“Damn.” Rafe latched onto her elbow, pulling her into his arms. “You okay?” he soothed, smothering her in his embrace.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she whimpered. “But, Rafe, Tommy’s not. It’s like he just snapped. Gone. There’s nothing but emptiness in his eyes. Pain. I don’t know what to do, I’ve never—”
“Shhh.” His grip tightened as she shook against him. “It’ll be fine,” he whispered, shifting her away from his shoulder so he could look into her eyes. “I’ve got him.”
Leaving Stella inside, Rafe walked into the garage. Darkness swallowed the space, the only light coming from the narrow crack in the door that led back into the house. The outline of the SUV stood isolated in the middle of the cold concrete. Rafe’s eyes adjusted and he saw Wright’s silhouette sitting behind the steering wheel, motionless in the dark.
This wasn’t the Wright he’d grown to know. This was a shell of the man. Even through the black, he could see. Wright wasn’t here. He was no longer home, no longer sitting in his garage in his car. He was back there.
The trouble wasn’t bringing him back. Rafe had been down this road with some of his men before, walked this path of hell himself when he returned home from his first deployment in Iraq. Getting him back, that he could do. It was finding him there, finding him in the depths of his torment, his broken memory, that presented a challenge. Wright had been in the army for nearly as long as Rafe, found his way through the pits of hell more times than any one soldier should. Locating the room in purgatory that imprisoned his mind . . . Rafe didn’t even know where to start.
Opening the passenger-side door, Rafe slid across the leather, easing the door shut behind him. Wright’s face was devoid of emotion, staring blankly ahead of him.
Rafe sat still and quiet for a few heartbeats, watching his friend relive the unimaginable. “Where we at, Sergeant?” he asked carefully, unsure, trying to garner a response.
Nothing.
“Sergeant Wright, I’m going to need confirmation on your location.”
Silence.
Goddammit.
“Location, Sergeant. Now!” he barked, guilt choking him as the words sputtered from his mouth.
More countless moments passed, deafening, soundless minutes that only sent Wright further into the recesses of his memory. Then his fists unclenched and Rafe watched as his eyes closed. “En route to Ghazni, First Sergeant. Highway 1, twenty miles outside Kabul.”
Rafe sagged against the seat. Fuck. He was there. Rafe knew exactly where he was. Because they had been there only three months ago.
Light filtered into the vehicle, the door to the house opening up as Graham stepped into the garage. Shaking his head, Rafe raised his palm for Graham to stop. He nodded, backing into the house, leaving the door ajar.
“Wright,” Rafe said softly, trying to bring him back, away from the war taking place in his mind.
Wright’s shoulders hardened, jaw clenched, every muscle in his body tensing. Then he started shaking. “It’s an ambush.”
“I know.”
He knew because he’d been there too. Watched as an IED turned the armored vehicle in front of them into shambles, killing three of their guys, sending Rafe’s vehicle—Wright’s vehicle—headfirst into a blazing ambush, an ambush that would leave another two of their men dead.
“I can smell it, Murano.”
Relief sliced Rafe open. He was back . . .
“I can smell them burning. I can hear it, the fucking thunder of the bomb hitting their vehicle. The goddamn bullet popping through Moore’s Kevlar . . .” Pressing fingers to his forehead, he turned to Rafe. “This has never happened before, brother. Never. That car’s tire blew out in front of us and it just sent me back . . . Shit. Where’s Stella?”
“She’s in the house. She’s fine. Twins are asleep, Michael went home with the babysitter.”
The car door jerked open and Wright scrambled out. Rafe threw himself out of the SUV after him.
“Stella, baby?” Wright hollered as they stormed inside.
Rounding the corner from the kitchen, Stella lunged at her husband, collapsing against him as he wrapped her up in his arms. Another set of tears surged down her cheeks.
“I’m so sorry, Stella.”
“Shhh. Don’t. I’m just glad you’re back.”
Rafe followed Graham down the hallway to the front door—those two had a lot to talk about. Stella was a damn good woman. But Rafe knew Wright wouldn’t burden her with the hell of his past. Fuck, Rafe wouldn’t either if it was him. Some shit in your past just had to stay there.
But Wright needed to see someone about his flashback, and Rafe would make sure he did.