Author's Note: Yoooo. I know it's been a long time, and yes, I realize I did not post daily in October like I promised. But to be somewhat transparent, between work, personal life, and this, I was really starting to wear down (like, I would sleep maybe five hours a night many nights). So for my own physical and mental health, I had to take a break. But I haven't abandoned this, and I'm back with a new chapter! I may not post as often as I had hoped I would, but do know that I will finish this series. So thanks for sticking with it so far! Sure appreciate ya'll.
10. They Look So Pretty When They Bleed (Blood Loss | Internal Bleeding | Trail of Blood)
Adam jogged along the trail, admiring the darkened shapes of the trees in the evening. It was always strange being stateside again. Nights were always the hardest. So he often went running on the simple trail near his house. The scenery was diverting enough to keep his mind off the quiet of home, and it helped center his thoughts for the evening.
It was just a nice distraction in general.
He was pulled out of his thoughts when his phone rang, the sound cutting through the dark quiet. Pulling it from his sweatshirt pocket, he answered the call without looking at the caller or slowing his pace.
"Yeah?" he greeted breathlessly.
"You out running again?" Preach's low voice replied. Adam smiled, coming to a stop near the edge of a small river.
"You know me so well," Adam huffed, resting his free hand on his hip as he looked down at the moonlit river water.
Preach chuckled warmly. "Where are you this time?"
"Oh, you know. Just that trail a little ways from my house. The one we went to a couple weeks ago," Adam replied, catching his breath.
"Ah. I remember. You sure it's safe out there at night?"
Adam looked around briefly, looking back to the river. "I don't think the area is necessarily dangerous. Just quiet."
"If you say so," Preach muttered good-naturedly. "So the missus and I are planning a barbeque for next week for the team. The weather's good for it, so you in?"
"Yeah, that sounds great," Adam answered, grinning. Team barbeques always reminded him of their station in Turkey, and he suspected that's why Preach was doing it in the first place. "Anything I should bring?"
"Just yourself. Amir's already taking care of the sides."
"Of course he is."
"And McG's bringing the beer."
Adam chuckled, shaking his head. "Also not surpr—"
A hand roughly took Adam's shoulder, pulling back with enough force to turn Adam around. Adam's phone slipped out of his hand at the movement, dropping into the river with a soft plop.
"Hey—"
Adam stopped, staring into wild eyes set in a dirty face.
"Give me your cash," the man demanded, his voice gravelly and worn. Adam glanced down to find the silvery glimmer of a knife, and he quickly raised his hands in quiet surrender. He knew he could probably overpower the man easily, but it was different stateside. It felt . . . wrong.
Better to handle this peacefully.
"I don't have any on me," Adam answered calmly. "I left my wallet in my car."
"Liar!"
Adam watched those eyes, seeing the familiar glint of a drug-induced craze. He slowly shook his head. "I mean it. I left my wallet in my car."
"Prove it," the man snarled, stepping in closer with the knife, pressing the tip of the blade against Adam's abdomen.
Damn.
Adam swallowed regretfully. He should've disarmed the man when he first noticed the knife. It was tougher to make a move when a blade was that close to your gut.
"Look, I'm going to turn out my pockets. Okay?" Adam warned, slowly lowering his hands to reach into his pockets, pulling the lining out to prove they were completely empty. He stared at the man, dismayed to see him even more frustrated.
"Your other pocket," the man growled forcefully, nodding toward Adam's sweatshirt. The knife was starting to really dig in now, and Adam winced against the prick of the blade at his skin.
"You can check it if you want," Adam reassured him. "But there's nothing in there. Promise."
"Where's your cash!" the man shrieked angrily. The situation was escalating, despite Adam's calm demeanor. Adam had to do something. It was quickly becoming apparent that there was no other way out of this.
"I don't have any with me," Adam repeated, eyes glancing between the man's dirty face and the blade against his stomach. "You can follow me to my car if you want, but I just don't have any here."
The man's posture quickly tensed, and Adam knew he couldn't wait any longer.
He moved quickly to grab the man's hands.
But it was too late.
When he'd moved, so had the other man. And the blade had cut cleanly into Adam's abdomen.
Adam let out a surprised grunt, looking up at the stranger with some confusion. The eyes that stared back at him were shocked. Scared.
Startled, the man tore the blade from Adam, eliciting another grunt from the blond. The stranger stood for a moment, watching the blood slipping through Adam's hands.
Then he ran. As fast as he could.
