Page 93 of Breakaway

I will say, the ex-fiancé revelation was as much of a shock to me as it was to Andi. Outside of Briggs getting drunk once and lamenting about his shitty, uber-rich parents who were more concerned with their reputation being negatively affected than their son’s mental health, I don’t know much about his past life. He’s certainly never mentioned an ex, but we’ve never really had the type of relationship where we open up and confide in one another. Not for a lack of trying on my part, but Briggs has been so shut off from the rest of the world that it was impossible to reach him–until Andi. She’s changed all of us, but Briggs more than anyone.

Suddenly, he veers off course and enters a rundown drugstore. I lean against the crumbling brick facade of the building across the street, deciding to wait him out. He exits a few minutes later, several bags clenched tightly in his right hand. I resume following him, pondering how much longer I’m willing to let this charade go on, but my curiosity is piqued, and I’m interested to see what Briggs has planned. His direction of travel feels purposeful, not like he’s wandering aimlessly while lost inside of his head. A few blocks later, a homeless encampment comes into view. I slow my steps, knowing my presence can’t be hidden as well now that we’re out in the open.

Ducking beneath the awning of a boarded-up restaurant, I watch in confusion as Briggs strolls through the makeshift living space without a care in the world. He waves to a few people, looking at ease and not the slightest bit out of his element. My brows draw inward as I try to make sense of the scene playing out before me. Briggs takes a seat on a stack of wooden pallets, and one by one, people begin approaching him. Using the camera feature on my phone, I zoom in so I have a better view of what he’s doing. I track his hand as he reaches inside one of the bags he was carrying and starts pulling things out, placing them beside him so they’re easy to reach. I note several different bandages, some antiseptic wipes, and a tube of antibiotic cream.

To my absolute shock, Briggs begins cleaning an open wound on the man standing in front of him. He takes his time, making sure there’s no debris in the cut, then lathers it with ointment before sealing it shut with butterfly bandages. One after the other, he doctors up their injuries, his face free of any judgment or disgust. Briggs treats them like people, something that’s probably become a foreign concept to most of them. It’s easy to assume the worst when you’re on the outside looking in, seeing the obvious signs of drug addiction that’s eating away at their bodies and minds, but we have no idea what these people have been through. What paths they’ve walked that led them to being destitute.

Some of them could be war veterans, some runaways whose parents don’t care enough to bother looking for them. But it makes us feel better when we craft our own stories and reasoning for why they’re in the position they are. It’s easier to lay blame with them alone than to acknowledge that, just maybe, life is difficult and sometimes it fucks us over without a shred of remorse. Royce and Rita are the sole reason I have the perspective I do. I worked my ass off to get where I am, so it stands to reason that anyone else could do the same, but they taught me humility. That seeing the world through such a narrow viewpoint is antiquated.

Briggs, however, has never tagged along to The Village or given any indication that he’s passionate about helping the less fortunate. He’s never cared enough to show interest in anything I’m involved with, so it’s a bit staggering to witness someone with such an affluent background doing something that most would deem beneath him. At least not the Briggs I know. I can picture him differently, though. Before he was taken captive by a cartel, his only worry was how many patients he could tend to before the day ended. I press my lips into a thin line, breathing through the pain invading my chest cavity when it becomes apparent why he’s here; why he’s doing this.

Deciding I’ve skulked in the shadows long enough, I slowly approach the encampment, trying my damnedest to appear non-threatening as a few of them give me wary looks. I slow my steps as I draw closer to Briggs, unintentionally eavesdropping on the conversation he’s having with a middle-aged woman about wound care. His supplies are practically gone from how many people he’s already treated, so I take a seat on the edge of the pallet, patiently waiting until there’s a lull in his line of patients. His shoulders stiffen momentarily when he registers my presence, but he looks more defeated than angry.

“What are you doing here, Col?” He sighs in resignation, keeping his eyes averted from mine as he begins to pack away the remaining bandages and ointment.

“Every time you’ve disappeared for the past two years, is this what you’ve been doing?” I ask instead of answering.

Briggs’ snort of amusement makes me think I’ve asked something monumentally stupid, but then he responds with, “If you’re trying to downplay my drug-induced benders because you’ve caught me doing something you find redeemable, don’t waste your time.” He braces his forearms on his knees, then tilts his head to the side to look me in the eye. “I absolutely numbed the pain I was in with every opioid I could find. But even when I was as high as the Chrysler Building, I did what I could to help treat their injuries. Most people who are homeless don’t trust easily when it comes to authority figures. Police officers haul their asses to jail for the slightest infractions, and doctors want to lecture them about substance abuse rather than treat whatever ailment they came in for.

“I’m not saying they’re wrong to offer them solutions or recommendations for rehab facilities, but it turns people off more often than not. They end up forgoing clinics altogether because of the way they’re treated, which can lead to serious infections when their wounds are left exposed to the elements. At least if I visit the encampments around the city every so often, I can ensure they’re receiving some type of care, even if it’s minuscule.”

“You miss it,” I surmise, watching as Briggs’ eyebrows draw together in confusion. “Being a doctor,” I explain, watching him swallow thickly before turning his attention to the skyline. “You were obviously good at your job, Briggs. It’s ingrained in you to help those in need. Hell, it’s a part of the oath you took. That doesn’t just disappear, regardless of how much you’ve wanted it to. I’m not going to pretend that I understand what you went through and how it’s changed you, but you’re a good person, Briggs. You did everything you were supposed to, so don’t let them win by stealing any more of your life.” His jaw is clenched so tightly, I fear he might crack a tooth. I know it’s risky to broach the subject of his past, but he needs to hear that what happened wasn’t his fault, and it damn sure doesn’t define the man he is today.

