Page 37 of Luck Be Mine (The Defenders #3)

“On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Navy, and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one’s honorable and faithful service.” Gregg offered comforting words and stepped back.

Hunt knew those words by heart. Tears dripped from Cait’s eyes, and he squeezed her hand.

Twenty-one SEALS stood and made their way to the right aisle of the church. The line stretched back to the last pews. Pounding a SEAL trident into the fallen teammate’s coffin was a tradition that showed honor, respect, and brotherhood and stood as a commitment to never forget his sacrifice.

Hernandez went first, his face still a stone mask. His bloodshot eyes gave him away. He stood motionless for a moment. All eyes in the church stayed on him. He slammed a trident into the wood.

Each man went.

Each man offered his own silent thoughts to their dead teammate.

Each man slammed a trident into the wood.

Minutes and more minutes passed.

Hunt let each SEAL go ahead of him. The sweet smell of roses and lilies filled his nostrils, but comfort wasn’t there.

He would be last. He’d been his commander and the last man to talk to him. He would be the last to say goodbye.

Hunt’s turn came.

All the men had returned to their seats.

He eyed the casket and the arrangement of tridents. Baxter deserved this and so much more.

He stood in grave silence to honor Robert’s sacrifice.

No eye remained dry, yet the poignant stillness was not broken.

Saying goodbye always hurt. Rest easy, brother.

Hunt slammed his trident into the wood of the coffin.

The thwack echoed through the church.

Bess Baxter quietly cried.

§§§§§§§§§§

? Quiet After the Storm ?

Hunt followed Cait into their house.

Goodbyes to his team at the curb had been rough.

On a clear, beautiful night like this, he and Cait usually sat on their porch and talked to the neighbors.

Not tonight.

Many had stopped by to offer condolences and support, but he hadn’t been up to any conversation and neither had Cait. They were holding the team and their families together by a terribly slim thread, and he was trying like hell not to drown Cait in his own anguish.

His logical brain knew Bax’s death was not his fault. They opened the door. It was a toss up who went out first. It could have been him.

Him.

He locked eyes on the security panel, buried in memories – the ghosts of violence and death from the past taunting him. The pain in his chest ricocheted from gut to heart to brain. The massive effort to slam the doors in his head stabbed in hard thrusts. He wouldn’t remember. Not now.

Baxter’s funeral choked him. The usual military traditions played on repeat in the beautiful, ugly way death had. His mind shied from even imagining his death instead of Bax’s. Guilt crashed through him, then relief that Cait still had him, and then a sick ache for Bax’s mother.

He spent a half hour after the funeral on the phone with Gil Stemmons’s family. Harrison had notified the man of Baxter’s death only to discover Gil’s condition had declined, infection running rampant. He had to have his leg amputated. Another man down and out.

He finally focused on the alarm and walked through the procedure to check the sensors. All doors were closed and nothing was amiss. He’d do a physical check in a bit.

The house was in disarray with half-empty cups, discarded plates and napkins, and chairs everywhere, but he found gratitude. Cait had made this home happen – the sale, the moving, the putting it together. Every step had been fueled by her dedication to we-go-home rule #3.

The mid-morning funeral transitioned to the early afternoon meal laid out across table after table through their dining room, family room, and kitchen.

Every command and team member had moved through the house.

The mood remained somber, and the contrast to the laughter, stories, and ribbing of normal hurt, too.

Finally, only his team remained, and late afternoon slipped into dark evening before the guys and their families drifted home. Doogie took all care seeing to Bess Baxter and Adele. Hernandez, Tommy, and K-Rock left with family. Jack and Carter left alone. That worried him, too.

He gazed around the room. Niles, who’d been a rock through the whole thing, promised to come in the morning and set things right .

But here and now, it was a stark reminder that homes carried all manner of emotional weight.

Some were filled with terror, like his childhood home, but this one had truly become safe harbor for all.

A light turned on in the kitchen, the muted one over the stove. A drawer opened. Hunt followed the sound and came to the kitchen entryway. Cait had kicked off her heels and stood at the counter with a fork in her hand eating what was left of the vanilla cake.

He existed in her presence and found comfort here as no other place on earth.

