So, I'm hunkered in for the weekend in preparation of Maryland's coming 'blizzard'.
Man, can we panic! MAYBE anywhere from 1 to 5 inches...snort...my friends in Wisconsin keep texting me ha-ha faces...anyway with not much else to do...and still no new Jason Bourne novel to read...
"Dad? DAD!" Emma stomped into the house. "HEY! Where are you?! I have plans tonight. I'm not changing them, Mikey's old enough to stay home alone! DAD?! Oooooh!" She slammed the door. "DO you HEAR me? I can't believe this! DAD!"
"Where's your grandmother?" Mia asked as she followed Emma into the house. "I didn't even know your Dad was home. Didn't he just leave?"
"Yeah, he did." She reread the text on her phone – again. For the fifth time. The message hadn't changed.
"Need you to come home and do me a favor tonight, love Dad."
Like kissy emoji's and happy faces made it okay for her Dad to just ruin her plans.
"DAD!"
"Hey, hey, hey." Jason skidded into the room in socks, boots in his hand. "Hey Mia." he frowned. He hadn't expected Emma to bring anyone home with her. "Pipe down Emma."
"Hello Mr. Hayes." Mia smiled. She should have her Mom come pick her up. Her Mom found Mr. Hayes a mighty fine man indeed, and since Mrs. Hayes had passed away…
"I'm not staying in." Emma stated. "I have plans Dad, we're going out. You're supposed to be…..well, not here. Why are you home anyway?" Her eyes narrowed in on the kitchen island, she bobbed and weaved to see around her father. "That's your first aid kit. Are you hurt? Is that why you're back so soon?" She pushed past him into the kitchen. "These are bandages. That's blood. Dad…" She whirled, phone still in her hand, came back, tried to pat her father down. Gave him a hug, clung a second, started another body search.
He grabbed her shoulders, put a finger to her lips. "I'm not the one who's hurt."
"Mikey?" She whirled, her Dad forgotten, headed for the hallway that led to the bedrooms. "What happened? Hockey practice? Did he cut himself on his skates again? Stitches? How much ice do we have?"
"Mikey's fine." Jason caught and steered his hot-headed daughter back to the kitchen. "Went to the movies with Grandma. I have to go to the base, been called in. I need you to stay here and keep an eye on…."
"Hey Emma." Clay padded into the kitchen wearing jeans and nothing else though he was in the process of pulling a t-shirt over his head. Mia's eyes widened, her jaw dropped. Oh yeah, Emma's plans had just changed.
"What is he doing here?" Emma demanded, phone still in her hand. She saw the bandage on his right side above his hip before the t-shirt settled into place, sighed in defeat. "Ten dollars an hour. I need new shoes."
"Hell Ems, I'll pay your Dad if he'll let me 'keep an eye' on him." Mia muttered, looking Clay up, down, up and half way down. "Hum." She liked what she saw. Yup. MmmmHmmmm. Oh yeah.
"You mean, more shoes." Jason kissed the top of her head, released her. "Deal. Mia, need a ride home? I'll drop you off on my way to work."
Mia hid her disappointment. She'd be thrilled to stay home with Emma on a Friday night if it meant she could help 'keep an eye' on the tousled blonde-haired hunk who Emma didn't seem happy to have in the house.
"Clay, bed." Jason ordered. "Emma, thank you. I owe you."
"You do." She agreed, put her phone down, resigned to staying in. "Sorry Mia, guess I'm in for the night."
Jason moved off to sit down and put on his boots, phone cradled on his shoulder with his chin as he answered a call.
"I don't blame you." Mia breathed, wishing she could stay, but Mr. Hayes' offer of a ride home clearly said she wasn't welcome to remain at the house. That had been the plan when Emma had incorrectly assumed that watching her brother was the favor her Dad wanted. "Jesus Emma, who is that?"
Emma cast a distracted glance at Clay, more interested in why her Dad was home and how soon he might be leaving again then what her Dad's sniper was doing in her kitchen. "He, uh, works with my Dad."
"How old is he?"
Emma frowned, looked again at Clay who was cleaning up the first aid supplies from the island, repacking the kit, collecting trash. He tried to reach over head to open a cupboard door with his right hand, stopped with a wince, switched hands.
