Nightshade (Discarded Heroes) (28 page)

The doctor laughed. “Well, I’ve seen couples nearly end their marriage because they couldn’t agree on a name, so take your time with it.”

An hour later and feeling borderline euphoric armed with her single snapshot and video disc of the baby, Sydney walked the aisles of a supercenter for groceries. She had no idea if she bought what she was supposed to buy, because every few minutes she tugged out the photo and stared at the two-dimensional image of her baby. Her son. She sighed—and froze as her gaze hit the infant section. Glancing down at the carpet that divided the infant department from the aisle, she felt that if she crossed that, it was like … no going back.

Insane.

She couldn’t back out now anyway. She pushed herself and the cart onto the carpeted area and browsed. Rounding one corner, she spotted a man and woman huddling over a portable scanner. He bent and kissed her, and she wrapped her arms around him.

Throat raw, Sydney hurried past them, past the painful reminder that she was alone. Would she ever stop thinking in those terms? Would she ever feel whole again?

A book of baby names caught her attention and stopped her. Flipping through a few pages only had her wrinkling her nose. None of them appealed to her. What would Max think of the name Devin? He’d probably call it too uppity. Smiling, she laid the book in her cart and started on—only to stop again. A small onesie seemed to dance under the tease of the air conditioning. Camo.
BORN IN THE
USA scrawled in red, white, and blue across the front. Sydney lifted the ultrasoft garment from the rack, rubbing the material between her fingers.

Her phone rang, snatching her out of the moment. She laid the onesie on the book and answered the call. “This is Sydney.”

“Sydney, you’re not going to believe this.”

At the sound of Lane’s voice, she pushed her cart toward the front of the store. “What now? Is Buck threatening to fire me because I’m not in the office?”

“No, but listen. You need to come first thing in the morning.”

“He ordered me to take a week off after he yanked me from the story. I have two more days left.” And she was going to take them.

“I have one name for you.”

Sydney wheeled up to the register and started unloading the groceries, silently daring him to make a difference in her obstinate decision to wait out Buck’s grumpiness. “Okay.”

“Holden Crane.”

“I’ll be there at eight.”

A scream shattered the quiet beach.

Max spun, squinting against the sun-drenched Filipino shoreline. A dozen feet away, the Kid, dressed in nice slacks and an expensive button-down, writhed against the two hulking giants carrying him down the dock. He screamed like a little girl. “Put me down!”

“Say that again,” Legend boomed as he and Cowboy—one holding the Kid’s ankles, the other his arms—swung him back and forth toward the churning waters. “Say, ‘Marines are wimps,’ again.” Each swing gave them more momentum.

“I take it back! I take it baaacckkk.” He was hurled up into the air, flipping like a fish out of water.

Splash!

Cowboy and Legend high-fived.

Max laughed as the Kid burst up out of the water, shouting and vowing revenge. Dressed up for a night on the town, the team waited as Marshall dragged himself to dry ground. He glared up through thick black hair plastered to his face. “That was uncalled for.”

“What you said was uncalled for,” Legend corrected. “Look around you, Kid. We are the best, the elite of the elite. Each of us deserves respect.”

Marshall pushed his hair out of his face, panting. “I have to go and change.”

“We’ll wait,” Cowboy said, the laughter clinging to his words.

The sparkle of the water glistening under the bright glow of a full moon, beauty unparalleled, stretched around Max. In the hills of the island. Over the surging ocean. Serene and peaceful. Reminded him of his honeymoon in Maui. Watching Sydney trudge through the waves back to their rented beach house, knowing that she was his, forever and always.

Only forever wasn’t forever. And always was only a memory.

“Sure is beautiful.”

Max eyed the cowboy, the only member of the team in jeans. Granted, the jeans were crisp and dark, making him look just as dressed up as the rest. Finally, he turned his attention back to the waters. “Ever notice how peaceful it is, how calming? One of the reasons I became a SEAL. I run and swim to work off tension.”

“Then you’ve been swimming for what, three years straight?” Cowboy’s tease morphed into a laugh. “It’s a good way to work it off, Frogman. But what do you do when you can’t swim or run?”

Explode.

“That’s where God makes the difference,” Cowboy said. “Did you do that reading yet?”

Max shook his head. “Can’t be that easy.”

Cowboy chuckled. “That’s the exact thought that keeps you from God. It’s part of our sin nature to believe more in our own mortality and inept power than in God’s sovereignty and majesty.” He pointed to the waters. “Look at it, Max. All this was an accidental explosion of atoms? I don’t think so. Neither are you. God made you just as you are, but something broke down on the way to here. Only God can show you the blueprints and how things should work. Open up. Let Him. I think you’ll be surprised—and maybe, just maybe, if you get ‘er done, that beautiful wife of yours will still be available. And waiting.”