She stayed calm and moved from group to group, easing hard emotions with touch and care.

When he thought he’d come apart, she appeared at his side and slipped a hand into his.

Half a dozen times, she appeared. Solid. Understanding. Loving.

He couldn’t find the words to tell her.

“Come here,” he whispered, finally forcing out the words.

She dropped her fork and padded on bare feet to his side. “What do you need?”

He shook his head, pulled out a kitchen chair, and helped her to sit in his lap. Who knew five years ago, when she’d insisted on lap conversations, it would become so important to him.

“You’re hurting.” Her words rippled in the quiet room.

“Yeah.” There was no use denying it. He shut his eyes, trapping all manner of emotion in his head. “Not tonight. I can’t…”

She cupped his face. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Truth be told, he was, too.

He dropped his head to her shoulder and held on for the longest time. Minutes, no. An hour, maybe. He couldn’t find words, and he didn’t try.

The truth of the matter sat deep in his gut.

She would be better off if he’d never come into her life.

She never would have taken her third tour, she wouldn’t have been hurt, and she wouldn’t be carrying the weight of his choices.

Death was a bastard, and regardless that she joked about battling the grim reaper in the surgical theater, when the monster came this close to home, he desperately wanted to change the past, change the path, change everything to protect her.

Cait finally shifted off his lap and took his hand, tugging him to rise. He resisted, not sure he had the will to move.

“We both need sleep. Let’s go to bed.” She tugged again, and he let her pull him through the living room to their bedroom.

“Did you set the security system?”

“Yes.” He collapsed to the side of the bed. She coaxed away clothes, like peeling layers to shed the day. He cooperated, and his eyes closed before he could throw the covers over his struggling body and mind. Sleep took him under as he listened to Cait ready for bed.

Dreams chased and tormented him.

He was saved from fitful waking by Cait, once again. Her weight against him, her cool fingers on his face, and her soft voice telling him it would get better.

She should know.

The errant thought that she was masking her pain flitted away. His mind calmed, and he sank into deep rest.

Life was a bitch. Regrets came with every choice.

But his wife – he loved beyond measure. Thank God he wasn’t dead.

§§§§§§§§§§

Two Weeks after the Funeral

? When Home Becomes Safe Harbor ?

Once again in Operations, Cait waited for Quaid to get off the phone. He had an update on Delaney, and work was all she had right now. The last two weeks blurred in a sea of difficulties. She wasn’t sure things would ever get back to normal.

He wasn’t sleeping with her. He wasn’t sleeping period. He wasn’t talking. He was down hard.

They were sliding over difficult ground much like their long-ago uncontrolled fall on an Afghanistan mountain slope.

If she hovered outside his closed workroom door one more night, she’d break. The debate about invading space she’d specifically designed for him clawed at her. Day ten without him in her bed and she’d hit a wall that tore at her heart.

She knew he needed space to work out Baxter’s death, but she didn’t know how she could help Hunt if she couldn’t get close to him.

Did she have to tear him down more with a confrontation that would hurt both of them deeply?

It wouldn’t be a conversation like the one on the front porch either. It would be a fight.

She sighed, sick of turbulent emotions seeping into every thought.

Quaid listened intently to the person on the other end of the phone.

He wasn’t dressed in GQ cool today. Khaki cargo pants and a blue Seal Beach T-shirt were a shocking casual for him.

With sand clinging to his flip-flops, he looked like a surfer with nothing better to do than hang ten until you studied his tense muscles and bloodshot eyes.

Quaid disconnected and turned in his chair. “We think we’ve found his area. Mackey and Remy have located some people who run into him on a regular basis. They will let him know we’d like to talk to him.”

Cait bit her lip. This whole idea seemed all for naught. “Will he answer the call when they tell him?”

Quaid shrugged. “If he does, we need to be ready with our argument. I gathered from your conversation at the hospital it may not be an easy task.”

“If I go by what he told me, it’s the money, and Elizabeth has arranged everything. Getting him to accept might be the bigger problem. But let’s find him first.”

“Agreed. Did you see the requests?”

“Yes. Nine new people? Are you ever going to stop hiring? Where are the women?”

