Angel's Truth Read online

  Angel’s Truth

  By

  Liz Borino

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  www.lazydaypub.com

  Angel’s Truth

  ISBN-13-978-1-61258-125-5

  ISBN-10-1-61258-125-0

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Copyright © 2014 Liz Borino

  Cover art by Anthony Walsh

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, any events or locales is purely coincidental. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission from the publisher LazyDay, with the exception of quotes used in reviews and critical articles.

  Dedication

  Angel’s Truth is dedicated to the real life examples of love overcoming harrowing obstacles.

  Chapter One

  “Freeze or I’ll shoot!” Aaron yelled and aimed the gun at Jordan’s chest.

  “Angel, no, please.” Hacking fluid-filled coughs broke up Jordan’s words as he sat sprawled on the kitchen floor.

  “Jordan?” Aaron whispered his name as recognition and memories of their life together flashed across his face.

  “Yes.” He coughed red into his dirty hand. “Please help.” After being imprisoned for more than two months in Afghanistan, Jordan needed his husband more than ever.

  “No! Jordan’s dead.” Aaron’s hand shook so hard his grip on the gun loosened.

  That’s what the Army told him. Now I have to deepen those memories. Show him they’re real. Jordan met Aaron’s gaze, and found confusion with a flickering spark of hope. “Not unless you shoot,” he replied, and somehow knew he had nothing to fear even with a gun pointed toward him.

  Aaron set the Glock on the table. He held it down while keeping his eyes locked on Jordan’s. Not moving closer. “How?”

  Before Jordan could answer, the front door shut. “Who was that?” he asked, struggling to sit straighter, his gaze darting around the room. The faint click of the far away lock sent his pulse into overdrive.

  “Um,” Aaron glanced at the door and back again, “Troy.”

  Hart! No! Jordan’s breath came in short spurts, increasing his coughing… and blood on his sleeve. Blood that Hart caused by leaving him in that godforsaken prison. Angel doesn’t know that… and I can’t fucking tell him.

  Aaron crouched down in front of Jordan. “You need to go to the hospital.”

  “Not yet.” He coughed again. “Are you seeing him?”

  “No,” Aaron answered. “He’s my only friend right now.” At Jordan’s confused expression, Aaron explained, “When they told me you died, I lost it because their story sucked. Cost me my job. Troy stuck by me and helped me investigate your ‘death,’” Aaron put air quotes around the last word. “Then he…” Aaron’s words trailed off.

  “He what?” Jordan prompted.

  “Showed me a picture of your body after they executed you,” Aaron answered. “But… it obviously wasn’t you.”

  “No,” Jordan responded.

  “Troy must have made a mistake,” Aaron tried.

  “You don’t believe that,” Jordan said.

  Aaron shook his head. “Why were you scared when I told you his name?”

  “He kept me there on purpose,” Jordan sputtered. And ordered my death.

  “Jor—”

  His head snapped up and he caught Aaron’s gaze. “Don’t give me that condescending tone.” More coughing.

  “I’m sorry,” Aaron whispered. “I just…”

  “Angel.” Jordan softened his voice. “I can’t tell you how I know yet, but I promise you, I do.”

  Aaron hesitated only slightly and then said, “I believe you.”

  “Thank you.” Jordan extended his hand and brushed Aaron’s cheek. “My Angel.”

  Aaron’s tears streaked a line through the dirt Jordan painted on his face. “Oh, Jordan,” Aaron cried, kissing his palm, igniting his husband’s own wet cheeks. “I love you is not strong enough.”

  Jordan leaned forward and kissed Aaron’s cheeks. “Maybe not, but we are. If …”

  “If what?” Aaron questioned.

  “If you want to be,” Jordan replied, flitting his gaze away again.

  “Yes, more than you know,” Aaron answered. “Let’s get to the hospital.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t.”

  Aaron scrutinized him. “You’re coughing blood and pale.”

  As pale as a mixed race Korean and African American could be, anyway. “I have either TB or pneumonia, an ankle that’s been broken repeatedly, and I haven’t slept in at least three days,” Jordan reported between coughs.

  “Um. Yeah. You need a doctor. Probably a team of doctors.” Aaron started to stand up, but Jordan grabbed his arm.

  “The Army thinks I’m dead.”

  “Uh-huh. We’re not making them prophetic,” Aaron told him as he extracted his phone from his pocket. As Aaron dialed the last one, Jordan snatched the phone and threw it to the other side of the kitchen. “Jordan!”

  “I can’t! Angel, what if they lock me up?”

  “They fucked up, not you. Why would you be in trouble?” Aaron asked.

  “Adeela helped me escape. Not supposed to accept help from the enemy…” Jordan gestured to his pants. “Afghanistan Army uniform pants.” Realizing how that sounded, he added, “I didn’t work for them or give them information.”

  “I never questioned,” Aaron answered. “Do the pants have the GPS tracking like your uniforms?”

  “I don’t know. I should have asked…” Jordan hyperventilated. He hadn’t thought any of this out properly.

  “Take them off. We’ll put them in the trash compactor. Unless you want to give them to Bryant.”

