Legacy (Alliance Book 3) (13 page)

“Here, Brody, drink some. It’s just water,” Lancer handed him a small thermos.

“Just say it. I am pretty sure I know why you’re here,” he spat, looking up at him.

“All right. I had Riley and Drake tell me what happened to your parents, to you, Brody, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to pry, but I had to know what we were dealing with. There isn’t a thing I can say to you to make this any easier, so I’m not going to try. I just wanted to make sure you were all right. I didn’t come here to try to talk you out of going, if that’s what you were thinking. I wouldn’t do that to you. But we might have to adjust our plans a little.”

He and his soldiers were supposed to be the ones dealing with the lab personnel, and now they must all be questioning if he could do it, could shoot his father if he had to. He felt he could. After everything that man put him through, he wanted to.

Lancer was looking at his face, eyes serious. Another thing for all of them to feel pity for him over. He felt a flash of anger at the man for it. “Don’t. I’ve had about as much pity from everybody as I could take.... We don’t need to adjust any plans. I’ll do what I have to, no matter who is in that bloody lab. Sorry you wasted your walk,” and he turned away from him.

Lancer’s hand gripped his shoulder, hard, stopping him, keeping him in place.

“Look at me, Brody. We’re not done,” voice quiet.

He did, glaring at the man, still angry at him, angry at him for not letting him go, not letting him just be now. “Have a seat. There is something I have to tell you, and it’ll take a little while,” and he slid down the tree, nodding to him to sit in front of him.

He did, and Lancer put his head in his hands, looking like he did earlier today. “You remind me of someone. Someone I lost a long time ago. I spent years not thinking about it, but with you... you have the same eyes, Brody.” He lifted his head, looking at him, and asked quietly, “Do you know how people end up in the S-Squads?”

He didn’t, so he shook his head.

Lancer just nodded. “S stands for suicide, not secret or whatever everybody thinks it stands for. It’s for deserters from regular soldier camps and other criminals that they couldn’t just execute, usually because they were too young....”

He let him talk then, not wanting to interrupt, putting his head down when he told him about him and Soren being whipped by their classmates, trying to picture Lancer’s friend from his words, trying to imagine what it was like for these two boys to be standing there like that, with everybody watching, trying not to scream. And he could see this man as a kid, his face already serious, eyes unsmiling. Could see him running towards Soren and screaming at the guards, trying to get to him through the haze after being stunned, and the years of not wanting to let go, and then years of wanting to forget, and finally not thinking about it anymore. And he felt not a little guilty that of all the people here he was the one to remind him of the friend he loved, of someone he lost. He wished this Soren kid looked like Riley or someone who didn’t hurt Lancer, anyone but him.

“I am sorry, Lancer, I truly am,” and he got up, Lancer standing too now, watching him. “I’ll stay out of your way, so you don’t... so you don’t have to be reminded of him. I know how it is. It’s like how I feel when I see Laurel in that damn dress, only it’s likely worse for you, because of what I did.” He felt his face get hot, and put his head down, hoping Lancer didn’t notice.

Lancer lifted his face up by the chin, not too gently, “Look at me, kid.” He did, feeling even more embarrassed now. “That’s not why I told you. I was thinking of all that earlier today when you came to get me, but I couldn’t talk to you about it then, didn’t know how to yet. I wanted you to know that you brought something back for me, something I tried to bury a long time ago, and I’m grateful for it. And that I don’t look at you with pity, as you seem to think, I just see him in you.... But you and I made a deal, and you are not keeping up your end of it. You promised me that you would try to get over whatever guilt you feel for when we first met, and you really need to do that, because I can’t stand you being embarrassed like this every time you look at me. I don’t know what it’ll take for you to stop, but you really need to,” and he let go of him.

Without thinking about it or planning to do it, he unclipped his gun and his knife from his belt, threw them on the ground next to Lancer, and put his hands behind his back. “I need to feel that we’re even. You’ve been nothing but kind to me, and it just makes it worse. It doesn’t add up, doesn’t make any sense for you to be like that with me after what I did,” he said quietly.