Adam reached a hand out toward the man, but when the attacker didn't even turn around, he dropped his arm, looking down at the bleeding mess on his fingers.
Thinking quickly, he clumsily fell to his knees, reaching into the chilly river water to look for his phone. But in the dark, he couldn't see it, and he couldn't feel it. His hand slid through the water, shaking, trying to find that smooth rectangle. Even after the passing minutes, it should still be okay. It was supposed to be waterproof.
But shit, he couldn't find it.
He had to get back to his car. It was the only way to get help—there was no one around. And fortunately, the park was small enough that the hike back wasn't so far.
But which way was shorter? Back from where he came? Or forward?
He couldn't think. He was too focused on the liquid warmth seeping into his sweatshirt. Maybe forward?
Forcing himself to concentrate, he got to his feet and pushed painfully along, pressing a hand against the bleeding at his side. His mind was jumbled, and he was still trying to think of a plan for survival without a phone.
The blood was drenching his side now, dripping down his fingers as he hobbled along. Every step seemed to pull worse at the injury, and he was quickly losing strength. Damn, the parking lot still wasn't in sight, and he could feel his legs wobbling beneath him.
His hand wasn't providing enough pressure. He should bandage the wound somehow.
But now he was afraid that if he broke his concentration, he wouldn't be able to get going again. So he pressed on, his feet starting to scuff against the deadening leaves on the park trail.
His foot caught a root, sending him flying. And he landed directly on his wound, forcing out a harsh growl from his lungs. Agony bolted through his body, overwhelming his mind and his focus. He crawled steadily across the floor, desperate to get to the parking lot.
But he knew he wasn't going to make it.
His vision was wavering and blurry, and he was starting to feel cold. Weak.
This was all because he was trying to end a violent encounter peacefully.
Damn.
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"Hello?" Preach tried. "Adam?" There was an odd electronic sound like the call had disconnected on its own.
Something wasn't right.
He was already suspicious when he'd heard the harsh sound of the phone being dropped, followed by what may have been a rush of water. But something told him this was all off. This didn't seem like a simple case of Adam losing his phone.
"What did he say?"
Preach looked at his wife, his brow furrowed. "I think something's wrong."
She looked at him, mirroring his own frown. "What do you mean?"
"Just a feeling," he replied, still pondering if he should pursue the matter. "Maybe I should drive over there."
She watched him carefully, drying a dish distractedly. "If you feel something's off, you shouldn't ignore that."
He considered the thought, face twisted pensively. "Should I drive over there?"
"I think you should," she said quickly, putting the dish down. "He's your best friend. Better to be safe than sorry."
Preach let her words sink in. She was right. If something was wrong, he didn't want to sit here and let it happen. He stood up abruptly, giving his wife a quick kiss as he passed by. "Hopefully, I'll be back soon."
"Stay safe," she replied as he headed toward the garage, snatching up the car keys from their key tray.
He had to check. Just in case.
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Preach's frown deepened when he pulled in next to Adam's car. So he was still here.
Preach had driven fairly fast on the way over, but luckily, he'd dodged any police. And fortunately, the park was somewhat close to his own home, standing as a lovely meetup between his and Adam's house.
Feeling anxious, Preach quickly got out of the car, glancing at each end of the main path. It looped through the trees, starting and ending next to the parking lot. He wasn't sure which way to go, so he just picked one direction and jogged down the path.
It was a full moon, so the silvery light easily lit up the park, brightening the path considerably. Preach knew there was a small river against the path—and he knew Adam's usual route. So he just followed what he knew, eyes scanning the surroundings in case Adam had fallen off the path.
He heard the bubbling of the river, slowing to a stop as he came to the rush of water.
And he saw a dark patch in the leaves.
Pulling out his phone, he turned on the flashlight feature, shining it on the suspicious patch.
That was red.
Preach's heart was in his throat as he moved the flashlight one way, then the other.
And he spotted more crimson droplets.
With controlled terror, he followed the drips, sickened by the bloody drops that dotted the leaves every now and then.
His quick paces turned into a run, and he trotted urgently along the main path, ignoring the tendrils of other dirt trails as he kept his eyes on those terrible red drops.
And suddenly, there was Adam. Collapsed.
Preach let out a terrified gasp as he rushed toward his friend, flipping him over to find the massive blood stain against Adam's side.
From the precise tearing in Adam's sweatshirt, it looked like a knife wound.
Ripping off his own hoodie, Preach bunched it up and pressed it against the injury, eyes glancing at Adam's pale, bloodless face.
