Colorado Connection (Colorado Heart Book 6) (7 page)

Matthew didn’t want to get into the truth with this guy. How could he explain that Jazz didn’t want to see him or talk to him? That he wouldn’t even send an email and he sure as hell wouldn’t call? How could he describe the gut wrenching loneliness he felt because Jazz hadn’t tried to contact him?

“Fine,” Matthew said.

The guy nodded then stuck out his hand for Matthew to shake. “I’m Stiles, by the way, Jayden Stiles. I grew up in Oklahoma. Afghanistan wasn’t anything like Oklahoma. I wish someone would have told me that before I signed up. Hell, I wish someone would have told me how lonely it would be serving amongst hundreds of guys. Or maybe they could have given me a hint about how dangerous it was. I underestimated the danger. I thought it would be fun but it has been anything but fun.”

“Which branch are you?” Matthew asked.

“Army.” Jayden took a sip of his beer, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallowed. Matthew remembered watching Jazz’s throat as he drank, all the while thinking about licking that throat.

Matthew took a swig of his beer before responding. “I’m Marine.”

“You enjoying yourself?”

“Sometimes, but it’s hard to enjoy myself when I get shot at. I don’t know. It was good for a while. Our unit was good. The guys got along, we were friends. Then we lost a few.”

“Sucks, doesn’t it? I hate this war, but it’s not really a war, just a conflict.”

Matthew nodded, glad he hadn’t tried to hook up with this guy. He was too depressing, too focused on the bad. Sure, there’d been some terrible things that had happened overseas, but he was dedicated to the idea of fighting for what was right, because doing what was right mattered. At least he thought it did. Maybe it had been wrong for him to develop a relationship with Jazz, but at the time it had felt so right. Could this be punishment for their deception—lying about their relationship to their superiors so they weren’t separated? He didn’t want to believe what he and Jazz had was so wrong that this was the shit that blew back on them.

“You sure you don’t want to head up to my room?” Jayden asked.

Matthew smiled and shook his head. “Sorry, but I’m really into my guy. I don’t think I could be with another.”

Jayden smiled and nodded. “Okay, it was worth a try. You’re hot.”

His face heated and he knew his cheeks were probably red. The attention was nice, but he really just wanted to see Jazz. They talked about baseball, football, nothing specific and nothing of any consequence. After he'd finished his beer and paid his tab, he shook Jayden’s hand before heading upstairs to his room. He checked his email, wishing he had something, anything from Jazz. There was nothing.

The next morning, he was surprised to have Nancy waiting for him. He’d stopped and picked up a cup of coffee and a muffin for her, glad he’d gone to the effort when she handed him an envelope with his name on the outside.

“I hope it’s good news. And thank you so much for the coffee.”

Matthew nodded, forcing a smile he didn’t feel before stepping over to the waiting area and opening the envelope tab. He pulled the piece of paper out, unfolding as he glanced around. The first word was his name, and he glanced down, seeing Jazz had signed his real name at the bottom. When he started reading, Matthew was excited but the excitement faded as he continued to read.

Dear Matthew,

I’ve read your emails and I know you came to visit me. I’m sorry, I just can’t see you. I can’t face you right now. I may never be able to see you. Please go home. Stop spending time here. I’m going to block your email address so there is no reason to keep sending letters. Respect my need for space. Please don’t come see me again. Don’t call either.

Jordan Bergeron

He read over the letter twice more before crumpling the paper in his hand. He jumped up and ran out, bending over at his waist near the bushes as his breakfast came up. After he could stand on his own, he straightened and started walking away from the hospital. Anger and pain filled him. He’d lost Jazz, lost any hope of a future, all because some ass-wipe hadn’t allowed him to set up on top of a building while they’d been doing their rounds. Had he been up above, he could have seen what was happening and maybe prevented the unnecessary deaths.

Before crossing the main street, Matthew turned around and marched back into the hospital. He needed to let Jazz know he wasn’t giving up on him. Nancy saw him and her lips pinched together. She got up and came to him, her hand comforting on his arm as she pulled him into a hug.

“Oh dear, I guess it wasn’t good news.”

He gave his head a short shake, angry at the world. “No, it sucked. I need to get something to him.”

Nancy nodded and glanced around before handing him a piece of paper and a pen. “I’m not supposed to, but during my break I’ll take it up.”