Lancer shook his head, staring at him, and then without moving anything but his hands grabbed him by the shoulders, squeezing hard, eyes angry, “I am not hurting you, Brody, even if it will make it easier for you. Not now, not ever. I don’t need to get even with you. I’ve gotten over it a long time ago. But you... you need to find it in you to forgive yourself, and I don’t know how to help you with that,” and he shoved him away and started to walk to the city, not looking at him again.

He couldn’t bring himself to go back there now, couldn’t face any of them, not even Riley. He made a small fire and sat by it for a long time, watching the flames, thinking, and when the dark came, he found a few dry logs and made the fire large enough to sleep next to, lay down on the grass and closed his eyes, hoping he could just sleep, dreamlessly. And after a while, his mind finally stopped running through all the memories of his father and the years that followed, and everything seemed blurry and soft. Lancer’s gray eyes looking at him with sadness in them, and then anger, Riley’s face, with all the hurt in it when he asked him if he’d walk away back in Waller, and then a different kind of hurt when he held the gun against his head, forcing him to kneel. And Trina’s small body on the grass not moving, eyes closed, and her soft, amber eyes spilling tears, her necklace burning his hand, and he slept, feeling the burn in his hand get larger, feeling the searing pain of it.

Lancer’s concerned face was hovering over him when he opened his eyes. He was lying in a puddle, completely soaked, the fire just making smoke, making him choke. He jumped up, trying to remember if it rained last night, trying to figure out why he was wet, and why his hand was hurting so badly. Lancer walked away from him to where the grass didn’t seem wet, and was digging through a med kit. “You need to come over here, Brody, and give me that hand.” He finally looked at it, the middle of his palm all red, swollen. He remembered something burning it last night, Trina’s necklace.... He must have dropped his hand on an ember while he was asleep.

Lancer had him sit next to him. He watched him spray something green from a tiny bottle into the bowl of water, and set it in front of him. “Put your hand in. It’ll hurt for a bit at first, but you’ll feel a lot better afterwards.”

He did, and after a few minutes, he didn’t feel it burn as much anymore. Lancer was watching him, waiting for him to say something, but he didn’t want to talk to him, to anybody. He didn’t mean to hurt himself like this, but he didn’t think anyone would believe him, so there was no point in telling them. They could think what they wanted of him. It didn’t matter. He put his head down, and closed his eyes, feeling the pain in his hand come and go in waves, hoping this didn’t take too much longer.

“All right, Brody. Don’t talk. It doesn’t change anything. But you better hope you can use your hand by the time we have to leave for Crylo, or you can’t come,” and he went back to digging through the kit, pulling out another spray bottle, gauze bandages, a pair of small, sharp scissors and a bottle of antiseptic. He stuck the scissors into the bottle, and handed him a small towel, telling him to dry his hand. He did, feeling the burning come back, slowly at first, but getting more and more painful by the second.

Lancer reached for his hand, looking at him, eyes soft, “I have to cut some of the dead skin off, or it’ll get infected. I’m sorry.” He nodded and gritted his teeth, keeping his eyes down, not wanting to see what Lancer was doing.

“Why are you doing this, and not Ella?” Lancer ignored him, just kept at what he was doing with his hand, spraying it now with something that felt ice cold against his skin, and then wrapping it with gauze. He flinched when he tightened the bandage, couldn’t help it.

“Sorry,” he whispered, but Lancer didn’t even look at him. He seemed angry at him, his face tense. He watched him put all the stuff back into the med kit, dump the water on the remnants of the fire, making it hiss, and turn back towards the city.

He stood up and screamed angrily at the man’s back, “I know you think I did this to myself, but I swear I didn’t mean to do it. I wasn’t trying to hurt myself. It was a bloody accident.”

Lancer stopped and slowly turned around, looking at his face, eyes still angry. “I don’t believe you, Brody. I want to, but I just don’t,” and he turned abruptly and walked quickly away, not once glancing back. He knew he wouldn’t believe him, knew it beforehand, that’s why he didn’t want to talk about it, but it still hurt. He wasn’t ready to go back after that, so he stayed where he was, putting burn marks into the targets with his stunner.

He did it for a long time, long enough to remember that he hadn’t eaten since yesterday, long enough for his hand to hurt unbearably again. He felt her before he heard anything, and there she was, standing in the clearing, looking at him, Lancer towering behind her. Her eyes were rimmed with red, face flushed. So he made this girl cry again.