And it quickly screwed up in weak pain, accompanied by a feeble groan.
"Adam?" Preach called breathlessly, gently cupping Adam's face. "Adam, can you hear me?"
"Did som'thin' st'pid, Pr'ch," Adam grumbled weakly, writhing under Preach's hand. Preach's brow furrowed, listening worriedly. "Shoulda d'sarm'd 'im f'rst."
"I'm dialing 911. Just hang tight, understand?"
Adam nodded a little. "S're."
Preach hastily pulled out his phone, dialing emergency services before pressing the device to his ear. The calm voice of an operator floated over the line. "911, what's your emergency?
"Yes, I need an ambulance. My friend was stabbed. There's a lot of blood," Preach reported succinctly, focused on being efficient and clear. He gave the name of the park as he glanced around to keep an eye out for Adam's attacker.
"An ambulance is on its way. What's your name, sir?"
"Ezekiel."
"Okay, Ezekiel. Have you applied pressure to the wound?"
"Yes."
"Is your friend still conscious?"
Preach stared in the dark, pursing his lips at Adam's fluttering eyelids. "Barely." He tucked his phone between his shoulder and his cheek before reaching out to pat Adam's face. "Hey, Adam. Stay awake, okay?"
Adam forced himself to open his eyes further, focusing on Preach's gaze.
"The ambulance is three minutes away. Just stay on the line with me, okay?"
Preach did as he was told, anxiously waiting for the minutes to pass as he kept constant pressure on Adam's abdomen and answered the operator's questions. He was as controlled as he would be on any field mission, but even as well-trained as he was, there was always a flare of fear when someone you cared about was hurt.
And Adam was drifting.
"Adam, you've got to stay awake. You hear me?" Preach urged, shaking Adam with one hand. But Adam couldn't seem to shake himself out of the dozing spiral he'd fallen into. His eyes were steadily closing, no matter what Preach did.
Then they were shut. And they wouldn't open.
"Adam. Adam," Preach pressed. He could hear the sirens in the distance, but he was hyper-focused on Adam's slack face.
"EMTs are almost there—"
Preach tuned out the operator, still trying to coax Adam back to consciousness with a hearty shake. "Adam." He pressed his fingers against Adam's neck, holding his breath as he waited.
There was something, but it was barely there.
"Ezekiel?"
Preach didn't answer, focused on the low thrum under his fingers. He could hear running somewhere down the path, quickly coming closer.
EMTs finally rounded the corner, swiftly approaching Adam and Preach with a wheeled emergency cot between them. One of them gently pushed Preach aside, taking his place over Adam's injury.
And Preach had to reluctantly let them take over. It felt strange not having McG here, but stateside, what could he expect?
He watched the two paramedics work, eventually disconnected from the operator as the EMTs packed the wound before transporting a slack Adam onto the cot. When they started to carry him away, Preach naturally followed, keeping a polite distance to avoid crowding.
Even as they moved Adam into the ambulance, he waited politely at the back.
And he eagerly climbed in when they invited him on board.
As they were working on Adam, starting an IV and tracking his vitals, Preach was struck by how much this felt like a failed mission.
But it wasn't a mission at all.
This was just Adam going for a run at home. Getting stabbed on a run at home.
This was the one place they should've been safe, and yet, Adam was lying in an ambulance, his blood steadily dribbling out of his body.
He took Adam's hand when he was sure it wouldn't get in the EMTs' way, clasping the lax fingers between both of his hands.
What if Preach hadn't come at all?
What kind of call would he have gotten in the morning?
Hell, he knew he had to call the team. They'd want to know. But of course, he'd have to call his wife first, to let her know he probably wasn't coming home tonight. He knew she'd understand. Because this was Adam. His brother. They had him over for dinner more times than anyone else just because Preach's wife worried the man was spending too much time alone—and probably not eating properly.
And as Preach stared at Adam's pale, hollow face, one question burned the most.
Why here?
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Preach paced the waiting room, his phone to his ear. He'd already called his wife. As expected, she urged him to stay and keep her updated.
But now he had to call the team.
It had taken him a few minutes to decide who he should call next. Adam meant a lot to all of them—it was hard to choose who should hear the news first. Eventually, he decided to start with McG, the one who was most concerned about everyone's health.
The phone rang and rang, which wasn't surprising. It was late. By the time they'd gotten to the hospital and Preach had filled out any pertinent paperwork, it was dipping deeply into the night. McG was probably up, but most likely out in some noisy bar.