  “I don’t know. I… don’t know anything right now.” Jordan wrapped his arms across his chest and exerted effort to steady his erratic breathing. After weeks of staying strong against isolation, beatings, and uncertainty, the protective wall that secured his emotions now crumbled.

  Aaron bit his lip, reached over, and cupped Jordan’s chin. “I know something. My husband overcame every obstacle to get home to me. I don’t care how.”

  “They might.”

  “Your job as a POW is to come home alive without betraying the interests of the United States. You did that. I will not let the effort go to waste,” Aaron told him. “We’re going to get you help.”

  “Stay with me?” Jordan begged.

  “Every minute you aren’t in surgery or telling the officers about your heroic escape,” Aaron replied with a kiss.

  Jordan hesitated a long moment and nodded on his exhale. Aaron called the ambulance and put them on speakerphone. Incidentally, the 911 operator moved much faster when he dropped the words tuberculosis and Afghanistan. “On their way,” Aaron told Jordan as he hung up.

  Jordan gave another nod. “Angel, did you have to pick Hart to lean on?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t have many options. And I thought he could help find you,” Aaron explained.

&nb
sp; “I understand.” Jordan may have added more, but the paramedics banged on the door. It would have to wait.

  Chapter Two

  Aaron kissed Jordan goodbye as the doctors wheeled him into surgery. No. Not goodbye. That implied permanence. The doctors were only setting a broken ankle. People live through those surgeries all the time. Jordan had survived more than a month in an Afghanistan prison. Aaron couldn’t even account for how Jordan made it home that didn’t involve superpowers. Who knows what he caught there and during his escape? What if the doctors found an infection and had to cut off his foot? Or rupture an artery? He could bleed out. Die on an operating table.

  The thought almost propelled Aaron through the double doors into the operating room. Instead, he sank down with his head between his knees. Wait. Jordan had enough superpowers to live through all of that. A simple surgery would not bring him down. Jordan was his hero. No. Not was. Is. Jordan is my hero.

  “Excuse me,” a woman said.

  Aaron lifted his head to find the triage nurse standing above him.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Physically, yes,” he replied.

  She offered a smile. “I imagine your head’s pretty messed up right now.”

  “Understatement.” He laughed a little. The nurse had been the one to admit them, so she had heard the story of the Army thinking Jordan was dead, but Jordan not being dead. However, he was locked in an Afghanistan prison since September, and could have pneumonia or tuberculosis, in addition to his broken ankle. They ran that test before the words even left his mouth. Tuberculosis would have landed Jordan in isolation, the mention of which sent him into a panic. Not that Aaron blamed him. Come to think of it, he likely would not allow it, either. How would he prevent the hospital from forcing Jordan into isolation? Aaron had a plan to expose himself so he wound up in the bed next him. Thankfully, the tests came back showing a clear indication of bacterial pneumonia.

  “Is there anyone you should call?” the nurse asked.

  Aaron blinked. “Call? You mean his commanding officers? I thought the hospital already did.” Which was a good thing. The high military officers wanted to deal with Aaron even less than he wanted to deal them. Colonel Bryant would board a flight from Chicago that would arrive in the DC airport sometime tomorrow.

  “I meant family. Is there anyone you don’t want to find out about Jordan’s return on the news?” she pressed.

  Aaron’s eyes popped open. “Oh God, yes. I should call his father.”

  The nursed laughed. “I would recommend it.”

  “Thanks,” Aaron said and took out his phone. Six a.m. Elliot would most likely be asleep. Better that way. He’ll have no time to watch the morning news. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, your only son who you thought was dead is actually not?’ His father isn’t young. The shock could kill him.”

  She patted Aaron’s arm with a wrinkled hand and stood. “Don’t underestimate people who ‘aren’t young’.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Aaron replied with a blush. He stretched and made his way out the door. Aaron’s thumb quivered above the green phone icon. Jordan’s return was fantastic news, but difficult to explain when Aaron didn’t have all the information. He pressed the button and listened to the shrill rings.

  “Hello,” Elliot answered groggily.

  “Hi, Elliot, it’s Aaron. I’m sorry to wake you.”

  “Aaron? What’s wrong?” Elliot asked, sounding more alert now.

  “Um, nothing’s wrong… exactly.” I should have thought this out better. “I’m at Walter Reed. Can you please come?” Who’s chicken shit? Yeah, baby, that would be me.

  Silence. “Nothing’s wrong, but you want me to come to the Army hospital?” Elliot’s words were slow, giving Aaron plenty of time to think about the ridiculousness of the request.

  “Please?”

  “Okay, they always did have the best coffee. I’ll leave now,” he said.

  “Thank you.” Aaron ended the call and checked the time. Jordan’s surgery would last another three hours. And it would take Elliot twenty minutes to get there. Plenty of time to walk around the block. His phone beeped. Second text from Troy. Answering would be a terrible idea because Aaron did not know what to say to him, either. If what Jordan told him was true… No. Aaron would not play that game. He had to believe his husband, which meant he had to hate Troy. And he did. All Aaron wanted was for something in his life to make sense.