“Thank you.” Matthew took the piece of paper over to a table and stared at it for a good five minutes before he wrote anything. Maybe Jazz would listen, and maybe he wouldn’t care enough to hear, but Matthew wanted Jazz to know he wasn’t going to give up.

Chapter Eight

If Jazz closed his eyes, he could still feel the pain in his left leg, though the doctors had sawed it off mid-thigh. He still had his right foot, but it was questionable. His hands were okay, though the doctors thought they might have to take the pinky on his right hand. The rest of his injuries were healing, though he still felt like shit and would have scars cutting across his body for the rest of his life. Then there was the other injury, the one he didn’t even like to think of.

Matthew’s letters made him cry. Jazz wanted to be brave enough to see his old lover, but what would Matthew think? Disgust filled him when he thought of his injuries. He was damaged beyond repair. Strength, good looks, and working body parts were all things he’d never have again. Matthew deserved a guy who was whole. Facing the truth about what had happened wasn’t something he could realistically do.

It hurt even more to know Matthew was at the hospital. Maybe seeing him wouldn’t be so bad. Then Matthew would know how ugly he was, know about the things Jazz couldn’t even face, and maybe, just maybe, Matthew would walk away and never look back. But Jazz couldn’t take the rejection right now. That was why he’d wanted Matthew to leave him alone. He knew as soon as Matthew knew the truth, he would take off. If Matthew really rejected him, it would destroy the last shred of hope he had.

Maybe it was stupid, but he couldn’t deal with Matthew walking away because of his injuries. If Matthew left because Jazz told him to go, it might feel better. He’d written the note, hoping it would convince Matthew to leave him alone. Lying in a letter was easy. The words had ripped his heart out, leaving him feeling more like a shell than a person, but they had to be said. Tears still threatened to spill, but he wouldn’t cry, not while he still had physical therapy and multiple appointments to get through today.

His door opened and he sat up straighter, a little surprised his nurse was early to pick him up for therapy. But it wasn’t his nurse, it was an administrator or something.

“Hi, Jordan. I have a note for you. He’s a nice young man. You should see him.”

The woman dropped an envelope on the table where his food sat. He wondered if he should leave it there, allowing the guy from the kitchen to take the letter back with him and toss it in the trash. He stared at the envelope for a long time, wondering what Matthew had written. Curiosity won out, and he opened the letter, unfolding the paper with a shaky hand.

My Dearest Jazz,

You can hide for a while, but I’m not letting you go. I love you and you’re too important to me to just walk away. Don’t think for a minute that I’d ever forget you. I’m not going to let you go. I’ll go back to base and I won’t take another week of leave for a few more months, but don’t doubt that I’ll be back for you. When you’re ready, just send me an email. I’m yours forever and I’ll love you forever. Nothing, and I mean nothing, can change that.

Yours forever,

Matthew, the man who loves you even if you can’t accept that love right now.

The tears he’d not wanted to shed trailed down his cheeks. Anger pulsed through him. Why couldn’t Matthew get that he didn’t want a relationship? The truth hung in the air, mocking him. Maybe Matthew knew him better than Jazz thought he did, but Jazz wasn’t going to give in, not yet. There was too much pain and regret to work through for him to see Matthew.

When his nurse came to get him for physical therapy, the guy didn’t say anything about the tears running down Jazz’s cheeks. No one condemned him for the sadness he showed. They didn’t make fun of him, and no one freaked out over his anger.

Days turned into weeks. He’d been fitted for his leg, a process that humiliated him and at the same time gave him power in weird ways. Because of the extent of his injuries, he was no longer active duty. His time at the hospital was limited, and he started searching for a place to live. No matter how many cities he looked at, Houston, Texas was at the top of his list. He'd convinced himself it was the veteran's hospital, located in Houston that had him going to Texas, but he knew it was Matthew.

The day he received his prosthetic leg, he wondered what Matthew would think. Every week like clockwork, Matthew sent him an email. At first he’d ignored them, not deleting the emails, but not looking at them either. Then one day when he was feeling down, he read the first few. They got more difficult to read as time passed. Matthew went from begging him to correspond, to filling the pages with love, talking about how much he would enjoy spending time with him on the beach or in the mountains. There were long descriptions of movies and songs and how they affected Matthew. But the kicker was no matter how many letters he sent and how many times Jazz didn’t respond, Matthew still signed each one
Yours forever
. Those two words twisted through him, making him feel like crap. He’d contemplated blocking Matthew for real, but he couldn’t, not when he still had so many feelings for the guy.