"What's up, Preach? You don't usually call this late."
Preach stopped walking at the sound of McG's voice. It was cheerful. Light. Surrounded by warm chatter and upbeat music. Preach hated that he had to ruin it.
"I'm actually calling . . . about Adam," he said calmly, taking a seat to settle into the conversation. He opened his mouth to speak, still trying to figure out how to break it gently, when McG hastily replied.
"What happened." The question came flat. Focused. Like McG had immediately shifted into mission mode. Then it broke, making way for something fragile and nervous. "Wait, don't tell me he's—"
Preach quickly caught on, shaking his head. "No, no. He's not . . ." He stopped, not quite knowing how to finish the sentence. "But it's bad."
McG waited for more, the voices in the background fading away into silence. Preach could hear the shuffle of a door, and the pleasant crickets of the evening.
"He was on a run, and he . . . he got stabbed."
". . . What?"
The one word came through so softly yet so clearly. A shock at the violence behind Adam's injury. Of course, they knew there were dangers stateside too. They knew that. But they'd expected more along the lines of a car accident. Or a fall. An injury while hiking. Not an attack. Those were supposed to only happen on a mission.
Not at home.
"I'm at the hospital now, and they're working on him. No word yet," Preach continued, leaning back in his seat with a weary sigh.
"Which hospital?"
Preach relayed the name of the hospital, quietly relieved to hear McG getting into his car.
"I'll be there in ten minutes. Ten minutes, okay?"
This just wasn't supposed to happen.
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Jaz was lounging on her couch, trying to read a book. Preach had recommended it. It was a slow, drawling thing, speaking of spiritual balance and calming one's mind.
But it was so boring. Numbing, almost.
She forced herself to read another page. Then another. But with every flip to the next passage, she got more and more restless, reading every soothing, meditative word.
She couldn't take it anymore.
With a frustrated growl, she tossed the book aside, annoyed. She should've known. Preach was far too calm—maybe Amir had some better recommendations.
She started at the shrill ring of her phone, grumbling under her breath as she snapped it off the coffee table. Looking at the caller ID, she was confused to see Preach's name. With the responsible adult he was, shouldn't he be in bed by now?
Answering the call, she pressed the device to her ear, still perplexed. "Hello?"
"Hey, Jaz."
She frowned. He sounded . . . worn.
"What's up?"
There was a beat of silence on the other end, and Preach let out a long sigh. "Something happened."
She sat up immediately, sitting ramrod straight as she quickly looked around for a sweatshirt. For her shoes.
"Adam's been hurt," Preach said gently, donning the comforting persona she knew so well.
No. No. She was scrambling now, finally tracking down her shoes and hastily shoving her feet into them. "Where are you?" she asked breathlessly, snagging her sweatshirt and keys as she swiftly walked out of her apartment. "Tell me where and I'll be there."
She was locking her front door as Preach rattled off the name of the hospital, and she took off running to her car. "Is he okay? Is he . . . ?" She wasn't entirely sure what she was asking, and her voice seemed to choke off.
"He's in surgery," Preach answered. "He was . . . knifed. At the park."
She slowed to a stop, painfully processing the information. Stabbed?
"I haven't heard anything yet. I'm still waiting," Preach continued. "McG's on his way, and I'm about to call Amir."
Jaz started walking again, heading straight to her car.
"I'm on my way."
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Preach put down the phone, taking a calming breath as he looked around the waiting room. The call to Amir had been the tidiest. Amir had taken the news with a calm acceptance, though there was a hint of turbulence under his quiet tone. But as expected, he said he'd be there right away. There was no hesitation. No pause. Just like everyone else, he'd be there as soon as he could.
Preach allowed a moment of pride for their loyal, tight team.
At the whoosh of automatic doors, Preach looked up, relieved to see McG walking in. He sat up to greet the medic, unsurprised to see the wild, overprotective look to the other man.
"Anything yet?" McG asked, forcefully taking his coat off as he looked around the space.
Preach shook his head. "Not yet."
McG took a seat, setting his coat on the chair next to him. He moved with nervous energy, looking around for any signs of Adam's doctor.
"The others are on their way," Preach announced, frowning some. "I admit it's nice not to have to sit here alone anymore."
McG looked to the other man. He put a hand on Preach's shoulder, a silent gesture of support. Then he looked away. His hand dropped. And the two settled into companionable silence as they waited. At times, McG moved to ask questions, but knowing Jaz and Amir probably had the same questions, he opted to wait. Just a little longer.