"I dunno." She shrugged. "Twenty-five, maybe? Thirty?"
"What is he doing here?" Mia couldn't take her eyes off Clay as he moved around the kitchen. It didn't escape her notice either, that he knew his way around a kitchen that wasn't his. "How often is he here? You've never said a word. You have to invite me over when he is."
Emma shrugged again. Really, like Mia had never seen a man before. "Ever since he...Dad?" She went over to talk to Jason when he hung up. "Is he here all night?"
"He'll sleep in Mikey's room." Jason stood up, put his phone in his back pocket, looked for his keys. "Grandma should be home around ten. You need anything, call Aunt Naima or Miss Janine. You won't be able to reach me."
"He's hurt again?"
Jason gave her pony tail a soft yank. "Uh, banged up a bit." He said evasively. "Let me put him to bed. Hey, I'm sorry about Mia, but I don't think it's a good idea for her to stay."
"No, it's not." Emma agreed. "She can't stop staring at him. I thought you wanted me to stay home with Mikey, so the company would have been nice. Thanks for taking her home."
Jason hesitated, nodded. When he'd brought Clay home, he hadn't expected to be called back to base. The doctor on duty at the clinic on base had sent the kid home on Clay's favored Advil gel-caps and while Jason hoped they were strong enough, Jason doubted it so Clay had permission to take prescription Motrin if he needed it.
"Dad, I know." Emma rolled her eyes. "No Aleve, no salt, no caffeine. What medication did he come with?"
Jason shook a bottle, set it on the counter. "If he can't sleep."
"Dosage?"
"One." Jason said. "I won't be gone..." He paused. He had no idea how long he'd be gone. "One every five hours, but I should be back."
"Are the rest of the guys going to be with you?" Emma asked.
"Yes." Jason snapped his fingers to gain Clay's attention. He was being polite to Mia, answering her questions with a lazy smile. "He's okay, just sore. If he hadn't fallen out of his hammock on the plane, torn some of the stitches, I would have let him go home."
"It's not a problem Dad." Emma assured him. "Just, why isn't he with Janine?" She watched his face, recognized the sheepish look. "Trent doesn't know."
"Trent knows. He set the stitches."
"There's something you haven't told him." She accused.
"Love you." He hugged her, proud of how well she had handled her plans being changed once the reason why had been revealed. His little girl was growing up, had matured so much since her mother had died.
She let it go. "Love you too."
Jason retrieved Clay from Mia, tipped his head to the light by a fist under his chin, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and followed Clay down the hallway to Mikey's room.
"OMG Emma!" Mia squealed, grabbing Emma's hands and dancing. "He's gorgeous! Jesus! He's so hot!"
"Clay?" She went into the kitchen, but Clay had cleaned everything up. She moved the bottle of pills to the top of the fridge, she felt better with it up high, didn't know why. "I suppose so."
To her, Clay was one of her Dad's men, nothing more. Though, if she thought about it, she could see why her friend would find him 'hot'.
"How often do you get to watch him?"
Emma shrugged. "Couple times. He was on crutches with a dislocated elbow. My Dad was mad at Stella..." But she'd never been left alone with him either. Stella had always been there and Emma liked Stella, she did, even if her Dad didn't. She didn't know what had caused the break-up with Clay. All her Dad had told her was, they'd broken up and it wasn't easy on anyone.
She'd lived through a break-up like that with her own parents. The difference was, despite divorcing, her parents hadn't been able to stay away from one another. Didn't matter now.
"Who's Stella?
"Clay's girlfriend."
Mia's face fell. "He has a girlfriend? Of course he does."
Emma didn't correct her friend. Best to let her believe Clay was unavailable. "Sorry about tonight."
"Wish I could stay." Mia said wistfully. "But your Dad's right. My Mom will have a fit with a man in the house and your Dad or grandma not home. Bummer."
"Yeah." Emma gave her a hug. "Call me later, we'll talk." Yeah, sure, that's why her Dad didn't want Mia in the house.
Jason came into the kitchen. "I'll give you a call when I can."
Emma nodded. "You won't have to leave again so soon, will you?"
"Dunno. But probably." Another hug and Jason left with Mia.
() () ()
It was early, not even 7 o'clock and Emma did what most teen-age girls did when stuck home on a Friday night. Interacted with friends on social media, chatted on the phone, had a text conversation with Mia, watched TV.