When Jazz left the hospital, he took a cab to the airport, getting pissed at the security screeners because they gave him a hard time about his leg. He flew to the place where his items had been locked in storage and made a deal with a moving company to get his stuff shipped to a place in Houston. The storage facility in Houston was his for two months while he figured out where he would live.

Everything was different now. Things like stairs, which he’d never worried about before, were important. Also, he didn’t know if he could drive his truck or how long he could sit in a car so he needed to live close to a store he wouldn’t mind walking to in an area he didn’t mind walking in. He’d sold his truck and was planning on purchasing something he could manage and not have to climb into. A vehicle he wouldn’t fall out of if he wasn’t wearing his leg. There were so many choices being dictated by his injuries. It was near debilitating to have to go out in public because he wasn’t able to stand for long periods. He had to think about what type of path he could walk on. Then there were the stairs, the fucking stairs that were hard to deal with going up and almost a death trap going down.

He avoided seeing anyone he knew, and honestly, he didn’t have any idea where Matthew was. Regret almost made him call Matthew on a nightly basis. He would lie in his bed staring at the ceiling as he thought about their time together. The emails were still coming, so he didn’t think he needed to send anything yet, but eventually he would break down and contact Matthew. He just didn’t know when.

In Houston, he rented an apartment a far clip from the VA, but with the freeways being so abundant, he felt secure he could get there when he needed to. The first weekend after moving, he went out to the beach, which proved to be an epic failure. He fell, knocking his arm against a rock he should have been able to avoid but he’d rolled the wrong way. His forearm throbbed, setting up an ache that lasted long after he went home. A new email had arrived from Matthew, giving him the first hint that something was off and things were changing with his old lover. Fear filled Jazz and he sat in his apartment, letting the day fade but not turning on the lights for a long time. He wasn’t ready to lose Matthew, not yet.

Chapter Nine

After Matthew returned to his unit, he started questioning everything. He wanted to know why he’d been assigned to walk at street level instead of finding a perch from which to protect his men. His questions were getting noticed, and he was reassigned to another unit. Anger was his constant companion, but being away from the jerk who had made the call that had destroyed so many lives was better than having to see his face on base.

Matthew was assigned to work a special detail that practiced building raids all day. He thought it was punishment for his questions. Late one night, he was woken and told they had a mission. They loaded onto a plane and flew across the ocean. He realized they were no longer in the U.S.A. when the sun was rising and all he saw was water surrounding them. They landed away from the base on a private airstrip. No one seemed to know what was happening.

The next morning, they woke to instructions to meet up for a briefing. The food at the briefing wasn’t the typical military breakfast. He drank good coffee and ate delicious food. About twenty minutes after he'd started eating, the door opened and a group of men stepped in, changing the atmosphere. These guys were very serious and huge, their concentration and discipline exemplary. He was a Marine, but these guys were even more intense than he and his men.

The lights were cut and a video splashed on a screen, showing surveillance from above. One of the guys stood at the front of the room and started speaking.

“Two weeks ago, a Marine was taken when his unit was ambushed. Four men and one woman died. We’re going in tonight to retrieve that man. This is a dangerous mission. You may have wondered why you have been doing building raids for the last six months. Well, this is why. Spend the day getting your equipment ready. We’ll leave at thirteen hundred hours. There are maps of the grounds and the surrounding buildings. Study them and be ready to head out. You may want to catch some shut eye because it’s doubtful you will sleep much in the next twenty-four hours.”

Matthew stared at the screen, wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into. But maybe this was exactly what he needed. Jazz wouldn’t talk to him, and he was sick of the military. Putting up a fight every day just to have Jazz ignore him was too much. His mood had suffered. Depression was a close companion. This mission was dangerous, maybe dangerous enough for him to die.

He studied, asked questions, studied some more and felt confident by the time they headed out to the helicopters taking them to their drop location. Whatever happened, he was ready for it.

They came in low and were out of the chopper in seconds. Working with this group was different than with the other guys. The job was more important than their friendships, but in times like this, he was glad everyone was so focused on the mission.

They had intel that put six guards on the man they were headed in to rescue. Matthew was the first to the building, followed closely by four other men. They broke through the door quickly, and he shot the first man who raised a gun. Three other men were dead by the time he made it into the back room. He stopped short when he saw two men who looked to be prisoners. A guy stepped out of what must have been a bathroom and raised a weapon. Matthew killed him without a second's hesitation. The enemy was neutralized, and Matthew grabbed the skinnier of the two hostages, both of which had their arms secured behind their backs.

