Molly McAdams - Capturing Peace

Hudson was calling me every few hours to yell at me, and though I’d grabbed my phone to call Reagan over a dozen times, I hadn’t gone through with it and she’d never tried to get ahold of me.

My phone rang, and I grabbed for it quickly. Disappointment and regret poured through me when I saw Saco’s name instead of Reagan’s. My thumb hovered over the red button before I gave in and hit the green.

“Hello?” Nothing came from the other side. “Saco, you there?”

A pained cry sounded, and I looked at the screen on my phone to confirm it was Saco, before I tried talking to him again.

“You there? What’s wrong?”

Silence greeted me for long seconds, and just as I started to say something again, his strangled voice came over the line. “He’s gone.”

“What? Who’s gone?” Panic filled me thinking about Parker. But I tried to calm myself, knowing Hudson or Reagan would have been the one to call me about that.

“He’s gone—­it’s all my fault—­he’s gone.”

“What happened, Saco, who’s gone?”

“Tate,” he finally choked out.

When he didn’t say anything else, and all that met me was hard sobs, I asked, “She took him from you? How can she do that?”

“No!” he yelled, and a groan that didn’t even sound human left him. “I killed him. I killed him—­it’s my fault—­Tate’s dead. Oh God, he’s dead! I killed my son!”

I almost dropped the phone as I struggled to find my couch to sit down. This had to be some sick, twisted joke because of last night.

Right?

“Fuck!” he roared until more sobs choked off his words.

Wrong.

“What happened?” I finally managed to ask.

“I was driving, and he died. I don’t—­I don’t—­why couldn’t it have been me?” he yelled, and somehow, I knew he wasn’t asking me that question. “This can’t be happening, he needs to be okay, I’ll do anything. Anything , you hear me? God damn it! Take me instead!”

“Brody, no. No, I’m so sorry. God, when did this happen?” I asked when he’d been quiet a few minutes.

“Early this morning,” he groaned. “Olivia sent me to the store, she said she just wanted some quiet time so I took Tate with me. It was icy, so fucking icy, so I was being careful. We were stopped at a red light, and the guy—­the guy behind me couldn’t stop.” Brody didn’t say anything else for a minute as more cries filled the phone. “It pushed us out into the intersection and we got hit hard. I couldn’t stop the car from spinning—­I swear to God I tried! I tried so damn hard! It just wouldn’t stop, I couldn’t stop us. We hit a median, but another car that had been trying to avoid us swerved into us. I don’t remember anything after that until I woke up in an ambulance, and Tate—­he was—­fuck! This isn’t real, Steele! Tell me this isn’t fucking real! Tell me he’s still alive.”

“I’m sorry . . . I’m so sorry.” I couldn’t force anything else out. I couldn’t believe this was happening to him, I didn’t know what to say to help him. I was in shock and thinking the same thing. That this couldn’t be real. But the pain in his voice . . . you couldn’t fake that.

I listened to him break down harder than he had the entire conversation, and tears filled my own eyes when he continued to scream his son’s name over and over again. His son, who he’d fought so hard to be able to see, who wasn’t even a year old, who was taken way too soon.

My chest ached for my friend, and my body screamed at me to get Parker and hug him tight. To keep him safe from anything that could possibly happen to him.

I knew then that I’d made the wrong decision. That I’d been quick to act on the first insecurity that popped up—­all because of some other guy’s experience—­and had possibly ruined everything. I needed Reagan and Parker. They were my family . . . my peace.

“Don’t let them go,” Saco said minutes later, his voice hoarse.

“What?”

“My son is gone, St—­” he broke off with a cry. “I can’t get him back. You can . . . don’t let them go.”

“Brody, what can I do? I’ll get on the first flight to Oregon, I swear. But what can I do?”

“Just don’t let yours go. Promise me.”

“I’m not. I can’t let them go.” I grabbed a shirt and threw it on over my head before searching for my wallet and keys. “I’m so sorry. I’ll get Hudson, and we’ll be out there as soon as we can, all right? I’ll call you when I know details.”

“He can’t be gone,” he whispered.

Knowing there was nothing I could say, and that he needed someone now, I kept him on the phone as I left for Hudson’s apartment, and continued to listen to him cry until he told me his brother had just shown up and ended the call. Hudson hated me right now, but I knew I’d fucked up and was prepared to do anything to make it right again. But right now I was fighting with myself over whom to go to first. Reagan, or Saco. I needed to see her just as much as I needed to get to Oregon.

Like Saco last night, all that was going through my head was the definition of the warrior ethos from The Soldier’s Creed. “I will never quit,” is followed immediately by, “I will never leave a fallen comrade.” Those words went much deeper than the obvious, and right now, Saco was struggling. We needed to be there for him.

Pulling up outside Hudson’s building, I kept my car running and ran up the stairs to his apartment. I started banging on the door immediately, and didn’t stop until it opened.

I tried to dodge the flying fist too late and stumbled back as my hand went to my jaw.

“What do you want, you piece of shit?” he growled, and the look on his face was clear. He wanted to murder me.

“I know you’re pissed, I know. I’ll talk to you about that, but right now we need to buy tickets and get to Oregon.”

He hadn’t been expecting that, and his anger faded to confusion as his head jerked back. “Oregon? What—­why?”

“Saco didn’t call you?”

Hudson stepped back and let me in, and I ran over to the kitchen table where his laptop was open and sat down. God damn , my jaw fucking hurt.

“I talked to him yesterday . . . what the fuck are you doing? I don’t want you in here, and I sure as shit don’t want you on my damn laptop. You ruined my little sister.”

I slammed my hand down on the table and stood back up. “I know that, Hudson. I. Fucking. Know. I made the biggest mistake of my life yesterday, but right now Saco needs us. He got in a wreck this morning with his son. Dude, Tate died. Saco’s so fucked up right now.”

“Shit,” he whispered, and pressed his fists onto the table, dropping his head. “You’re lying, right?”

“I wish I was.”

Straightening, he ran his hands over his face, and stood there staring at nothing for a few minutes before responding. “All right. Get us the first flight out of here, do you want my card?”

“No, I got it.”

“I’m gonna pack and call Erica, she’s at work right now.” He’d turned to head to his room, and turned right back around with a finger pointed at me. “This doesn’t change shit between us, you get me?”

I didn’t respond. I knew this wouldn’t change anything, and there was no point in responding to him. No matter what I said right now, we would end up fighting about it . . . and this wasn’t the time.

Coen—­ November 5, 2010

HUDSON AND I stood back behind Saco for almost an hour after everyone had left the cemetery. The ser­vice had been short, and painfully heartbreaking, but nothing could compare as we watched the world’s smallest coffin be lowered into the ground.