Chapter Twenty

Briggs

“Briggs!” Scottie screams when a loud explosion jerks us both from a dead sleep. “Briggs, did you hear that?” The sound of bombs going off is nothing new, but they’ve never been this close. Birds fly overhead as frantic Arabic is spoken above us. We’re either about to be executed without much of a ceremony or going to be killed by fucking friendly fire.

“It’s friendly.” She speaks my thoughts aloud. AKs and M16s sound above as we stare at each other with a longing neither of us can deny. We don’t even flinch as more debris falls between us. We’re safe. As long as we’re connected, we’re safe.

“I’m so fucking sorry.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t. We’re leaving, Briggs. Tell me your plans.”

“I don’t have any.”

“Tell me,” she begs. “Please.”

“I’m going to teach you how to ride a horse.”

Tears surface as the ground quakes above us. “I’m counting on it.”

“Chris!” she cries out, as the gunfire draws closer. My heart expands in my chest as she covers me in her fire; her warmth, her protection, her love. It both stifles and frees me.

The unmistakable sound above has us both screaming out to the other.

The roof caves in, entombing us beneath a pile of rubble. A thick cloud of dust blinds my vision. My eyes burn. My lungs burn. I tug at my chains, hoping they’ve blown free in the explosion, but I’m still tethered to the wall, unable to reach her. As I close my eyes, one thought runs through my head, felt with the deepest conviction.

I’m going to love you, Katy Scott.

Covered in debris, I rouse when muffled voices and gunshots ring in my ears. Then the dust starts to settle, and my eyes flutter open to the most beautiful sight. Soldiers. American soldiers. This can’t be real. I’m so disoriented—afraid to believe it. Because it’s very possible that this is all just a figment of my imagination. “Am I dreaming?”

“Christopher Briggs?” The soldier working on my chains asks.

I give a sharp nod.

“You’re not dreaming. You’re going home, Sergeant.”

“Scottie?” I rasp out. I can’t see her. The prison that’s been our home since the day we were captured has been reduced to piles of rock and ash.

“We’ve got her,” I hear from the other side of the dilapidated bunker.

“Scottie, we’re going home,” I announce, my heart swelling, just before it takes a nose dive.

“We’re losing her—we need a medic!” a member of our rescue team shouts. Panic, the likes of which I’ve never endured, makes it hard to breathe. I can’t lose her now. Not after all we’ve been through. All that she’s been through.

“Scottie!” I call out, trying to break free from the men who are doing their best to help me. I’m so tired of feeling fucking helpless. I need to get to her. “Scottie!”

A sharp voice breaks through my tirade. “Sergeant Briggs, listen to me. We’re going to get you both out of here and to a hospital as soon as possible.” My body is finally pulled free from the shackles. “This isn’t helping. She’s in good hands. You have to trust us to help you.”

I nod, gritting my teeth. He’s right. We need to get her out of here.

Straining my neck, I search for her as we’re both finally loaded into a waiting bird. Her hand falls limply from the stretcher, and I grab it, and for the first time, I feel the warmth in her touch. She squeezes mine faintly before letting go.

Our helicopter lands at Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany during the late hours of the morning. I can’t make out most of the words being said over the buzzing of the chopper blades, but when they open the doors, they immediately rush off with Scottie for emergency surgery. She’s in hemorrhagic shock from blood loss due to being hit with burning rubble and has been unconscious for most of the ride. Just watching them haul off with her shreds me.

“You ready, man?” the medic asks as he moves me onto a gurney. He looks at me with wide eyes and a somber face, like he’s starstruck and pitying me all at once.

“Yah,” I rasp. “Do me a favor, man—get me a fucking mainline on the morphine.”

“On it,” he nods.

I’m ready to get whatever medical attention is necessary so that I can make sure Scottie’s okay. She’s all that matters. As long as she makes it back to her little boy in one piece, and as long as I can see her smile again, I can live with whatever hand I’m dealt.

The rest of the night goes by in a blur. I hear the buzz of the machines as I fight the meds to get updates on Katy. I hear “dislocated shoulder, severe dehydration, slight atrophy,” and some melodramatic shit about muscle loss. The list is endless, and I don’t give a fuck. Whatever fight I have left I lose as the burn in my arm spreads through my veins, and the meds take hold and whisk me away.