So Preach didn't have to explain it twice. Or thrice.
And the minutes ticked by. Steadily. Quietly.
Another whoosh of the door. And Jaz came jogging through in a tattered sweatshirt and sweats.
Amir came in right behind her, walking quickly.
Both Preach and McG sat up taller to receive them, but neither of them really knew what to do or say. So they stayed seated as Jaz and Amir quickly made their way to them.
"Got any updates?" Jaz asked breathlessly, smoothing a stray hair out of her face. Amir quickly slid into a spot next to McG, eyes darting between the medic and Preach with a questioning look.
"No, nothing yet," Preach answered, his shoulders dropping.
Jaz finally dropped into a seat across from them, brow furrowed as she caught her breath. "Well, what the hell happened?"
Preach took a slow, long breath, as if he'd been waiting for—and dreading—the question. He folded his arms. Frowned. "I'd called him to invite him over next week, and while we were talking, the call dropped." He paused. "Felt off somehow; don't know how to explain it. So I drove down to the park. And I found him on the trail. Hurt."
McG huffed, getting that protective edge again. "Was he still conscious? Breathing, at least?"
"He was breathing. Trying to talk. Said something about disarming the guy, but I don't remember the exact words," Preach explained. "By the time the ambulance arrived, he'd passed out."
This was a nightmare. It felt off and alien to be in a hospital when they weren't even on duty. The experience was different, but it also just seemed wholly out of place. Maybe because it came as such a surprise. Back in Turkey, they were usually there when Adam got hurt. Or if they weren't physically with him, they at least suspected something was wrong when he didn't come back when he said he would.
But here, they were completely blindsided. And it felt weird to be so separate from everyone else when they got the call. It was disconcerting to get the news alone.
Or even think that Preach was in the waiting room alone.
At least they were together now.
It made the wait somewhat bearable.
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They were finally allowed to see him.
After waiting for however many hours, the doctor finally came out to talk to them. And for now, everything seemed good. Fortunately, the blade had missed any vital organs, and the wound itself was rather straightforward. If all went well, Adam would be recovered enough to leave the hospital in a few days.
And now they were just getting to Adam's new room.
It was still dark outside, the morning far too young for a sunrise. As they slowly entered, they moved quietly and smoothly, eyes immediately snapping to Adam's pale, unconscious face, then to the steady bump of his heartrate on the screen.
He was alright. Or, at least, alive.
So they set up camp and tried to get some shuteye before dawn.
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Adam had developed an infection. And in the last day, his fever had skyrocketed. He had yet to wake up properly, every trip to consciousness confused and out of sorts. He'd been started on antibiotics and monitored closely.
But he wasn't well.
Adam was flushed and warm, more often unconscious than he was conscious.
And this was all because of a run in the park.
"No more running alone at night," Jaz decreed with a firm chop of her hand. It felt a bit like summer camp, being buddied up with a partner for safety. "We're never doing this again."
"We'll have to set up a buddy system for the man," McG chuckled, though the sound was strangely hollow.
"I just want to know what happened," Amir muttered, shaking his head.
"What's odd is his phone wasn't on him by the time I found him. His phone isn't with his personal effects," Preach added. "He had to have dropped it somewhere out there."
The four of them mulled over unanswered questions, watching Adam with a close eye. They were surprised the personnel had let them all stay at all hours of the day. Perhaps it was because they knew they all served together. Or maybe it was how well-practiced they were at the silent vigil. Either way, they were grateful they were allowed to stay, eager to see Adam truly okay.
And in the wee hours of the next morning, his fever finally broke.
Amir had taken to mopping the sweat off Adam's face, finding some calm within the task as the others waited dutifully.
After long hours of patience and concern, he finally woke up.
The waking was slow and bleary at first, but it quickly became clearer and clearer as Adam latched onto consciousness with a determined grip.
"Well, took you long enough," McG teased as the whole team crowded the bed with a relieved anxiousness.
"How come I had to see your ugly mug first?" Adam replied weakly, a hint of a smile pulling at his weary lips.
McG let out a hearty laugh, clapping Adam on the shoulder. "Glad you're feeling alright."
Even though he was talking and joking, Adam was still too tired to sit up properly, nestled deeply into a small pile of pillows. And while it was always odd to see him so vulnerable and weak, at least he was on the mend.
It wasn't until evening when any of them even thought of leaving his side for longer than a minute or two. But Preach eventually convinced the other three to go hunting for some decent food, if only to give Adam a little rest. Reluctantly, they gave in, heading out the door already arguing about where to get grub.