Her Dad sent a text around 9 o'clock, saying he should be home by midnight; asked if Clay was giving her any trouble; send him a text if he got up; he'd call when he could. She replied all was quiet, Clay slept, drive safe.
Her grandmother called close to ten, said she was taking Mikey and his friends out for milkshakes, where was Emma? Was she having fun? Emma replied she was home, in bed, reading a book. She saw no need to worry her grandmother by telling her she was home because her Dad had asked her to keep an eye on one of his men. That would bring her home, ruining the night for Mikey. And Mikey was moody these days, Emma's graduation was soon and then she'd be leaving for college. Poor kid.
Her door deliberately left open, she heard Clay get up around 10:30. She'd hoped he would sleep, waited to see if he was simply up for the bathroom, but the kitchen lights went on and she heard him in the cupboard, then the metal ting of the first aid kit.
She set her book aside, got out of bed, found her slippers. The first aid kit for scraped knees and pinched fingers was in the bathroom medicine chest. The green metal, Trent-issued first aid kit was kept in the kitchen, so Clay wasn't looking for Band-Aids and aspirin.
"Hey." Emma entered the kitchen. "Everything okay?"
"Didn't mean for you to get up." Clay was wetting a dish rag with cold water. "Sorry."
"It's my job." She smiled. Clay would understand. His boss was her Dad and when Jason Hayes gave someone a job to do, it was done. "Need some help?"
Most people, for whatever reason, tended injuries in the bathroom, but not her Dad. Always the kitchen. Maybe it was a Seal thing because Clay obviously preferred the kitchen as well. Or maybe he was just following orders. Eh, whatever.
"Bleeding a bit." Clay pulled his t-shirt up, pulled the tape from his skin, removed the bloody bandage, held the wet rag against swollen skin and red, angry stitches. Gingerly at first, then steadily, he applied more pressure.
"A bit?" Emma pushed him onto a stool at the island, dug for antiseptic wipes, tore several packages open. "Dad says you bleed easily."
"He gets that from Trent."
"Can't tell me what happened to you, huh?"
"Uh, playing with the dog...I, um, fell." on a knife, was left unsaid. He wondered if she would recognize a wound from a knife when she saw one. Maybe not, but the roll of her eyes told him she didn't believe he'd hurt himself in a mere fall over a dog.
"Cerberus is okay?" She asked, alarmed. "Dad didn't say..."
"Dog's fine." He hissed, tried to twist and wipe the blood from his back. Sure, ask about the dog first. He hadn't exactly been 'playing' with Cerberus. He and Brock had just been walking down the street and without warning, not even a growl, the dog had lunged at a woman in head to toe black robes, taking her to the ground with snaps and snarls. Clay had seen the knife, launched between her and the dog, felt the knife slash...yeah, Brock had taken it well, the team hadn't.
She blew her breath out, smiled. "Here," she pushed his hand aside. "Let me." She rubbed the surrounding skin with the rough, wet cloth, stayed away from the stitches. Blood had oozed, dried, oozed again. "Wow, doesn't want to scab over, does it?"
He winced when she applied pressure, scrubbed, flinched. "Mmmm."
"Sorry." She gave him a shy smile. "Cerb's fine, you, not so much, huh?" He was bruised wherever the t-shirt didn't cover. She didn't know a lot about injuries, this was beyond her expertise which consisted of scraped knees and scissor cuts. But yeah, the area around the stitches looked, well, swollen and the swelling extended below the waist of his pajama pants and towards his belly button.
"I've had worse." Clay was quiet, remembered Sonny yelling at him: "God-damn you Spenser! How many times do I have to say it?! If the fucking bitch insults your manhood, laugh it off. If the fucking bitch tries to sever your dick, knock the god-damn whore out! You put her down! We've been over this! You hear me this time? You got it? JESUS CHRIST!"
Emma let it go, wasn't going to get an answer. She poked at the stitches with a rag-covered finger. "They're loose." She didn't know how she knew that, but she did. She hadn't seen many stitches in her lifetime, just a time or two when her mother had been changing the dressing on one wound or another of her Dad's, but even so, she didn't think the thread should bunch and wiggle when the wound was gently disturbed by a mere, poking finger.
