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“They rescued me and Cade first. Then we fought our way toward Marc and Dave. He . . .” I trail off, throat tightening. “Dave caught a bullet. Marc was in terrible shape, but still alive. We carried him to the waiting choppers.”
Maddie searches my face. I keep my body relaxed through sheer self-control, locking the visceral reactions deep down. She doesn't need to know about the human wreckage we left behind, how Marc whimpered as we jostled his crushed limbs into the helicopter.
“But you made it out. You’re home,” Maddie concludes softly. “That's all that matters now.”
I stare out at the serene beach, memories of the violent rescue overwhelming me.
Maddie touches my cheek gently, as if sensing the dark memories threatening to pull me back under.
“What you endured was traumatic. It's only been a year. Give yourself time to heal.”
Her soothing voice is like a balm.
“I want to be here for you, Jack.” Her fingers trail down to lace with mine.
Slowly, I relax again, folding her into my arms. We stay motionless for a long time, until her heavy, even breaths on my chest tell me that she has fallen asleep.
21
MORNING MELODIES
The morning sunlight filters in as I lie motionless, studying the ceiling's carved moldings. Outside, waves rhythmically kiss the shore while seagulls trill cheerfully. I remained wide awake all night, afraid of falling sleep.
Maybe this relationship could work after all. I just need to figure out a way to evade sleep every night.
Maddie is still slumbering, chest rising and falling steadily beside me. Her lips are curled into a hint of a smile, perhaps reliving last night. I gently smooth a stray lock of her tousled hair, overwhelmed again by protective tenderness for her.
Unable to bear waking her yet, I slip silently from the plush blankets. I dress hastily and make my way downstairs.
Soon, the aromatic scent of dark roast fills the sunlit space. Through wide glass doors, I spot Walt settling comfortably onto patio furniture, newspaper in one hand and a steaming mug nearby. We exchange easy nods as I make my own coffee, then take the adjacent chair. A brown pelican soars silently above the shimmering waters as we sip our brew, and I peer out meditatively at the horizon.
Walt rustles his pages down, meeting my eyes over the reading glasses perched on his prominent nose.
“So, about this PTSD tech rollout. I know you're still thinking, but signing Walsh is clearly the best option.”
I swallow more scalding coffee, shaking my head. “I know you invited him here hoping to seal the deal with him. But I’m still leaning toward Hanes Robotics, as odd as that sounds. Their goals align closer with ours. And frankly, Walsh's zeal puts me off some.”
Walt frowns. “Jack my boy, you’ve got to see the obvious! Walsh can deliver at ten times the scale of those new kids.” He taps the business section of the paper meaningfully. “Our shareholders need returns, not a charity case.”
I brace against the familiar frustration rearing its ugly head. No one pushes my buttons as good as my father does. “But Hanes’ cutting-edge interface is literally mind-altering. Their innovation and willingness to take a leap is what I’m looking for.”
“Pah! That’s pointless if you lack the proper distribution channels and scale,” Walt counters, waving his hand vehemently. “I built this empire by pursuing long lasting partnerships. Walsh will lock in our dominance for another decade, easy.”
His absolute confidence gives me pause.
“Let me think it over some more. I hear what you’re saying, but sometimes you have to go with your gut.”
Walt just sniffs, clearly unmoved. We sip our coffee amid crying gulls, for now, stuck at an impasse.
After a pause, he presses on. “I don't like this startup gamble, Jack. My legacy must continue a carefully charted course.” His face darkens, tone sharpening. “Don't screw up my company for some misguided moral quest.”
Irritation flares hearing him disparage my motives, as if my entire career hasn't been in the service of others. “Misguided? Helping suffering veterans reclaim their dignity matters more than dividends, Father! And remember, I have financed the pilot from my own private funds, without relying on Whitmore Tech.”
Walt pounds the table, making both our mugs jump. “You never had proper business sense, always off chasing idealism!”
His dismissiveness of the trauma haunting soldiers ignites my defiance.
“This will bring profits, don’t you worry. But maybe I do lack the cutthroat instincts needed to steer your precious Whitmore toward that endless pile of billions you are pining for. Get it in your head for once that I’m not interested.” I stand abruptly, chair skidding back. “Wealth is good, don’t get me wrong. But that’s because with it, you get to serve others better. I’m grateful for how I grew up and for the possibilities you opened for me. But if you want me to always place money over human decency, then think again. This project is moving forward the way I envision it, with or without Whitmore. And you are free to look for another successor if you so choose.”
