Whole Pieces (8 page)

Epilogue

“Hawk?”

Drifting from the greedy claws of sleep, Hawk rolled his head to the side. Fastened onto the soft brown eyes that had been in his waking vision and last sight for the past thirty years. A weary smile trembled across his lips.

She'd aged well. A few laugh lines around her eyes. Smile lines that marked the amazing triumph of time together. As beautiful today as she was that day he'd first met her. She pressed her lips to his forehead, the scent of roses wafting around her like a halo. He loved that smell. Reminded him of heaven.

“The kids are here, Hawk.”

To say good-bye.
He knew what she did not say.

When she shifted aside, he saw his eldest son standing behind her. “Thom . . . asss.”

Strong, powerfully built, Thomas Kelley had followed in his footsteps and spent most of his days in uniform. “Dad.” He knelt at the bedside. “I love you.”

He'd taught him well. Taught him that
love
and
warrior
went together. Passionately.

“Quite a difference, eh, Haytham?”

Hawk looked to the side, choking back the emotion that made his throat raw. “Constant?” He frowned and felt a jolt as he took in the bed—which he occupied—and his son kneeling. “What's happening?”

“Just wanted to say good-bye to an old friend.”

“Old. I'm definitely old,” Hawk conceded. Then watched as more dialogue passed between him and his son before Thomas rose.

“My namesake is quite the man.”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Already a decorated war hero. And little Kate there . . .”

“Just like her mother,” Hawk said, feeling the heat of tears but not caring.

“So you're not afraid of dying?”

Hawk sighed. “No. I've had a full, good life.” He sighed. “Thank you.”

“Don't thank me. You did this. You made the choices.”

“But I wouldn't have had the choice if you didn't give me the chance.”

“Yes, well, dying in peace is far better than the way you were checking out last time, don't you agree?”

“Definitely. I can now die without any regrets.”

After the grenade detonated and took Hawk's legs with it, he'd spent two weeks in an induced coma before regaining consciousness. But this time around, even the loss of two limbs was not enough to destroy what was left of his life. He'd seized the chance to make things right with Ashley, legs or not.

Of course he wasn't sure she would still want him. Broken now. But he'd been broken for a long time. Angry. Contemptuous toward everyone and everything. At least, in the original time strain he had been.

This time, grateful for the second chance he'd been given, he had found the courage to tell her he was sorry. He could still remember her rich-brown hair tumbling over her shoulder as she leaned close and sniffled. “You hardheaded soldier.” She touched his face. “I'm so glad you came back to me.”

“Broken.”

More tears rushed down her cheeks. “
You
came back, Hawk. That's all I care about.”

“I . . .” He swallowed, feeling the parched desert of his throat. He cleared his throat, noticing the doctor slipping out of the room. “I . . . Ashley . . .”

She eased onto the bed beside him. “I'm here, Hawk. I'm not going anywhere.”

“C'mere.”

Brows, perfectly arched, wrinkled as she bent in.

“I love you, Ashley.”

Her chin trembled. And he knew why. He'd never uttered those words the first time around. Wanted better things, better times, better options. And then he spent thirty-two years hating himself. Hating the world. Hating Ashley for being so perfect, so true. Hating himself for not living up to her expectations.

Hawk remembered how he had cupped her face. Tugged her closer. “You deserve better, but I am glad you will put up with me.” He pressed his lips to hers, savoring the sweet changes of life. And he had savored them ever since.

No, he hadn't been able to save the lives of all of his unit. But there was one notable exception: Stratham had lived. He had a hideous scar on his neck, but he had his life back.

“He looks like another seven-year-old you once knew.”

Hawk blinked, jerked back to the present. He looked in the direction Constant nodded. “Brian.” His grandson. “He's six.” Abda had been seven. “Hey—whatever happened to him?”

“Alive. Very strong. Talks about being patient instead of a warrior, yet he
is
a warrior.” Constant shrugged. “Of sorts.” A strange smile overtook the normally stiff and stoic face.

Patient . . . not a warrior. . . .
Did that have anything to do with what Hawk had whispered into that MP3 player decades past? He locked gazes with Constant. “So he lived. But I don't get it. Everything went wrong. The kid told his parents. The fighters came after us.”

“In fact, the boy did not tell his parents.”

“But they hit us. Knew where we were!”

“That is because of your genius—the gifts you bestowed on Abda.”

“The gifts—”

“Yes, the patch, the necklace, the MP3 player . . . the effects were unavoidably wretched!”

“What effects?”

Constant sat up straight. “It's like this—no, you couldn't change things. Not on the grand scale you wanted to. Rarely can that truly be accomplished. But the minute things made the grand difference. Time gifted to you, gifted to the boy, ended up gifted to your team. Don't you see?”

“Was that supposed to make sense?”

Lips flattened, Constant worked his jaw muscle. “It's quite simple, really.”

After so many years, Hawk had missed the oh-so-proper accent and the banter. “Please enlighten me.”

“You and the men on your team gave Abda gifts, yes?”

Hawk nodded. “I thought it was better to be friends than to be threatening.” He shrugged. “A small change.”

“Exactly! But giving him those gifts cost
time
.”

“Okay.” Hawk could buy that. Made sense. “Sure.”

“Which caused the boy to return to his home later. That lapse of time allowed him to see the fighters.”

“Fighters?”

“They were there to slaughter his family—and they did that before you went back. In the original time strain, Abda died that night with his sisters, mother, and father. Thanks to your gift of time, he lived. Saw the men and went screaming to his father.”

Floored by the words spoken, the life he'd altered, Hawk shook his head. “I thought—”

“Yes, well, we have deduced that thinking's not your strong suit. Stick to fighting.”