The words speared Max’s soul. Like little piranhas, the thought of Sydney with another man, the thought of her going on with her life, the memories of all they’d shared in the six years they’d known each other, ate at him. Pecked and chewed his courage. He’d failed her so completely and utterly. She was the one person he was willing to be real with, give 100 percent to—outside the SEALs—and he’d failed.

“I can see how much you still love her, Max. Part of God’s plan for you was Sydney. Your pride got in the way. Don’t you think it’s time to let go of that and reach for her, for God?” Cowboy slapped Max’s shoulder. “We’re going to check on the Kid. See if he needs more saltwater to wash his mouth out.”

Sand crunched gently under Cowboy’s feet as he plodded up the sand bank to the strip of hotels and tourist traps lining the street. With one last glance at the waters and the past, Max headed back to his room at one of the four hotels the team had holed up in.

You’re running again
.

He stretched his neck, ignoring the conviction that penetrated deeper than he’d admit. Never had liked thinking, sitting around bemoaning choices and events. Life was cruel and unforgiving. He’d learned to accept that when his father had walked out on him and his mother on Max’s thirteenth birthday. He doubted his absentee father had even known it was his birthday—he’d had that other woman to distract him. Then his mother disappeared, leaving Max to be raised by his grandmother, a wonderful woman who’d tried her best to raise an angry teen.

Max marveled—why hadn’t he thought of Grandma Lollie in years? She was a good woman. But Max ran over her like a quad over dunes—behavior he profoundly regretted.

Just like with Sydney.

He let himself into the room and locked the dead bolt. Collapsed on the bed, he stared at the cracked and brown-stained ceiling. What was with his treatment of Lollie and Sydney? How did he never see the parallel until tonight? Two women who’d loved him completely and always given him the benefit of the doubt, and he’d torched their efforts. Torched their attempts to attach roots to his heart.

Pulling himself up, he rubbed a hand over his chin. He bent forward and rested his arms on his knees. Lollie had died shortly after Max left for the military. She’d probably believed he hated her, resented her. Truthfully, he’d been so humiliated by his parents and so convinced that he must’ve been the cause for their hasty departures that he had pushed her away, not wanting to hurt her or be hurt by her when she realized the trouble he was.

But Sydney …

He felt like an animal. An angry, violent animal. He hated the way he dealt with things—or in more cases than one, didn’t deal with them. Yet everything in her, everything she’d given and shared with him, left him aching for more. Left him wanting her to see that he wasn’t a screwup.

But I am
.

God made you just as you are
. Cowboy’s words seeped past the condemnation. So, had God made a screwup?

A nagging desire wormed through his chest to read up on King David like the cowboy had told him to. He had nothing to lose. Max huffed and lifted his almost indestructible laptop from the bag and powered it up. He searched for an online Bible then stared at the books of the Bible listed on the page and paused. Where was the story of David? What had Cowboy said?

Irritated that he couldn’t remember, he went back to a search engine and typed in “King David.” Dozens of pages of results popped up. He picked one randomly. Over the next few hours, he read details of the famous king’s life, of his riches, his wise and incredibly wealthy son Solomon, and … of David’s failings. Killing a soldier under his command so he could take the man’s wife, whom he’d impregnated. Then the punishment for that mistake as he pleaded with God for the life of his son.

Yet when God did not grant that request and the boy died, David stood up and went on with his life. Max clicked on the commentary link, which explained that David had realized that he had been seeking his way instead of God’s way. As a result, his son had died.

Reading more, he saw a dichotomy. God called David a man after his own heart, yet He refused David the privilege of building the temple, saying David had been a warrior and bore too much blood on his hands.

Max looked at his own hands. He curled his fingers inward and clenched them. He’d killed. Many. As a soldier, it was part and parcel of the package. A grim reality he never liked. Yet the adrenaline rush left him wanting more.

He shoved away from the laptop and stalked to the barred window overlooking the small bay. Night-blackened water stretched toward the shore, kissing it and then sneaking away into the night. His gaze wandered to the twinkling stars in the sky, and he sighed.

“God …”

Everything in him closed up.

He couldn’t do this, couldn’t face the deep well of burning fury that choked him, made him—

“No.” He braced his hands against the windowsill. “I have to do this.” Every muscle tensed, he pushed his eyes to the heavens. “God, I—”

Bang! Bang!

“Open up.” Legend’s voice stomped through the air.

Defeat leeched his strength as he crossed the room, unlocked the door, and yanked it back.

“Intel’s in. Time to go.”

C
ould you repeat that, please?”

The man in the blazer and jeans smiled at her, looking and apparently feeling pretty cocky. “CougarNews will fund the trip to London, arrange the meeting with a contact who has the information you need, and we will grant first rights to print.”

Sydney eyed him, hesitant and wary. Max had always said if it looked or sounded too good to be true, you could bet it was—and to shoot before you ended up dead. “And what do you get again?”