“What’s your name?” Matthew asked the hostage he knelt beside.

“Um, I’m American, but I can’t give you my name.”

Matthew paused and stared at the guy. “If you don’t give me your name and rank you may not be let on the helicopter. We can’t chance taking the enemy.” This man looked like he’d been through hell. His eyes had black circles rimming them and his lips looked dry and cracked. Bruises had turned his skin purple, yellow, and green. “Prove that you’re American.”

“Back to The Future, the Cubs were predicted to win the world series in 2015, but Kansas won against the Mets. There is a team in Florida, but they didn’t do very well. The main takeaway is that the future isn’t written in stone, like Doc said.”

“Okay, that’s a rather obscure way to prove you’re an American, but I guess it will do,” Matthew said. “Come on.”

The guy glanced away then lifted his gaze to Matthew’s. “It’s been a while since I’ve walked. I’m not—”

“I’ll carry you.” Matthew bent low and picked the prisoner up, almost gagging at his stench. Not only had he not walked, they must have not let him use the restroom and they sure as hell hadn’t allowed him to shower. This guy weighed almost nothing, so it was easy for Matthew to make his way to the front room with the man in his arms.

“Whoa, who is that?” one of the soldiers in his group asked.

“He’s American and been here a while. He goes with us,” Matthew said.

“Okay, you sure he’s American? We were only told about one.”

Matthew nodded, not willing to leave the guy behind. “Yes, he’s apple pie and baseball all the way.”

“You’re responsible for him. The chopper will be here in two. We need to load up. He’s your responsibility, Miller.”

Matthew nodded and clung tighter to the hostage. He could feel the man’s ribs and hip bones. This guy had been through hell and it was written all over his face. He’d wasted away to almost nothing, his body appeared almost fragile, leaving Matthew wondering how long he’d been held captive.

The ride back to the building near the airstrip where they’d landed didn’t take long. They were loaded onto a plane straight from the helicopter, spending only minutes on the ground. The Marine who had been held captive, along with the guy he’d picked up, were both set up with IV’s. Matthew stayed next to the man, holding his hand as they flew. Food was handed out, but the man he was next to stank so badly Matthew gagged at the thought of eating.

After about an hour, the man tapped Matthew on the arm. His gaze dipped when Matthew looked at him. “Can-can you help me wash up in the bathroom?”

Matthew looked around and figured they could find the guy clothes from the men on the plane. He nodded then stood, his gaze falling on the big guy who seemed to be in command. “We need clothes for this man. I’m going to help him get cleaned up.”

The soldier nodded and tossed Matthew a shirt. Another guy handed Matthew a pair of underwear and some pants. He helped the guy shuffle to the bathroom, where he stripped the man, careful of the IV line attached to him. The guy shook as Matthew used paper towels to wash the worst of the mess from his body.

“You okay standing for longer,” Matthew asked.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t allowed to use the restroom.”

Matthew thought the guy was going to cry and he didn’t want this man to be any more embarrassed than he already was. “Hey, don’t apologize. We’ll get you cleaned up, and when we land, no one will know how bad it was.”

“I-I haven’t eaten in days.”

“It’s okay. We’ll get you something as soon as the doc says we can. For now, the IV should help.”

The guy nodded, and Matthew wondered what had happened. He finished with the first wash then helped with soap to clean away the grime. Matthew used a cup to wash the man’s hair. Eventually, the guy had to sit on the toilet while Matthew finished cleaning him. When he no longer smelled like a sewer rat, Matthew helped him into some clothes. After the guy was dressed, Matthew carried him back to the front of the plane and strapped him in. He then went back to the bathroom and tossed the guy’s dirty clothes into a trash bag. After he'd finished cleaning up the bathroom, he moved to sit next to the man, finding him asleep. Matthew dozed off but woke when the engine noise changed. He looked out the window, seeing they were over land. The guy next to him was awake with worry filling his eyes.

“You feeling better?”

“A little. They must have given me another bag of saline. This one is full.”

Matthew looked at the bag and nodded. “Looks that way. They are going to ask questions.”

The stranger bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut. “I need to make a call. Do you have a phone?”