My eyes flutter open to blinding fluorescent lights. Squinting, I look down to find that I’m dressed in a blue and white hospital gown, with an IV in my right hand. My throat’s so dry that I feel like I’m swallowing shards of glass.

“Good morning,” I hear from across the room. The accent is thick, German.

“Where am I?” Blinking a few times, I shield my eyes with my hand, trying to adjust to the bright lighting.

The nurse comes into view to fiddle with my IV stand as she jabs at the buttons on my monitor. “You’re at Landstuhl Regional Medical Center.” She stares down at me with sympathetic eyes.

“How is your pain?”

Pain? I can’t feel shit. Why am I in the hospital? “Uh. I feel fine. What happened? Why am I here?”

“Can you tell me your name?”

“Christopher Briggs…Sergeant Christopher Briggs,” I add, straining to read the nametag on her scrubs. Mila.

Mila writes something in my chart. Her head lifts from her clipboard, and her green eyes meet mine as the corners of her mouth curl up into an encouraging smile. “Good. Do you know how old you are, Christopher?”

I scratch at the medical tape holding the needle in my arm. God, this fucking itches.

“Twenty-five.” I can’t shake this anxious feeling, and I’m not sure why.

She uncaps the pen dangling from the lanyard around her neck and again scribbles in my chart, immediately sliding it back into the cap. “I’m going to check your vitals. You let me know if you’re feeling any pain. The doctor will be in shortly.”

My vitals? Iraq…the ambush. I retch as I recall the pungent smell of Jones’s burning flesh. My heart beats erratically as I gasp in an attempt to find enough air to fill my lungs. Gunfire…the smoke…the girls…I have to get to the girls—

“Sergeant Briggs!” I barely hear the nurse’s voice through the chaos that’s wreaking havoc inside my head.

“Scottie!”

There’s a commotion, and I realize I’m being restrained as a white coat appears at the side of my bed. Warmth snakes through my veins, luring me back into a daze. The room goes quiet as I concentrate on the sounds around me.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Christopher Briggs. I’m Dr. Porter.”

“Stop drugging me,” I demand as the sedative filters through my body, and I again have to fight to keep alert.

“Scottie.”

“Staff Sergeant Scott is in recovery.”

My entire body sighs with relief. “She’s going to be okay?”

“She suffered significant trauma, and we’re monitoring her closely, but we feel good about her progress at this point.”

“Her progress. How long have I been out?”

“A week.”

“A week? Jesus.”

“I assure you she’s getting the best care.” He looks down at me with raised white brows. “She wasn’t the only one who suffered trauma. You’ll need some physical therapy to regain strength, but despite your list of injuries, in a couple of weeks, you should be up and walking. You’re very lucky, considering.”

I stare at the tiny holes in the tile ceiling above me.

“I have a referral for an in-hospital counselor—”

“No, thank you. When can I see her?”

“Her body’s been through quite a bit of stress.”

“Understood. When can I see her?”

“She’s not capable of conversation at the moment.”

Unable to hold back, I flick cold eyes to his. “I don’t want to talk about the fucking weather, Doctor.”

He nods. “She’s just down the hall. But I’d advise you to keep your visits brief.”

It takes me all of half an hour to sweet-talk my night nurse into swapping my bed for a wheelchair, and minutes later I’m staring through the window at Scottie as she sleeps. I watch her for hours until I’m forced back into bed. I watch her the night after, and the horror that covers her features as she comes to and has to be sedated. Her eyes meet mine just as the medicine takes hold, and they flutter closed.

My days are spent pacing the halls in rehabilitation, and my nights watching her sleep. Scottie suffered a second-degree burn to her abdomen from the explosion, her wrist had to be rebroken and set, and she’s being treated for dehydration and malnourishment. I’m sure she has her own list of things I’m not privy to, but as long as I can see with my own eyes that she’s okay, I’ll deal with it.

Fear flickers through my thoughts briefly as I watch her through the glass, wondering what I’ll feel when the day comes that I can’t lay eyes on her anymore.