exaggeration. My muscles are weak and I remember everything. Up until the explosion,” he added quietly.
Two years ago, their eighteen-year-old sister Lucy had been kidnapped and Patrick, a cybercrimes cop with San Diego P.D., had gone with a team of FBI agents to an island off Baja California where they believed she was being held captive. The trap had left Patrick barely alive; life-saving brain surgery put him in a coma. The only life support he required was a feeding tube, his body went through all the rituals of breathing and blood pumping on its own. Twenty-two months later he woke up without fanfare. Jack didn’t believe in miracles, but Patrick’s recovery was the closest thing to one he’d ever seen.
Patrick reached for a five-pound weight on the table next to the hospital bed. Jack resisted the urge to help him when he saw the strain cross his brother’s face. Patrick did three curls then put the weight down, winded.
“Dillon came by earlier. You just missed him.”
Jack hadn’t missed his twin. He’d avoided him. He had plans to meet up later with Dillon and the rest of the Kincaid clan, but for now he wanted to focus on Patrick and adjust to being home.
“Thanks for coming,” Patrick added.
Jack nodded. “I’m glad you made it.”
“Nearly two years.” Patrick frowned and stared at the foot of his bed. “Looks like they’ll let me go in a few days. I’ll have P.T. daily, but at least I won’t be in here anymore.”
“Good.”
Jack didn’t know what else to say. He stood. “I’ll let you rest.”
“I don’t want to rest,” Patrick said. “Did you come to San Diego to spend five minutes with me, only to go back to Texas or Mexico or wherever it is you live?”
“Pretty much.”
Patrick picked up the weight again, this time in his left hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that, it’s just . . . two years and nothing has changed.”
“Everything has changed.”
Patrick raised his eyebrow. “I missed so much. Dillon said you’d gone to D.C. a few times to visit him and Lucy.”
“I have.” Jack’s trips to D.C. had given him back the family he’d let his father deny him.
You didn’t have to follow the Colonel’s orders to steer clear.
It was obvious that Patrick wanted to say something. “Spit it out, Patrick. What’s going on?”
In a rush, he said, “Did I screw up? Did I fuck up the investigation in Baja? Tell me the truth, Jack. You’re probably the only one who will.”
“In Baja? Hell no. That bastard set a trap and you were caught in it. I should have gone. Maybe I could have seen it coming. I’m used to booby traps. I could have—” He shook his head, clearing the webs of guilt that continued to spin. “But I’d been certain it was nothing, that you’d been sent on a wild-goose chase. At first I was glad you’d left, thought it would keep you out of harm’s way. I didn’t like being responsible for everyone. Dillon was enough. But I was wrong.” And that didn’t sit well with Jack. Not in situations like that.
Jack stood. “I need to go. I just wanted—” He paused.
“I know.”
Jack squeezed Patrick’s shoulder. “Glad to have you well. Take care of yourself, kid.”
The door opened as Jack spoke. Rosa and Pat Kincaid walked in, Rosa saying, “Patrick, we have great—”
Then his mother saw Jack. Without hesitation, she rushed him into a tight hug. Jack accepted his mother’s warm embrace, but his eyes never left his father’s cold face.
“Hello, Mama.” He kissed the top of her head.
“I didn’t know you were coming. You’ll come to the house for dinner tonight. Everyone will be there.”
“I have to go.”
“No. You will have dinner—”
“Let him go,” Pat said, standing ramrod straight.
“I will not. Everyone is home for the first time since—” She didn’t say it, but Jack knew the last time all seven Kincaid children had been in the same room was for his nephew’s funeral thirteen years
Two years ago, their eighteen-year-old sister Lucy had been kidnapped and Patrick, a cybercrimes cop with San Diego P.D., had gone with a team of FBI agents to an island off Baja California where they believed she was being held captive. The trap had left Patrick barely alive; life-saving brain surgery put him in a coma. The only life support he required was a feeding tube, his body went through all the rituals of breathing and blood pumping on its own. Twenty-two months later he woke up without fanfare. Jack didn’t believe in miracles, but Patrick’s recovery was the closest thing to one he’d ever seen.
Patrick reached for a five-pound weight on the table next to the hospital bed. Jack resisted the urge to help him when he saw the strain cross his brother’s face. Patrick did three curls then put the weight down, winded.
“Dillon came by earlier. You just missed him.”
Jack hadn’t missed his twin. He’d avoided him. He had plans to meet up later with Dillon and the rest of the Kincaid clan, but for now he wanted to focus on Patrick and adjust to being home.
“Thanks for coming,” Patrick added.
Jack nodded. “I’m glad you made it.”
“Nearly two years.” Patrick frowned and stared at the foot of his bed. “Looks like they’ll let me go in a few days. I’ll have P.T. daily, but at least I won’t be in here anymore.”
“Good.”
Jack didn’t know what else to say. He stood. “I’ll let you rest.”
“I don’t want to rest,” Patrick said. “Did you come to San Diego to spend five minutes with me, only to go back to Texas or Mexico or wherever it is you live?”
“Pretty much.”
Patrick picked up the weight again, this time in his left hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that, it’s just . . . two years and nothing has changed.”
“Everything has changed.”
Patrick raised his eyebrow. “I missed so much. Dillon said you’d gone to D.C. a few times to visit him and Lucy.”
“I have.” Jack’s trips to D.C. had given him back the family he’d let his father deny him.
You didn’t have to follow the Colonel’s orders to steer clear.
It was obvious that Patrick wanted to say something. “Spit it out, Patrick. What’s going on?”
In a rush, he said, “Did I screw up? Did I fuck up the investigation in Baja? Tell me the truth, Jack. You’re probably the only one who will.”
“In Baja? Hell no. That bastard set a trap and you were caught in it. I should have gone. Maybe I could have seen it coming. I’m used to booby traps. I could have—” He shook his head, clearing the webs of guilt that continued to spin. “But I’d been certain it was nothing, that you’d been sent on a wild-goose chase. At first I was glad you’d left, thought it would keep you out of harm’s way. I didn’t like being responsible for everyone. Dillon was enough. But I was wrong.” And that didn’t sit well with Jack. Not in situations like that.
Jack stood. “I need to go. I just wanted—” He paused.
“I know.”
Jack squeezed Patrick’s shoulder. “Glad to have you well. Take care of yourself, kid.”
The door opened as Jack spoke. Rosa and Pat Kincaid walked in, Rosa saying, “Patrick, we have great—”
Then his mother saw Jack. Without hesitation, she rushed him into a tight hug. Jack accepted his mother’s warm embrace, but his eyes never left his father’s cold face.
“Hello, Mama.” He kissed the top of her head.
“I didn’t know you were coming. You’ll come to the house for dinner tonight. Everyone will be there.”
“I have to go.”
“No. You will have dinner—”
“Let him go,” Pat said, standing ramrod straight.
“I will not. Everyone is home for the first time since—” She didn’t say it, but Jack knew the last time all seven Kincaid children had been in the same room was for his nephew’s funeral thirteen years
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