“We take them as they apply if they meet the qualifications. As long as we have body business, we’ll keep hiring. Plus, we have four missing persons’ cases and two pentagon contracts.” Quaid’s cell rang. “I gotta take this.”

“Later, then.” Cait left Operations and went up a floor. In the workroom, a dozen men lounged, morning briefing just over.

Ty Drucker, her medic, peeled away from the group and strode to her. Of medium height, the bald, sturdy man was everything a medic needed to be: calm, competent, thorough, and personable.

“Did you see the schedule?”

“Yeah.” She rubbed her temple, tracing the scar from Afghanistan.

“How are you doing?”

“Hanging on. Day-by-day. Give me a few minutes, and we’ll get started.”

“No problem. I’ll be here.”

Cait went to Harrison. He gathered his tablet and paperwork into a stack on the table.

“You look tired, Doc.” Harrison’s inspection missed nothing which is why she should have taken a moment to ditch her magenta scrubs and get into her QM uniform to hide the fallout of a long night shift.

Cait took a deep breath, emotions she’d battled for days bubbling to the surface. “Carter is currently sleeping on the red sofa in my family room. He’s been doing nothing but sleep for days.” She stopped to stare at the television, trying to find words.

Harrison waited.

Finally, it all came out in a rush. “Doogie is cooking. Constantly. The smell of bacon and shrimp clings in my kitchen. He’s sleeping in my guest room even though his house is right across the freeway.

Brennan is weeding my flower beds and working his way through Hunt’s to-do list. My garage door now opens without coming off the rails, but the weeds are piled like green bodies in my driveway. ”

She tried for control, but failed. “Rachel calls me every day. She’s ready to toss Senior Chief in the Pacific. K-Rock is shaking the house with his amp. His guitar playing is annoying the neighbors, and Grayson is ready to drop him at my house, too.

She leaned in for emphasis. “Tommy, our crazy, trouble making problem child? He is serious, but calm and handling all this well. Frankly, it’s freaky!”

Harrison raised a brow. He’d been responsible for Tommy joining the team.

The anguish hit her. “Hunt is shut down,” she whispered. “All the way. Help me.”

Harrison stayed quiet, pondering. His serious brown eyes commiserated. He put his hands on her shoulders and leaned closer, keeping the words between them.

“The Navy puts teams who have lost a member on non-operational status for a reason. It’s more than the paperwork, the interviews, the command reviews of what happened.

The team needs a minute to work through the loss.

They are tight-knit band, and the loss rips them apart.

They have to complete new psych evals for this reason.

They need to process so they don’t hesitate when they go back out.

It’s better they work it out together. It’s how they stay strong. ”

“I get it, but I’m not sure any of them, well, except maybe Tommy, have seen the team therapist. But how would I know? They are just in my home, eating all the food, sleeping on our beds, and I’m on the outside peeking in.”

She stepped away, but Harrison took her arm. “Safe Harbor is the best place for them right now. Because it’s exactly that. Safe. Isn’t that what it’s for?”

Cait froze, her whole purpose for their home evolving in one quiet statement.

“My best advice? You can’t do anything to help them. They’re SEAL Team Three. They have to fucking figure it out. I know what you can do, though. Fix him. You know how.”

She exhaled in exasperation. “Not without breaking our marriage.”

Harrison shook his head. “That’s not true. He listens to you. He’s not going to walk away from you voluntarily. He’ll stand.”

Cait battled tears gathering in her tight throat. “I hate fighting with him. I get so little time with him as it is. God dammit, I miss Baxter, too,” her whisper fierce.

“Nothing is easy here. But some fights are worth having. I ignored that. It’s why I’m divorced. Don’t be me.”

Cait closed her eyes, rolled her head to stretch her neck, and struggled to swallow tears. Finally, she nodded, emotions tucked back in. “All right. I’ll fix him.”

“Only you can.” He patted her shoulder. “I’m not their commander anymore, but I can help you. Call me if you need anything.” He picked up his work pile and moved off.

She had nine men to complete medical assessments on, a reluctant veteran to find, and a husband to save. She wouldn’t lose Hunt. Not without a fight.