“Hetch, honey?” I whisper when I step back into the bathroom and find him on the floor of the shower. Head in hands, his body shaking in grief.
“Hey, you okay?” He looks up at my voice, but it’s as if he doesn’t register I’m here.
“Why did he do it, B?” There’s a rawness to his question, like an open wound that refuses to heal. I open my mouth to answer, but he doesn’t let me, cutting me off and firing off another desperate question.
“What kind of father does that to his son?” His head rears back against the tiles, and a sob rips past my lips at the force of it.
“I don’t know, honey.” I rush toward the shower and open the glass door. Not bothering to undress, I crouch down to his level and hold him against me.
“A man who was sick? He probably didn't think very far ahead. When you try to pull someone out of their horror show, they have a way of dragging you into their nightmares. Maybe your father thought he was trying to save you from his darkness.” I don’t register the words I’m telling him. I just need to get through to him.
“You really believe that?” He looks up, his eyes searching for more than I can give him.
“I do, Hetch. And maybe one day you will see it like I do, too. You’re just hurting right now.”
“Jesus, Liberty.” He reaches for me, leaning forward until he is an inch from my face. “How can you bear to look at me?” His question hurts my heart and burns my throat.
“How could I not? You’re an amazing man, Liam.” I use his first name, needing him to know I see him. The real him.
He doesn’t respond, lost under the stream of the warm water. Lost to the storm inside his head.
“I think we need to get you to bed.” I place my hands over his and start to stand.
“Don't leave me, B,” he whispers. It's so gentle I almost don’t hear it until I look down at him, and he speaks again. “You’re the only person I trust.”
“I'm not going anywhere,” I promise, meaning it more than anything I’ve ever promised.
In my thirty years of life, death has never touched me. I’ve never truly grasped the complexity of it, nor have I comprehended how grief could tear a man down. But the depths of pain someone can live through is unfolding in front of me.
I’m not walking away from him.
I’m in love with him.
Flaws and all.
I am in this for the long haul.
The only problem being, when I wake the following morning, Hetch is gone. No note, no explanation, no word.
Deep down a part of me knew he wouldn’t be here. A proud man like Hetch would be hurting more today.
But if I knew how long it would be before he talked to me again, maybe I wouldn’t have made him leave the shower.
Maybe I would have held on a little tighter.
A little longer.
Maybe I shouldn’t have let go.
Twenty-Five
Hetch
Three weeks later.
“How are you today, Liam?” Dr. Anderson, the force-appointed shrink my lieutenant sanctioned, asks as he sits across from me in his leather armchair. Left leg crossed over his right, right arm bent at the elbow, his long fingers wrap around the stainless steel barrel of his ballpoint pen. He’s the epitome of arrogance, with his stuffy suit and pointy shoes, but give him a few minutes, he’ll be a list of contradictions.
“Okay, I guess.” I shrug, not really sure how I’m feeling today.
A little less messed up than yesterday.
A little more desperate today.
“Just okay?” he presses with the right amount of query, then waits.
“Well, I’m not pissing rainbows yet, Doc, but I don’t feel like I’m having a heart attack every five minutes this week. So yeah, just okay.” I don’t know why I’m fighting it today. While it’s protocol for me to talk about the incident that happened three weeks ago on the overpass, it’s my choice to take it seriously this time. My choice to sort my shit out and for once, be honest.
So why am I being an asshole today?
Because you miss her.
“Well, it’s an improvement on your first visit.” He nods, not giving a shit about my foul mood.
It’s my third visit. What started out as a debrief session, soon turned into a standing appointment every Monday for mandatory sessions until Dr. Anderson clears me. If I want to stay on in the tactical unit, this is where I need to be. One slip up, one missed appointment could have me off the team. I knew it was coming. While the mandatory part pisses me off, I still welcome it. After everything I’ve been through the last few years, I’m surprised I lasted this long.
“So, what’s been happening since you stormed out of here last week?” I should hate the way he’s so frank, but I don’t. It’s refreshing for once. It also keeps me in check.
“Nothing,” I answer honestly.
I’ve done fucking nothing other than working out with the boys in our group training sessions. Eating, sleeping and missing Liberty sums up my life. On top of that, I’ve been here, telling this fucker all about how I’ve been doing fuck all.