  “Aaron!” Elliot called as Aaron rounded the corner to reach the front of the hospital again.

  “Good morning.” Aaron jogged over to offer Elliot an arm, for which he received a scowl.

  “Thank you, but no. I can walk, not as fast as you, but my cane and I get there just fine. Why are you running?” Elliot asked as they approached the hospital.

  “I… had some energy to release,” he responded, transferring his weight from foot to foot and not meeting his father-in-law’s eyes.

  Elliot touched his shoulder. “There’s no need to be nervous. I know why you called me here.”

  Squinting, Aaron asked, “You do?”

  “Yes, son. While I appreciate it, a few hours won’t change much.”

  A few hours changed everything. A few hours ago, Aaron was convinced he was a widower, and now Jordan was getting his broken ankle fixed. “Why do you think I asked you to come?”

  “Because the Army sent home Jordan’s body for a proper burial,” Elliot answered, and Aaron shook his head. “Then why Walter Reed, the Army hospital?”

  Aaron chewed his bottom lip. “I think we better go inside and get one of those coffees. You should sit down.” Despite looking like he wanted to argue, Elliot followed Aaron into the hospital and down to the cafeteria, where Aaron bought them both black coffees. He handed it to his father-in-law and said, “Jordan is in surgery.”

  “Organ donation?” Elliot posed and Aaron shook his head again. Elliot stared at him.

  “To fix his broken ankle,” Aaron replied quietly.

  “Why fix a broken ankle he won’t ever walk on? Isn’t there a better use of resources?” Elliot’s voice heightened in fear and confusion.

  Aaron gave him a smile that was probably much less reassuring than he hoped. “You wouldn’t even accept my arm to help you inside. I don’t think telling your son he won’t ever walk again is a great idea.”

  “Aaron, that is not funny.”

  “No, it’s not. He likes walking.”

  Elliot banged his fist on the rickety cafeteria table. “How dare you play with my emotions by suggesting my son is alive? What have I ever done to deserve that?”

  The tears Aaron had been fighting pricked his eyes. He blinked them back and met his father-in-law’s gaze to find the same. “I’m sorry. I have to make a joke or I will lose it. And I can’t. Jordan is alive. I don’t know how. I don’t know why. But he’s here. Some moments I don’t believe it, either.”

  Elliot opened and closed his mouth several times before asking, “When did he get home?”

  “Three hours ago,” Aaron whispered.

  “Are you sure?”

  Aaron nodded.

  “You… touched him? Saw his tattoo?”

  “He showed up at the house. I called an ambulance, rode with him here, and helped the nurses bathe him after he tested negative for tuberculosis. I’m sure it’s him,” Aaron told him.

  “House? The Army is supposed to fly soldiers from Afghanistan to Germany, then here.”

  Aaron gave a rueful laugh. “Elliot, the things the Army was supposed to do for Jordan, but didn’t, is too damn long to list without a pen and paper. All I know is he found an alternative route home.”

  Elliot sat back. “That major general had something to do with Jordan being over there, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, but Jordan hasn’t told me what, so I’m sitting on the information until he tells me more.”

  “How would Jordan know?” Elliot asked.

  “I don’t know, but he does. He said Troy wa
s responsible for keeping him there.” Aaron ran his fingers through his hair. “I realize it sounds crazy, but he begged me to believe him. I can’t deny him that.”

  Elliot released a breath. “May I see him?”

  “Why don’t we go up now? He’ll be out of surgery soon,” Aaron suggested. Elliot agreed and they rode up in the elevator in silence. Because, really, what more was there to say? By the time they made it to the fifth floor, the surgeon was out looking for Aaron. Uh-oh, she’s early. That could be either very good or very bad. “Is everything all right?”

  “Everything is great,” she replied. “Jordan’s surgery went fine. He’s awake in recovery. I’m sure he’d love to have you there.”

  Aaron nodded and Elliot cut in, “I’m Jordan’s father. May I join him?”

  “I’m sorry, but it isn’t safe for you to be exposed to his pneumonia for another twenty-four hours,” the doctor told him.

  Elliot’s face fell. “I’ll wear a mask, gloves… anything you require. Please?”

  She sighed and answered, “I’ll get you a gown as long as Jordan gives the okay.” Then she motioned for Aaron to go back.

  Aaron walked through the double doors where a long line of patient beds were set up, half of which were filled.

  “Who are you looking for?” a man in nurses’ scrubs asked.

  “Jordan Collins,” Aaron answered.

  The man scanned his list and said, “Follow me. People don’t like family members wandering aimlessly.”

  Well then someone should have brought me in. However, the hospital had a disproportionate ratio of patients to medical personnel. Someone to guide a fully functional adult male past a few patients was not high on the priority list, for sure.

  The nurse knocked on the curtains around Jordan’s bed, pulling them aside without waiting for an answer. “You have a visitor,” he announced, admitting Aaron and hurrying away.

  “Hey, you,” Aaron said, walking over and kissing him. His lips lingered on Jordan’s skin a moment, appreciating the heat and cushion he never thought he’d feel again. “How are you feeling?”

  “High,” Jordan answered. “Like my foot.”