He walked up to her and kissed her softly on her forehead, not caring that Lancer was there, “I didn’t mean to do it, Laurel. It was an accident. I must have dropped my hand on an ember when I was asleep. Lancer doesn’t believe me, and I don’t blame him for it. I asked him to get even with me yesterday, only he wouldn’t do it. So he thinks I hurt myself because he wouldn’t do it to me. But I didn’t, Laurel, I swear I didn’t.”

He could see tears collecting in her eyes. She dropped her head, hiding and he couldn’t take it. He reached for her, but she just shook her head at him and ran back towards the city, not saying anything to Lancer, not looking back. He felt anger burning a hole in his chest, making him want to hit something, but he couldn’t even do that with his hand the way it was, and Lancer watching him.

Lancer didn’t move, didn’t say anything, just stood still and silent between the trees, putting him on edge. He didn’t know what he could possibly say to him or to anyone. None of them would believe him. He just had to find a way of making them not afraid for him now.

He walked over to Lancer, “Would it make it easier for all of you to just tie my hands? That’s what Riley did to me before, when nobody trusted me not to hurt myself, so I’m used to having the bloody band around my wrists. Do it, if you feel you need to,” and he put his hands out in front of him, waiting, but Lancer shook his head, took a quick step to him and wrapped his arms around him hard, pressing him close to his chest, not letting him move.

He fought him with everything he had, trying to get away from him, squirming under his arms, his hand hurting worse than anything, but Lancer held on, not budging, not letting him move at all.

“Please, let go of me,” he hissed at him from between clenched teeth.

“No.” He felt his eyes burn, everything in him breaking, and he didn’t want to break in front of this man, but he couldn’t fight him, and he couldn’t hold in the tears or the sobs that followed, couldn’t hold any of it in any more.

Lancer didn’t say anything, just held him, letting him cry, letting him hide his face in his chest, and after a while he felt his arms loosen around him, so he stepped back and turned away from him, hating him. “Please, leave, Lancer,” he spat at him.

“I can’t do that, Brody. I’ve seen worse things, you know.... So have you. And for what it’s worth, I do believe you. I don’t think you’d lie to her, don’t think you can lie to Laurel. Please, stop hiding from me. It makes it hard to talk to you.”

He made himself turn around and look at him. “We’re even now, you and I. Something tells me this hurt you worse than anything I could have done to you before. I am sorry for that, but you needed to. I don’t think any less of you for it, if it matters, and you’ll just have to trust me on that....”

He felt himself blush, couldn’t help it. Lancer put his hand on his shoulder, voice soft. “I am truly sorry for making you uncomfortable, Brody. Please stop beating yourself up for this, of all things. It doesn’t make you weak, just human, no matter how you have it in your head.”

He put his head down, trying to get himself under control, and Lancer turned away from him, letting him be for a while; long enough for him to not be so angry at him anymore.

“I hate to do this to you, but you need to let me walk you back. I don’t want to force you, but you can’t stay here, hiding from everybody,” Lancer said softly. He knew he was right, that he had to go back, had to eat something and maybe ask Stan to try to find him some pain pills for his hand, which was hurting unbearably now. He nodded and followed him out of the clearing. They walked in silence, Lancer lost to his own thoughts, face serious.

They were already in the elevator when he finally said what he needed to say to him, what he knew he had the right to know, needed to know. “I lied to you earlier, Lancer. I don’t know if I can pull the trigger on him, if it comes to that. Don’t know if I can do it, I’m sorry.”

Lancer put his arm around him, squeezing hard into his shoulder. “I know. I don’t know if I could either. We’ll make sure you don’t have to either way. I’ll go into the lab with your boys instead of you and you’ll deal with setting up the explosions, and keep the girls safe. We’ll make it work.”

Nobody in the room asked him anything, ignoring his bandaged hand, not wanting to pry. Laurel wasn’t there. Drake brought him a thermos of broth, and waited until he was done with it, his hand on his shoulder, squeezing it, not saying anything. It seemed nobody knew what to say to him, and he couldn’t take being in that room after that. He found Laurel after a little while in the tiny room she was using, sitting on her cot, head on her knees. He leaned against the door, feeling like he was intruding, not trusting himself to be too close to her, not wanting to make her cry again.