The instant the plane landed and opened its backport, Clay made his way through the small crowd, pacing up toward the parking lot. Insistent and worried looks followed him until falling into the void.
There was a moment of odd silence among Bravo members, but then the joy of touching friendly soil with one more success to add to their files took hold of them. In an unbroken light atmosphere, the Team Guys aimed for their cages before finally going home, and the support personnel slowly shuffled away.
The desolation of the empty compartment weighed on Davis, who stayed behind to check everything was where it had to be. Something out of place caught her attention. She approached; a sigh escaped her mouth. It was Clay's go-bag.
Davis glanced at her wristwatch; Clay had rushed off so quickly he would be already long gone. She grabbed the worn-out handles and headed to the parking lot. She had to try. If, as she suspected, Clay would end up spending the night at the hospital, he surely needed the content of the bag.
The sound of an engine agonizing resounded in the distance. Insistently. Then nothing.
When she identified the source, Davis paced up.
"Damn it!" Clay punched the wheel. "Damn it!"
The hood clicked open a moment before Clay jumped off, and immediately the door slammed closed.
Davis reached him and looked over his shoulder. "What's wrong here?"
Clay winced, his shaking hands scrunched in threatening fist.
"Easy, it's just me." Davis put one hand in the air while the other tightened its grab on the bag's handle.
Clay turned his attention back to the car. His hands moved frenetically from one mechanical piece to another.
"Hey." Davis put a hand on his shoulder.
"This damn car decided to stop!" Clay kicked the tire. A grimace drew on his face while he tried to hide the pain he just caused himself.
"Let's go." Davis handed him his bag.
Clay shifted it from hand to hand, looking uncertain. His eyes laid on his useless car, then passed rapidly from his feet to his friend, who was already heading to her truck. The sound of a perfectly functioning engine sounded in the air, and Clay's body finally decided to move and hop in Davis truck.
The cushioned sounds of light traffic became more intense when Davis opened the car window to attenuate the smell the scarce care Clay put in his shower after the last mission and the long flight that followed provoked. In usual circumstances, she would not have lost the occasion to mock him on the topic, but those were certainly not usual circumstances.
During all the drive, Davis continually glanced at Clay through the rearview mirror, as like to make sure he was at least breathing, but their eyes never met, not even when she stopped her truck in front of the hospital to let Clay out.
As he hurried off and rushed inside, Davis's eyes laid on the car floor in front of the passenger seat. She sighed; Clay's bag was there.
. . .
Inside the hospital, the air tasted like alcohol, but not the kind Clay would have needed to pass the night ahead. Clay's boots clapped on the linoleum floor while he forced himself not to run through the endless hallway.
Too busy reading the labels outside the rooms to meet anyone's look, Clay froze in place when he found the one he was seeking. Room 31, just as his mother's fiancé had texted him. Clay swallowed. Leaving the bright corridor to enter the semi-darkness was something his pounding heart struggled to accomplish.
As soon as Clay set foot in the room, a vice grabbed the pit of his stomach. He held his breath while scanning the shape of his mother's feet under the blankets and her chest rhythmically lifting under a light hospital gown with the help of a ventilator. When his eyes reached her dreadfully pale face, Clay swallowed. He didn't remember his mother to be so thin.
"How's she doing?" Clay's eyes darted at the man sat near his mother's bed to avoid looking directly at the laid down figure at the center of the room.
Nolan jumped from his seat. "Clay." He cleared his voice, his expression turning stern.
"How's she doing?"
"Stable. But still critical."
Clay's look shifted again to his mother's immovable figure. He approached the bed and grazed her cold hand but immediately retracted his arm. "What the hell has happened, Nolan?" he faced his mother's fiancé. "Were you with her?"
He snorted and started to collect his things. "Why would have I?"
Clay stepped closer, matching the other man's eyes. "What does that mean?"
"Are you sure you're ready to hear the truth?" Nolan's dark eyes mirrored in Clay's lighter ones.
