first, and then blood. Sam’s leg must have been bleeding badly, and Malory most likely wet her pants in fear. I snap off the light and lean my back against the wall in the hall and close my eyes.

I can’t let the kids see their house like this. I’ll have to pack up their things and they are going to have to stay at my house. The mere thought of three children living in my house triggers a panic attack. I can’t breathe, my head is pounding, my heart races, and I just want to run, run as fast and as far as I can.

Running isn’t an option, though, and as bad as this panic attack is, I’m going to have to power through it and keep moving. I take the stairs two at a time and rummage around to find three bags and stuff that I think the kids will need for a week at my house. It may be longer, but I can only deal with the thought of one week for now. When I’ve finished gathering things from the bathroom, I decide Sam might want a few things when she wakes up too. In her closet, there is a medium-sized carry-on bag that is part of a set of luggage I bought her for Christmas one year.

I pick it up, thinking it’s going to be empty, but it’s quite heavy. Leaving it on the hook, I unzip the bag and toss the flap back. There’s a good reason that bag is heavy. It’s full of money—thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of dollars.

What the hell are they doing with this kind of cash sitting around in their house? This has to be everything they have in the world and then some. Why would they have it out in the open in their closet? And why, if the house has been searched, didn’t the cops find it?

I shouldn’t, but I zip the duffle and toss it over my shoulder with the other smaller bags and leave the house. I drive across the street and decide not to tell them what’s going on until we are alone in the car together.

“What’s happening, Uncle Sawyer? Where are Mom and Dad? Where’s Mallory? Why did we have to go to Brian’s house after school? And why’s there ugly tape on our door?”

Their questions come like a firing squad, one after another, never leaving me time to answer one before being asked another. I rein in the urge to snap the steering wheel in half and deep breathe until the questions dwindle to are you okay, Uncle Sawyer?

“Yes, Davie, well no, not exactly. I have some things to tell you that are very hard to say, and I’m not sure you will understand, but it’s important that you know. First of all, you should know that you are both coming to stay with me for a while.”

They are silent, and I look over to see them looking at each other in shock.

“Where are Mom and Dad?” Davy asks.

“Your mom is at the hospital with Malory.”

“The hospital? Why? What happened to her?” Summer says with tears pooling in her big crystal blue eyes. God, this breaks my heart to tell them the truth, but there is no lie that will cover this up.

“Mommy and Daddy got into a fight, and Mommy got hurt.”

“Another fight?” Davy says.

“Another fight? Do they fight a lot?” I ask.

“They didn’t used to, but lately, they always yell. It scares me,” Summer says, sobbing from the back seat.

“What do they fight about?” I ask.

“Money. Mommy says Daddy keeps throwing it away.”

Seems like they have plenty of money to me. A whole duffle bag full, to be exact.

“Anything else, or just money?”

“Mommy yells at daddy for having a THOT,” Summer says, spitting a little when she says THOT.

“He has a girlfriend,” Davy corrects her. “Mom calls her a THOT ‘cuz—”

“Yes, she told me. It’s slang. So do you know who the woman is?”

I can’t believe these poor kids were suffering, knowing their parents’ marriage was falling apart, and never said a word to me about it.

“No, I’ve never seen her, but I think she called the house before because Mom got really mad and we had to buy a new phone.”

That doesn’t sound like my sister. She’s never been one for outbursts or violence.

“How are we gonna stay with you, Uncle Sawyer? Momma says you’re a germophobe and that’s why we never go to your house,” Summer asks, still crying.

“Shut up, Summer. Why can’t we just go home and be with Dad until Mom gets better?” Davy asks. His patience is wearing thin, and the panic of being uprooted from his home is starting to settle in.

“Don’t yell at me, Davie. I just had a question is all,” Summer says.

“It’s a good question, Summer. Both of your questions are. So Summer, your mommy is right. I am a germophobe, but I’m willing to work on that to have you come stay with me. And Davie, you can’t go home to your dad because he . . . he’s in jail because he hurt your mom.”

Fuck, there, I did it. I almost choked on the words, but I got them out, and now they know.

“Daddy hurt Mommy that bad?” Summer says so softly from the backseat I almost didn’t hear her. She starts to sob into her hands, and Davie unbuckles his seatbelt and climbs over the seat to hold her.

“Where’s Dad?” Davie asks in a hard voice while he strokes Summer’s long blond hair and she cries on his shoulder.

Big brother is stepping up to take his place as the man of the family at the tender age of eight. I can’t let him do that. He’s just a kid. He has ten years to have fun and be carefree.

“He’s in jail.”

“No!” Summer wails, and Davie hugs her harder.