“I’m proud of you,” I tack on, giving his shoulder a comforting squeeze. “All I’ve ever wanted is for you to find happiness again. I might not have known the person you were before you knocked on my door two years ago, but I feel like these past couple of months have given me a glimpse. I regret not introducing you to Andi from the get-go. If I’d known she was the key to helping you get your shit together, we never would’ve kept her a secret from you.” I smile sheepishly, feeling guilty for how we handled the situation. Our intentions were pure, but I’m starting to think we went about it in the wrong way.

“Nah.” Briggs shakes his head in denial. “You guys were right to keep me in the dark. If I had known Andi back then, it would’ve made my recovery a million times worse. I can’t even fathom what it must have been like to know what she was going through and be incapable of doing anything to change her circumstances. I’d have scaled the compound’s walls and slaughtered every one of them.” A slightly maniacal grin stretches across his face, as if the idea of butchering her captors makes him gleeful. I can’t say I don’t agree with him.

“Hell,” I answer automatically, thinking back to those months we were forced to go a week at a time before knowing if she’d made it through another seven days unscathed. Rarely was that the case, but she was still breathing, and that was all we could hope for at the time. “It was absolute hell.”

“Ya know,” Briggs starts, twisting his neck side to side to alleviate the strain in his muscles. “I was fascinated by Andi when I first met her. I couldn’t understand how she went through what she did, experienced years’ worth of torture, and she never let it change her. What does that say about me?” Briggs questions, turning to face me once again. “Three weeks is all it took, and they destroyed every part of me. The career I had spent damn near a decade working towards, my ability to see the good in the world. They stole everything that made me, me. But the saddest part of all is that I let them. I didn’t fight. I didn’t try at all.”

Briggs swipes the back of his hand across his cheek, but the last thing he needs is to fight the dam of emotions he’s been holding back for far too long. I stand abruptly, not giving him a chance to shy away, then pull Briggs to his feet as well. I wrap my arms around him, hugging him tightly. It takes him a second to come to terms with the fact that I’m embracing him, with no plans of letting go anytime soon, but then he succumbs, his hands fisting the back of my shirt as the levee finally gives way.

A sob catches in his throat as he mutters, “I fucked up. I shouldn’t have walked away from Andi like that. I can’t lose her, Col. Everything’s dark and lifeless without her.”

“You’re not gonna lose her,” I state adamantly. “You two had a small fight, which is likely only the first of many, but she loves you, Briggs. That’s not going to change because you had a small disagreement.”

“Small?” He snorts derisively, then steps away to pull himself together. Running his hand through his hair, he tilts his head back and speaks to the sky when he asks, “What’s the likelihood of Andi believing my ex was just an apparition that managed to escape Hell for the sheer pleasure of taunting me and attempting to ruin my life?”

“Pretty low,” I jest.

“Figured as much,” he grunts in response.

“Gotta say, I had no idea you were ever engaged to be married,” I comment, hoping he’ll do me a solid and fill in the blanks without me having to pry any further.

“There’s a reason for that,” he says, his face contorting with annoyance. “Charlotte and I were practically a modern-day arranged marriage. Wealthy families like mine are never satisfied with what they have, always wanting more, and the best way to build your assets is to combine them with someone else’s who’s just as affluent as you are. Our parents were best friends, so it was expected of us to one day wed. I asked her out of obligation, but the moment I was on my own, away from my family’s influence, I called it off. I was two months into my humanitarian work in South America, and ended things over a video chat because I couldn’t stomach being engaged to her for another second.

“I knew she was hurt, but I never felt anything but friendship towards Charlotte. I tried, but that’s not something that can be forced. Before everything happened, I’d already decided to part ways with my family. Being there, surrounded by people who had nothing but the clothes on their backs, made it all the more apparent how spoiled and entitled I’d become. I didn’t want a life that was filled with stepping on anyone who got in my way just to make it to the top. After I was taken, I actually longed to see my parents, because surely their mask would drop and they’d show their only son that he wasn’t just a commodity they could pimp out to boost their net worth.” Briggs laughs, but it’s devoid of any humor.

“Fuck, was I wrong.” He shakes his head sadly. “They tried to send me away. Lock me up in some fancy mental institution that masquerades as a wellness center for the rich and famous. Rumors had begun to swirl, and if there’s one thing the Sinclair family won’t stand for, it’s their name being tarnished. I left and haven’t looked back since. I have no idea what would possess Charlotte to seek me out after two years of no contact, or why my parents have been monitoring my credit cards, but their prying ends here and now. As soon as I can, I’ll cancel my cards and open new ones they don’t have access to. And if I have to, I’ll take out a fucking restraining order on Charlotte. It’d bring me great pleasure to watch Raiden arrest her when she inevitably breaks it. People like her always think they’re above the law because they’re so used to mommy and daddy fixing everything.” His dramatic eye roll makes me laugh.

“Fuck ‘em,” I tell him, hoping the inflection in my voice lends credence to how serious I am. “They don’t deserve to be a part of your life, and you’re certainly better off without them.”

“As titillating as this has been,” a voice I don’t recognize interrupts. “I feel like it’s my godly duty to warn you there’s a thunderstorm approaching.” I spin around, finding a blue-haired teenager straddling a little girl’s bike. Her elbows are braced between the handlebars, chin on her fists, as she gives Briggs and me a patronizing smile.

“You,” Briggs grumbles in annoyance.

“And so we meet again,” she teases.