The regular beeping of the monitor connected to Clay's mother's heart resounded rhythmic and loud.
"She crashed her car on a damn tree." Nolan backed off and took a deep breath. "They analyzed her blood. She was drunk, Clay."
"What are you s—" Clay's shifty eyes laid on the pale figure of his mother until he felt a presence in the room.
"I'm sorry" —Davis approached with Clay's bag firmly in her hand— "I didn't mean to interrupt."
Clay passed a hand in his scruffy hair and cleared his throat. "It's okay, thank you." As he grabbed the bag's handle, their hands grazed. "Um, thanks for the ride an all, but… yeah, you don't need to stay. I can take care of myself."
"I've seen." She smirked, letting the bag go so he could store it aside.
"I'm not staying." Nolan glanced at his cell phone before putting it back in his pocket. "Don't be the usual arrogant, Clay. You could use a friend."
Clay's hands scrunched in fists. "What do you mean you're not staying?"
"I'm sorry, okay? But I don't even know what I was doing here in the first place. Or why I was listed as her next of kin."
"What?"
"And I have a lot of things to do."
"I can't believe it!" Clay took Nolan by the scruff of his neck. "Are you seriously leaving her here like this? What kind of fiancé are you? What kind of man?"
"An ex-fiancé, Clay. That's who I am!" Nolan broke off Clay's hold. "We broke up a couple weeks ago. And you're not in the position to give me lessons, boy."
Clay's hands were shaking, his jaw contracted.
"But she didn't tell you, right?" Nolan snorted. "Of course, you're never around. Just like your father, uh?"
"What did you just say?" Clay came nose to nose with him.
"Just what your mother thinks of you." Nolan stared with challenging eyes. "I'm not surprised she did this."
"Did what?" Clay's tone got ruder, and his right arm bent, making his bicep pop out. "Say it."
"Open your eyes, boy. This is no accident! You would know if you have been around."
A vein started throbbing in Clay's neck. "Say it again!"
"You've always been blinded by yourself."
Davis put a hand on Clay's arm to prevent him to throw a punch.
Clay retracted from contact, barely aware of his friend's presence. "And where were you, then, Mr. perfect guy?"
"I didn't end our relationship, she's the one who pushed me away. Probably because I wasn't messed up enough to meet her standards."
"You, little—" Clay placed his finger on Nolan's chest.
"Stop! That's enough, guys!" Davis separated them and pointed with her head toward Clay's mom. "You've more important things to care about right now.
Clay took a deep breath. His hands remained clenched while he stared at his mother's chest rise and lower at regular intervals.
"I shouldn't have said what I said, I'm—"
"Shut up," Clay said without looking at him.
"Okay. I needed to go anyway." Nolan threw a last, long look to his ex-fiancé, then headed out of the room. "Take care of her."
"Yeah, go ahead! Run!" Clay followed him out the door and punched the wall.
"Hey, hey, hey, calm down, Clay." Davis reached him and put a hand on his back. "Let's go back inside and sit down for a moment, okay? We'll figure this out."
. . .
Sat side by side to Clay, Davis couldn't do much more than stare and breathe the desperation in the air while the time never passed.
The inexorable ticking of the wall clock on one side, not perfectly matching their wristwatches and resonating with them, the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor on the other, the caretakers' footsteps coming from the corridor, the croaky voice of the speaker resounding from time to time…
Clay clenched and unclenched his fists, eyes glued on the gray floor while trying to practice his sniper breathing. It didn't help. Every intake of air, the smell of bleach and sorrow made him nauseous, and even though every SEAL was used to any kind of bad smell—from sweat to blood to even worse—this was different. This smell was worse than anything he had ever had to sniff.
"You don't have to stay here," Clay said, leaning toward the floor to not meet Davis's eyes. "We literally just landed after a long deployment." He sniffed. "I'm fine, really. You must have better things to do."
Davis stared Clay's neck and shoulders tensed muscles. "My job is to make sure you guys have everything you need, and what you surely don't need now is being alone."