Hawk smiled. “Agreed.”

“But that's not the end of it, Haytham. You see, then the colonel knew Abda had been with Americans because the poor child dropped his treasure box in his haste to get to safety.” Clucking his teeth, Constant shook his head. “That's why your men faced the fighters again.”

“But how had they found us the first time?”

“Abda's fear of you after your brutal warning the first time shone all over his face—that, along with his fear
for
you. His parents demanded that he tell them what was wrong.”

“He told them.”

“Indeed.”

Blown away by the repercussions, the difference one act of friendship had on the team, on a little boy's life . . . Losing his legs was a small a price to pay to relive his life the right way. Things were good. Stratham was alive.

A form filled the doorway. “Ah, look!” Constant said. “Your old war buddy.”

“Old codger got ugly. What's Stratham doing here anyway? I haven't seen him in twenty years or so.”

“Word of your failing health has spread. It was on the news.”

Surprise tugged at Hawk. “How? Why?”

Constant frowned at him. “You still don't know . . .”

“Know what?”

Snapping his gaze down, Constant hesitated. “Well, friend, you'll soon find out.” He donned a top hat, checked his watch, then gave a curt bow. “I bid you adieu, Haytham. A life well lived is worth honoring.”

Though on the three occasions Hawk had seen “Mr. D.,” seeing him now, hovering in the hall beyond his room, gave him no cause for concern. Because that wasn't his ticket out of this world. He knew it wasn't. He'd lived a good, full life, but he'd also surrendered his anger, his fears, a future unknown to One who could handle it.

In the corner, as his grandchildren drifted in and out of view—man, he'd done good, hadn't he?—Hawk gave a nod to Constant.

“Hawk?” Ashley's creaking but soft voice caressed his lessening heart.

Returned to his body—his bed . . . whatever—he looked up into those soft eyes he loved.

“You have one more visitor.” Ashley's face was glowing. As if lit by a spotlight. “You're not going to believe this.”

“Who . . .?”

She shifted aside, and a man in his late thirties entered the room, surrounded by a least a half-dozen other suits. Guards. It'd been three decades since he'd been discharged, but he knew how to spot soldiers, even out of uniform. Dressed in a very expensive suit and taller than Hawk's son, the man entered.

Inclining his head, the man offered his deference.

Do . . . I . . . know him?
Tired. So very tired. Too tired to talk. His eyes fluttered.

“I want to thank you, Hawk.” The man spoke, his words heavily spiced with an accent. “You have taught me so much. I have never forgotten. And I've made sure the world knows as well. Today, we both have become heroes. For you, a little late, but I pray you will not mind.”

Though Hawk frowned inwardly, he wasn't sure it made it to his face. “Who . . . ?”

Emotion swam mean circles around the visitor's face. He looked down again.

Only then did Hawk realize the young man held something in his hand.

The man swiped a hand under his nose. Was he crying? Two large strides carried him to Hawk's bedside. “Thank you, friend.” He set whatever he held in Hawk's fingers. “I will never forget you.” Tears made the man's eyes look as black as coal. “You changed the world,
dost
.
My
world. But also
the
world.”

With that, he turned and left.

Confused but too exhausted to ask questions, too tired to worry much longer about things of this world, his mind flicked to the item in his hand. The slick feel. Wires . . . It felt like an old MP3 player.

His breath shallowed out.

“You changed the world,
dost
.”

Dost.
The word for
friend
.

Wait . . . wait, wait. Come back!
It couldn't be. That wasn't possible.

“Mom,” he heard his son say. “Turn up the news. Look! That was him—his picture. I knew I recognized him.”

As the world began to fade, a newscaster's voice filled the room and Hawk's mind.

“And in the Middle East, the results are confirmed. Truly, this is the day the world changed. Having ended the vast turmoil and corruption that has plagued his nation these many years, Abda Najjif is the first freely elected president of a free, democratic Afghanistan.”

As Hawk released his hold on this world, as gray faded to white and filled with triumphant voices, Hawk remembered a little boy, a friend.

Once Hawk had come back from war with whole pieces of him missing. Yet now, whole pieces had been found. Eternally found.

A Note from the Author

When James Andrew Wilson invited me to participate in a concept that seemed wildly fun yet hadn't been done before—and involved a mild form of time travel—I leapt at the chance. Wanting to keep to my brand, I knew the story would center around a hero or heroine in the military.

However, writing about the military in a way that honors them can oftentimes be difficult. It's easy for poor wording to convey unintentional dishonor or disrespect. Being human, I've made that mistake before. So I approached this concept with care and, admittedly, some trepidation. My fear was that sending my hero back in time to “fix” something would almost certainly imply that a mistake had been made. And it was absolutely not my intention to insinuate that our military was making mistakes.

Thus I went to my husband, a veteran and the son of an Army officer with a distinguished military career, and asked for his thoughts. It was his suggestion, “What if a mistake
wasn't
made?” that propelled me into Hawk's tale, a heartrending story of the sacrifices our heroes make every day.

About the Author

Ronie Kendig grew up as an Army brat and married a veteran. Her life is never dull in a family with four children and three dogs. She has a degree in psychology, speaks to various groups, volunteers with the American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW), and mentors new writers. Ronie's Rapid-Fire Fiction brand is exemplified through her novels,
Dead Reckoning
and the Discarded Heroes military series:
Nightshade,
Digitalis
,
Wolfsbane
, and
Firethorn
.
Trinity: Military War Dog
, the first book in her new series A Breed Apart, will be released in the fall of 2012. Visit Ronie online at
www.roniekendig.com
or on Facebook (
www.facebook.com/rapidfirefiction
), Twitter (
@roniekendig
), or
GoodReads
.