"Yeah." He hissed, breath catching. "Ow."
"Trent did such sloppy work?" She teased. "Don't see it." She dabbed and swiped with the antiseptic wipes, pinched a bit of skin, eyes widening when puss oozed. "That can't be good."
Clay bit his lip, she wasn't gentle. Remembered Trent's impatient fit when Clay had needed stitches - again: "God dammit Clay, just once! Don't touch, Jesus...let me see...aw, fuck, gonna need stitches again. Call you Dalton. Outta glue you, it's faster and I'm ready for bed. Let you itch, might teach you to stop blindly rushing head first into danger, you ass."
But of course, Clay was allergic to Dermabond.
"Fell out of my hammock after they were set." He said finally. He was so used to stitches and staples, he didn't even require anything to numb the wound anymore.
"Thought Trent preferred staples. Hold this, still oozing." She tossed the blooded wipes aside, folded a clean, soft cloth into a pad, handed it to Clay to hold against the stitches until the bleeding stopped. "Any idea what started the bleeding again?"
"Never stopped." Clay admitted. "Let up though. Rolled over maybe. You uh, know Trent?"
"Should learn to sleep on your back and not move so much." She teased. "Is this why Bravo's home? 'Cause you're hurt?"
Clay was quiet, wondering just how much Emma knew about her Dad's work. He didn't get the feeling she was pumping him for information, would accept what he told her and move on. Wonder if she got it from her mother. Jason had been a Seal when Emma had been born.
"The mission was scrubbed. We were sent on false intel."
"Mandy?" Emma guessed, tried and failed to keep the scorn from her tone.
"Not her fault." Clay managed. The failed mission had been fucked up from the beginning and one he wanted to put behind him and forget about. Tempers had been short, moods ugly and everyone had either been mad at or impatient with him.
She nodded, let it go. "Just...you know...thank you." She actually looked at him.
"For what?"
"Watching out for my Dad. Doing what you have to, to keep him safe, bring him home."
"My job, he's my boss." Clay offered lamely, uncomfortable with the conversation. "I'll protect anyone on the team." No matter who yelled at him for it. Least Cerberus had given him kisses, slept on his bed and Brock had brought him dinner so he didn't have to go out.
But Jason?
"The fuck Spenser?!" Jason yelled. "What the hell were you thinking? You pull a stunt like that again, I swear I'll beat your ass! You hear me?! You do not put yourself at risk like that, am I clear?"
"You're a sniper." She tore off pieces of same-sized tape, stuck them by the edge on the counter. "Do the sheets need to be changed? Will ice help any?" She got up, got him a bottle of water. "You and Uncle Ray go high and kill people so Bravo can clear."
He coughed, water spurted out, dribbled down his chin. He hunched a shoulder to use his t-shirt to dry it off. "Your Dad tell you that?" Wow. And not likely. "That doesn't bother you?" He was stunned she was so matter-of-fact about it.
Emma turned on the spigot to rinse out the dish rag. "I'm neither naive nor stupid. Uncle Ray and Dad talk. I didn't understand when I was younger, I don't completely now, but since Mom died, Dad talks to me more. I don't know the missions you go on. Or why or where or what you do. Officially, I know you were never there. I know your jobs are covert, you operate in the shadows, you don't exist. My friends, their parents, my teachers know Dad is in the Navy, that's it. And yes, it bothers me that people die. No, I don't hate that you do it."
"You sure you're only seventeen?"
"You have no idea how hard it was to give you back my Dad. I didn't want to, but, I love him and the man he was becoming wasn't him."
"Your Dad's a good man." Clay agreed. "Not all men can or want to keep their family in their lives when they have your Dad's job."
"Not close to your Dad, huh?"
"It's complicated."
"But you still have him?"
"Spenser look, I know you've been through a lot this last year...you lost Brian, Adam, Stella. You were in a chopper crash, taken hostage, you were shot, your Dad's an ass. It's hard, you've been dealt some hard blows, a raw deal, but you're not alone, we're right here, so either get your head in the game or step down."
Clay was quiet, Ray's gentle reprimand and reminder Ash was his father, still on his mind. Least he hadn't yelled at him. "Let's hope our fathers never meet."
