He’d never understood why Trish had acted out as a teen. Why she’d changed so drastically when she’d turned fifteen. He’d been a football jock, a local hero in a way, even back then. Engrossed in the game, the comradery and the plays, basking in the adulation, he’d never missed a single game or a minute of practice. Hadn’t dared. Playing football and running drills with his coach and his team had been his out, his way of dealing with missing the father he’d never known. Mom still loved Boone McClane, said she always would. That everything would’ve been better if he’d lived. But he hadn’t. A weak heart claimed him before his twin babies turned two. Except for the photos Andy still displayed around her house, Tripp didn’t remember a thing about his dad.
But in their sophomore year, Trish had flipped a switch and went from being his best friend, to being the most popular girl in high school—for all the wrong reasons. At fifteen, they’d already been headed in opposite directions. She’d cut him out of her life, and after too many screaming rants against Andy, he’d cut Trish out of his. Nobody badmouthed his mom.
Sitting there in the busy, quiet, stillness of another stark raving family tragedy, a man tended to think of things like heaven and hell. If either had anything to do with just rewards, or if both were mankind’s weak attempt at understanding Karma. He’d read somewhere that men created their own heavens or hells by the way they lived. If that was true, Trish was in for an eternity of fiery damnation. So was Tripp, but for different reasons.
Yet even as he thought that, Tripp knew better. Andy believed in a loving Heavenly Father, one who always forgave his sons and daughters. One who loved them unconditionally because He was the wise One, not mankind. In the grand eternal cosmic scope of things, mankind was just a bumbling celestial infant. Not perfect. Not even close to it. Prone to make the ugliest, worst mistakes possible before enlightenment finally dawned inside his hard, empty skull.
“I couldn’t save Ikram, and I can’t save her,” he told the floor. “I was the man standing closest to Ikram, and I lived nine months in the same womb with Trish. I was born first. I even came into the world holding tight to her ankle. I literally dragged her kicking and screaming into the light with me. That should mean something. I wasn’t going to leave her behind, even then. But I did.”
Jameson’s palm landed on Tripp’s shoulder like a firm, warm rock. “That’s the best and worst thing about choices. We each get to make our own. We also get to live with the consequences. I saved a donkey once. Look what it got me.”
Tripp glanced at Jameson. Saw the tiny smirk barely twisting his lips. Also saw the dark glasses, and knew there were two unseeing eyeballs behind them, side effects of the risk he’d taken to save children he hadn’t known. Like it or not, Jameson had come to The TEAM already a legend. He didn’t swagger and boast like a lot of SEALs did. He was nothing like Tucker Chase, another SEAL. He just did his job, and he was quick to pitch in. Like now.
“You’re humble for a SEAL, you know that?”
“Is this a contest?”
“No, but—yeah. In a way. She’s my sister. Me and Mom are all she’s got. Of all the people in the world, I should’ve known what she needed. I should’ve been able to keep her from hurting herself.”
“Says who?”
“Says me.”
Jameson shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way, and you know it. The same fire that hardens steel, melts butter. Simple physics. Doesn’t matter who we came into the world with, who our parents are, or what circumstances we were born into. It’s never about the fire that burns us, only the fire within us. Only what and who we truly decide to be. Only what choices we make during the hours, days, and years, hell, the minutes we’re given.”
He was right. Tripp did know that. His mother used that iron and butter analogy often enough. It didn’t help, but it did explain how Trish fought against the very things he’d fought for.
“You want the best for your sister,” Jameson continued confidentially. “I get that, Tripp, but you can’t make her be good. Nobody can.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“She’s had the same opportunities as you. I can’t imagine your mom being kind to you, but cruel to her. No, somewhere along the line, she intentionally chose the path she’s on, and you have to believe…” He ran a hand over his head, ruffling the perfectly straight part that always made him look like an altar boy, something Tripp had never been. “You have to believe that she’s doing the best she can with what she’s got to work with.”
“Yeah, well, what she’s got to work with is shit.”
“Is it? Or is it a shit ton of experience that will eventually, hopefully, benefit her or someone else in her future? Maybe someone she’ll love more than she loves herself. Maybe a child?”
Tripp turned to really look at Jameson. The guy was totally serious that Trish could ever love someone more than herself. “That’s easy for you to say. You don’t know her, and you’re not the one cleaning up behind her or watching my mom cry and pray and—”
“People can change,” Jameson interrupted quietly. “Don’t give up on her, Tripp. It’s not over until it’s over.”
Which reminded Tripp of what he’d told Ashley. Second rule: never give up. Even when all hope seems lost, … endure to the fuckin’ end. Who was giving up now?
Thank God, a stern gentleman in scrubs, his mask loose under his chin, shoved through the door marked Do Not Enter, and saved Tripp having to admit Jameson was right.
“Who here is related to Trish McClane?” the man called out to