Left in silence, Preach parked himself next to Adam, looking to his tired friend with a small smile.
"Finally. Some peace and quiet," Adam croaked, smirking some. Preach's own smile widened, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. The blond noticed. "What's up, Preach?"
The larger man took a deep breath, sitting back in his chair with pursed lips. He thought for a moment, folding his arms. "This whole situation is sobering," Preach admitted. "When we're out on the other side of the ocean, we adopt this mindset . . . that something could happen to us at any time. But when we're here, I think we all relax a little. Like we assume we're perfectly safe. But anything can happen. Anywhere. Anytime. And that realization is sobering."
"I'm still here, aren't I?" Adam remarked, a reassuring hint to his tone.
Preach smiled that empty smile again. "Luckily, you are," he muttered. "But seeing you on the ground . . ."
"I remember it," Adam replied quickly, strongly.
It took Preach by some surprise. He'd assumed Adam hadn't remembered those barely lucid moments in the park, possibly overwhelmed by the blood loss.
"I remember it," Adam repeated. "I remember you there. I remember what it felt like. And honestly, I have no idea why you were there, but I'm grateful." He paused and their eyes connected, something meaningful passing between them. "I'm so grateful."
Preach shrugged. "I had a feeling. So I came to check on you."
Oddly, Adam smiled, as if indulging in a secret joke. "You would."
With a frown, Preach looked confusedly at Adam, but gave up when the blond wouldn't explain further. He sighed. "One thing that perplexes me," Preach continued, "is when I found you, you said you did something stupid. Something about disarming someone."
Adam's smile disappeared, instead replaced by a frown, tinged with a little self-anger. "It was a guy with . . . an addiction, looked like. He wanted money. I didn't have any. And I thought—hoped, I guess—that I could end it peacefully. I could've disarmed him. But I didn't . . . I just wanted to end it peacefully."
It finally clicked, and Preach sagely nodded. "You didn't want to harm him."
Adam looked down. "Yeah, I guess that's it." He took a deep breath, though it ended abruptly with a grunt of pain. "I just figured . . . I figured he had enough to deal with. I didn't want him to feel like he was powerless too."
The two fell into silence, letting the situation be what it was: an unlucky collision of unfortunate happenstances. And Adam just happened to be the near casualty.
"Does this mean I'm not invited to the barbeque next week?" Adam asked softly, a small smirk creeping onto his face.
In response, Preach could only smile and shake his head. "You know the missus wouldn't allow it. I guess we'll just have to reschedule."
"Hope the weather's still good for it," Adam croaked, his eyelids getting heavy.
Preach rested his hand on Adam's forearm. "I'm sure we'll figure something out."
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It had been a couple of weeks. Adam still moved slowly, but he looked much healthier. Stronger.
And he was enjoying the best beer brat he'd ever had as he slipped into a seat on Preach's deck.
He glanced up, doing a double take when he noticed the whole team approaching him in one, determined mass. A feeling of uneasiness settled in, but he faced it bravely.
"What? Do I have mustard on my face?" he asked innocently, wiping at his cheek in a casual gesture.
"We've created a buddy system for you. So you don't run alone anymore," McG announced, folding his arms firmly.
Adam stared, looking away briefly to put his bratwurst back on his plate. He wiped his hands, then looked back to his team with a solid gaze. "Please tell me you're not serious."
"Dead serious," Jaz countered. "You're not running alone anymore."
"Can't a guy have some peace and quiet?"
"Not if it gets him stabbed," Jaz quipped. "No more running alone."
Adam looked at each of them, unsurprised by the determined looks that stared back.
He really had no choice.
"Okay," he conceded. "Okay, you win. We'll have a damn . . . buddy system."
"Excellent," Jaz replied, smirking as she fell into a seat across the table.
"Now that that's settled, let me get you more food," Amir volunteered, grabbing Adam's plate with a quick precision. Adam barely had time to grab his bratwurst before his plate was carried off. Preach and McG chuckled some, following Amir as they drifted into friendly conversation.
Things felt better. The somber, dreary air had finally faded away to welcome their usual team camaraderie. And Adam had never been so relieved to find such normalcy.
Across the table, Jaz leaned back into her chair, watching her other teammates. Then her gaze slid to Adam.
"Real talk?"
Adam looked to her with a slight frown.
"We're just glad you're okay."
Yes, it was nice to have things back to normal again.
Fin.