"You don't think my Dad will like yours, huh?"
"How well do you know your Dad's men?" Clay changed the subject.
Ash and Jason ever met, there'd be one hell of a fight. Oh, at first, it would just be verbal jabs, hurled insults but Ash wouldn't be able to resist somehow dragging Clay into the argument and Jason would strike out...Ash was a dick, would try to have Jason arrested, press charges for battery and assault, do what he could to have the charges stick and affect Jason's career...oh yeah, wouldn't be good.
"Until recently? Not well. Dad kept his work life separate from his home life. We never even met the men on his team, except Uncle Ray. I don't even remember my life before Uncle Ray was in it, I've known him forever. But until they brought..." She stopped, Clay tilted his head questioningly. "...until they brought you home hurt and Dad stayed with you at your apartment, I hadn't had much to do with Sonny, Brock or Trent. Then, after Mom died, they were around more and Dad explained their roles on the team: Trent - medic; Brock - dog handler; Sonny - weapons; Ray - sniper; you - the rookie." She stopped again. "All dead shots. Then Mr. Seaver died and you guys were around all the time. Mr. Blackburn comes over for drinks, he and Dad are up until late, talking. I like his wife."
Mr. Blackburn? Clay managed to swallow the water that suddenly wanted to stick in his throat. "So, what makes you think I'm a sniper?"
"I have ears. When I was younger, I couldn't put it together, but now, with college prep classes, and the news in my face, Grandma talking to Dad and Dad always on the phone or someone stopping over...'kid went high' or 'the kid made the shot'. Yeah, you're a sniper. Mikey doesn't pay attention, but someday soon, he will."
Well, nothing to say to that revelation. Just a mental note to mention to Jason, his daughter wasn't a little girl anymore.
Clay pulled the cloth away, peered down, sighed. Yeah, Trent got a look at him and he'd be flat on his back, held down and re-stitched - or stapled. Ugh.
"Can't believe Trent let you go like this."
"He doesn't know."
"He wasn't on the plane?"
"I was asleep when we landed. By the time they woke me up, only your Dad was still there."
"Did Trent stitch you up?"
"Yuh-huh." He pulled a bottle from the med kit. Oozing puss wasn't a good sign.
"He's not going to be happy." She took the bottle from his hand. "Neosporin this is not," she read the instructions, squirted a dab into her palm, added water, made a lather. "Will this sting?" She asked as he tensed, flinched but held steady. "Sorry." With a gentle touch, she applied the foamy lather on and all around the stitches, rinsed it off by pouring tepid water from a glass, patted it dry. He held a gauze pad over the stitches while she taped it on, dropped his shirt.
"Blood doesn't bother you, huh?"
"Mikey. Dad. Uncle Ray. Mom was always tending some injury or another on Dad. Been around it my whole life."
"I don't intend to let Trent know I tore his stitches lose by falling out of my hammock." He helped her clean up.
"You don't think Dad will tell him?"
"No need." He gave her a grin that made her smile back at him. "I'll heal. Pick a college yet? Your Dad said you were accepted to several. He's pretty proud."
"No." She sounded sad, looked down.
"Worried about what? Location? Leaving your brother?" He paused. "The cost? Hey." He chucked her chin, she savored the moment, so this is what having a big brother would be like. "Don't want to make you sad, and I know pinning your Dad down for a serious talk requires traction in a hospital room, but talk to him. I'm sure your parents planned for your college tuition," he paused. "Pick your college, don't worry about how your Dad's going to pay for it."
She nodded. "Thanks. Um, Dad left you some medication, said if you couldn't sleep, you could take one." She pointed and he took the bottle off the fridge, swallowed one pill with water. "Never saw pill bottles with blue lids before."
"Yeah, they're mine. Night." Clay gave her a wink. "Thanks."
He went into the bedroom, shut the door, laid down on the bottom bunk, sighed. So, because he'd been hurt, and Jason didn't like Stella - because she'd left him alone in their apartment against Jason's orders - his boss's daughter had been introduced to the violent lives of all the men on Bravo.
Great. Just fucking great.
He couldn't wait to hear about how that was all his fault.
Emma cleaned up the kitchen, returned the first aid kit to the cupboard, sent her Dad a text, returned to her room with her phone in case her Dad called or texted back.