Clay got up from the chair and stared at his mother, then turned to finally meet Davis's eyes. "I'm not gonna be alone. Stella will be here soon. I texted her."
"Okay." Davis nodded. "I'll just wait for her arrival then."
Clay's expression hinted annoyance, but his eyes were full of gratitude. He looked away, turning back to the figure laid on the bed, and his throat closed. Once again, an oppressive silence hovered in the air, broken only by beeping and ticking.
Shifting weight from leg to leg, Clay stood beside the bed, giving his back to Davis. "You" —he cleared his throat— "you heard my conversation with Nolan… what he said about my mom, didn't you?"
Davis stiffened and took a deep breath. "About her being drunk—"
Clay could feel her eyes on the back of his head but didn't dare to turn.
"—or the fact that she crushed on purpose?"
Clay headed to the window and stared at the last traces of sunlight hovering above the horizon. His hands, clenched in fists, shook visibly.
"Hey, I'm sorry." Davis approached him till her shoulder grazed his. "I didn't mean to be so direct."
Clay bit his lips. The constant beeping resonated in his chest walls.
Davis glanced at Clay's mom, then back at her friend. "You think he was right. Nolan? You think that it was not an accident?" She made Clay face her. "You said it to me on the plane. Why?"
"I—" Clay grimaced. "I don't know." He inched aside, eyes shifting to stare at his mom. "This is all my fault. I should have been here. I should have been with her. I should have answered her calls…"
"Don't go there." Davis faced him again. "Don't do this, okay? You don't know what really happened."
Clay sat back at the corner of the room. His hands in his hair, his eyes glued on his mother. "She tried to call me, and I didn't listen to her."
"It's okay, you'll talk to her again. She is not going anywhere."
Clay jumped to his feet again. "How do you know?"
Davis didn't back off but kept looking him with amazing staidness.
Clay stepped back. "What if she—"
"Hey," Stella sneaked her head into the room. "Can I come in?"
The beeping sound echoed deep while Clay's lost eyes met Stella's. She immediately stepped in and hugged Clay tight, trying to ignore the smell of sweat that mixed up the bleach scent that penetrated the walls.
"I'll leave you alone, then," Davis said quietly. "Let me know if you need anything, alright?"
"Thanks." Clay sniffed. "Really." He watched her going out, not able to add anything more. When he turned back, Stella was staring at his mom.
"She's stable. At least for now."
Stella's eyes veiled with tears. "And you? How are you holding up?"
"I'm just glad to be back home." Clay sighed, sitting down. His muscles were giving up, and his heart kept struggling to beat. "And glad you are here with me."
"I'll always be." Stella smiled sadly at him.
. . .
The pale glow of a little lamp lighted Stella's soft features as she leaned asleep on Clay's shoulder. The warmth of her breath on his neck kept him from falling into the glacial silence of his heart while his eyes fought to stay open. Despite being tough and trained, the deployment and the flight back home had challenged Clay's body, and the concern for his mother, the guilt, and the emotional stress had put a strain on his nerves.
"I'm sorry for all this," Clay whispered, brushing a strand of hair over Stella's ear. Then his focus shifted back to the motionless body lying in bed.
The tube going out of his mother's mouth was the only sign of her struggle, otherwise, she seemed peaceful and painless. Could this actually be what she wanted? The buzzing of his phone took Clay's mind back abruptly, making his body wince.
Stella shifted and muttered something in her sleep, but Clay kindly helped her to lean against the wall. He stared at her for a few moments, then glanced back at his mom. She would have liked Stella, he decided, too bad he never dared to introduce the two of them… His phone buzzed again. Jason. Again. Clay exhaled soundly and ignored the call. Sorry, boss, I can't do this right now.
The beeping sound coming from his mother's heart-monitor pounded in Clay's skull like a hail of bullets. He approached the bed and peered at his mother's pale face. "Come on, mom, open your eyes." —he caressed her cold skin, then his shaky hand took hers and held her tight— "I'm here, mom. Just tell me what can I do for you."