Matthew nodded and grabbed his cell from his pack, turning it on. He ignored the messages and notifications as he pulled up his phone app. “Do you want to dial?”

“I don’t think I can hold it.”

Matthew nodded, wondering how weak this guy really was. “Okay, just tell me the number.”

The guy rattled off a string of numbers which Matthew entered. He hit dial and waited for someone to answer. It rang twice before the line was picked up. There was a throat cleared before one word was spoken.

“Speak.”

*~*~*

Grant Stovall had slept little since Zander had died. Every night he laid beside Roger, wondering how Marshal would last another day. It had been twenty-seven days since the mission where Zander gave his life, and every minute had been near torture unless sleep claimed him. His only rescue was being unconscious.

Marshal was still basically on suicide watch, but he was doing a little better than the first few days. They were trying to get him to talk, but he’d not spoken much. It was difficult to draw Marshal out enough for him to even acknowledge what the other guys were saying, much less get him to have any sort of conversation.

Grant had turned down a job that had come in, partly because he didn’t feel like it was a good match for their team and partly because he worried about how the guys would perform with everyone still distracted. He suspected this would be the demise of their organization. Something had to change, and maybe this would be the impetus pushing them to adopt some modifications in the way they operated.

Cold clung to the house, seeping down from the mountain, leaving everything muted. Perhaps living a subdued life was better than being bold. Boldness got people killed, and he hated that Zander’s light had been snuffed out before his time.

He’d just punched the button on the coffee maker, wishing it would brew faster, when his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and shook his head. This specific line would only ring if one of the guys was on a mission and calling in. He stared at it for a second, ready to yell at whoever was playing with the phones. If they wanted him to cook them breakfast in bed, they’d get a can of whoopass instead.

“Speak,” he spit out, wondering whose ass he was going to chew today.

“Um, hi. I’m—well, I’m Marine Corporal Matthew Miller and I have a man here who asked me to dial this number. He’s been through a lot. Actually, he looks like hell and he looked worse when I picked him up in Syria, but he’s on his second bag of IV fluid now so it’s getting better. I’m sorry, I’m rambling, but he asked me to call this number. I’m going to have to hold the phone for him and we’re about to land. I’ve been with him since we picked him up. Um, he’s crying now, so I’m not sure if he can talk, but he won’t give me his name.”

Grant stopped breathing and slid to the floor, his knees so weak he knew he couldn’t stand. He waited for the voice he desperately longed to hear but knew he would never come across again.

“Marsh?”

Grant choked out a sob, tears streaming down his cheeks. “No. Grant. Oh God, Zander.”

“Yeah.” The voice broke, and Grant could hear the tears and anguish in that one word.

“God, is that really you, Zander?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me get Marshal.” Grant pulled himself up and moved down the hall to Marshal’s room. The night before, it had been Billy’s night to sleep in the chair beside Marshal’s bed. So when Grant flung open the door and turned on the light, Billy jumped but settled quickly. Marshal barely moved. “Marshal, wake up.”

Marshal wiped his eyes and blinked at him. “W-what?”

“Zander.” Grant held out the phone, but Marshal didn’t move. Instead, his eyes went wide and his mouth hung open. He started shaking his head, his eyes filling with moisture as Grant stumbled closer, shoving the phone into his hand.

“H-hello?” Marshal’s voice shook as he stared at the bedspread in front of him. “God, Zander. Oh God.”

Tears streamed down Marshal’s cheeks, and Grant eventually took the phone back. He started talking, thinking he was speaking to Zander, but the guy who had called interrupted him.

“We’re landing at Lejeune. There are going to be questions for him. He won’t give his name. That’s probably going to be a problem.”

“I’ll fix it. Matthew, could you stay with him? Please,” Grant asked.

“Yes, as long as they let me.”

“Thank you. Corporal Matthew Miller, right?”

“Yes, sir. We’re landing in just a few. I need to hang up now.”

“Thank you.” Grant dropped the line and went racing to Duff’s room, yelling along the way. Duff was standing in his door, his brows bunched.

“What’s going on?” Duff barked out.

“Lejeune, who do you know? Or just Marines in general who have power?”

“Um, I know the current Commandant. He is a friend. I’ll call him.” Duff paused and cocked his head to the side. “Why am I calling him?”

“Zander is on a plane with a Marine, Matthew Miller. We need to intercept them before they start asking Zander questions.”

“Zander, what the hell?” Duff’s eyes were wide, and his mouth hung open.