His people. His family.
He needed them more than he needed oxygen. More than he needed anything—even his legs.
73
Liam
Day One Hundred and Twenty-One
“I’m broken,” Liam said.
Hannah sat on the cot, her hip resting against his. He couldn’t feel it. “Liam.”
Fear constricted his throat. He’d been dreading this conversation. It had been six days with no feeling, no movement, no nothing.
Liam sat in the same damn bed in the same damn position, his legs lumps of lead.
It was evening. A kerosene lamp glowed on the counter, draping the makeshift hospital room in shades of warm golden light.
“I have to say this,” Liam said in a choked voice. “You aren’t beholden to me. You should be free to…to be happy. I may never walk again, let alone fight or…”
Hannah put a finger to his lips. “Do you think I love you because you can kill a man twenty different ways?”
“The thought has crossed my mind.”
She took his free hand and slid her crooked fingers between his and squeezed. “I love you, Liam Coleman. I love everything that you are. Everything. I accept it all.”
He glanced down at their linked hands in the lamplight. Looked up and met her steady, unflinching gaze.
Hannah held up her misshapen hand, still holding his own, and said, “Broken doesn’t scare me.”
She laid down then, scooting herself against him on the cramped cot. She nestled her cheek against his chest, and he wrapped his arm around her and drew her close.
Nothing had ever felt more right, more true, in his entire life.
Whatever the future held, whatever joys and sorrows, as long as she was by his side, he would face it with his head held high.
“You’re still here,” Hannah said. “You’re still trying. That’s what matters.”
Maybe she was right. Maybe it was the men and women who chose to keep going, no matter what catastrophe or torment assailed them. Through the bleak and hopeless nights, the haunting nightmares, through every battering storm.
To show up, to be present and accounted for—to find a reason to smile in the face of despair.
Maybe that man was the real hero.
74
Liam
Day One Hundred and Twenty-Two
On Liam’s seventh day in the medical ward, his old friend Charlie Hamilton came to see him.
Hamilton didn’t even blink. He was the same gregarious, convivial soldier that he remembered from the spec ops missions they’d shared overseas in Syria, Afghanistan, and Iraq.
“I was hoping torture would improve your looks,” Hamilton said with a wide beaming grin. “Hate to be the one to break it to you, but no such luck, my friend.”
Liam grunted. “Sorry I couldn’t oblige you. I had more pressing matters to attend to.”
“Like saving your town? All of Michigan? I know, I know. Some guys are real glory hogs.”
“Did you come here just to insult me?”
Hamilton paced the room like a lion in a cage, all tense, coiled energy. “Much as I detest staring at your ugly mug, I thought you guys deserved an update.”
“It’s about time we got some good news around here,” Bishop said.
Hamilton glanced at Hannah and Bishop, who were seated at either side of Liam. “Glad you two are here to hear this.”
Bishop had cajoled Liam into a game of Monopoly Deal, which he was losing. Badly. Charlotte sat on Hannah’s lap between her arms, trying to grasp the cards in Hannah’s hands to gnaw on them.
“You saved our collective butts,” Bishop said.
Hamilton grinned and hooked a thumb at Hannah. “She’s the one who risked a treacherous Paul Revere midnight ride to get the truth to us. Once I made a couple calls to a few friends in high places, I could confirm her actionable intel.”
Hannah looked at Liam, her lips pursed. “Almost too late.”
“Hell, the only things that get done are in the nick of time.” Hamilton paused in his pacing to rake his eyes over Liam. His gaze snagged on Liam’s immobile legs, two lumps beneath the blanket.
A shadow passed across his face—a flicker of sadness, of regret—and then it was gone. “Lucky this bulldog got to General Sinclair, or this story would’ve had a much different ending.”
“When the National Guard showed up, they didn’t attack,” Bishop said. “If they had, we’d be toast.”
“They didn’t attack because the General never gave the final go-ahead. Turns out Liam had already turned him into a pin cushion. Most of the soldiers were ambivalent. It didn’t feel right to them, either. They were more than relieved to stand down, and then it was a matter of relaying the true state of affairs along the chain of command.”