“I want Daddy back. I want Mommy to come home.” Summer is beside herself with grief. In a way, she’s lost both of her parents without actually losing them.

“Summer, listen to me, we can go see Mommy tomorrow, but it might be a little while before you see your daddy.”

Like forever, if that fucker gets what he deserves. I don’t care how wonderful he’s been in the past. What he did to my sister and daughter today makes him a monster forever.

“We can see Mommy?” Summer squeaks with hope rising in her voice. I shouldn’t sugar coat it, but damn if these kids haven’t been through enough already.

“Yes, tomorrow. Tonight, we’re going to my house, and my girlfriend, Violet, is going to come and help me take care of you until this is all sorted out.”

“I’m scared,” Summer says, burying her face back into her brother’s shirt.

“I know you are, honey. I am too, but we have to be strong for your mom, okay?”

Nobody says another word as we drive to my house. When we pull into the garage, I cut the engine and close the door.

“Okay, guys, now I know things are rough right now, but I have a couple of rules at my house.”

“Don’t touch anything, don’t eat anything, don’t use the bathroom,” Davy drones like he’s heard it a thousand times before.

I twist in my seat to face them huddling in the back like two disaster survivors, and they sort of are in a way. They’re survivors of a fucked up father who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.

“Where did you hear that?” I ask Davy.

“Mom always cleans before you come for dinner, and that’s what she says for like the whole afternoon before you get there.”

Great, time to go on a guilt trip. My sister didn’t let her kids pee because I was coming over. That’s fucked up. Am I really that bad? I just always thought she was an impeccable housekeeper.

“No, actually, I never knew your mother told you those things. My rules are that you always take your shoes off at the door before you go inside, if you get something out, you put it away when you’re finished using it, and clean up a mess if you make one.”

“That’s just like Mrs. Conway’s rules at school, ‘cept for the shoes. We gotta keep our shoes on all the time,” Summer says.

Davy looks relieved, and I’m having serious anxiety. Davy was right. I’d rather have them not touch anything, don’t eat, and don’t use the bathroom, but that’s unrealistic when they’re going to be living here. God, I need Violet right now. I should have gone to get her before I brought them home. Now I’m going to have to leave the little wild ones alone to go and get her.

“I wanna go see Mommy. I don’t wanna go inside and take my shoes off,” Summer whines.

“Actually, that’s not a bad idea. Davy, you want to go see your mom instead of waiting until tomorrow?”

“Yes, please.”

“All right, put your seatbelt on back there and let’s go.”

I open the door and back out of the driveway, and my anxiety evaporates the further away from the house we get. Yep, definitely need Violet for this one.

I text her and tell her I’m on my way with the kids, and she shoots me a message right back.

Violet - You sure that’s a good idea? She’s in pretty bad shape. Did you tell them what happened? I love Sabrina, btw. She’s an awesome person. You’re lucky to have her in your life.

Me - I told them, they’re pretty shaken up, but we tried to go home and I can’t go in without you. They also really need to see one of their parents right now, so yeah, good idea or not, we’re coming. I’m glad you like Rina. Don’t get too attached, though. You’re mine.

Violet - ?

Me - Sabrina might fall for you. She’s a sucker for a beautiful woman.

Violet - Oh, wait, I thought you said she was married to a Marine when she saved Malory.

Me - She was.

Violet - A female Marine?

Me - No.

Violet - Uh, okay, confused, but we will discuss later. I love you and only you. Don’t worry about me switching sides or whatever it is you’re worried about.

I shouldn’t mess with her, but it’s hard to resist, and really, Sabrina is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever set eyes on. She’s tall and lean, with waist-length, jet black, silky hair and almond-shaped grey eyes. She’s mesmerizing. I’m willing to bet she’s made a woman or two rethink their gender preference. Sabrina was married to Nick. He was a Marine and he was KIA in Iraq. Sabrina and Nick were swingers, and now it’s a toss up as to whom she brings to a function or a party.

Me – 1. Good to know. 2. I’m on my way. 3. Stay three steps away from Rina. 4. This sucks. 5. Thank you for being here to help me. 6. I love you too.

It feels so good to make a list, even if it’s for nothing but to say I love and appreciate Violet. Another message pings right away after my list.

Violet - 7. You’re crazy. 8. Sabrina doesn’t hold a candle to you. 9.I don’t swing. 10. Agreed, this sucks. 11. I love you more.

I smile down at my phone in my hand while we sit at a stoplight. I should put the phone away and set a better example for the kids. Having kids around reminds me of boot camp. Someone’s critiquing your every word and action. That’s how I’m going to think of this from here on out. Kiddy boot camp. I can do this, with some help.