Interestingly, the nickname Mother began as a behind-her-back joke about her nosy, gossiping, interfering ways. Alex hadn’t fully appreciated his genius techie back then. But the spinoff moniker, Mom, was kinder and gentler. It fit the woman she’d become. Alex could thank Jameson for that.
“Kelsey told me something a few years back,” he told her quietly. “Like you and Justice, we had a helluva lot of crap to deal with when we first married. She’d just lost her two sons. I’d lost Sara and Abby a few years earlier. The pain was fresh. We were both ragged and raw, drowning in our own piles of grief. Not a day went by that one of us didn’t feel like we were bleeding.
“But one morning at breakfast, she climbed onto my lap, took my big, fat head in her hands, and told me I could cry and curse God forever, but she wasn’t leaving me.” Alex swallowed hard at the tender woman he lived for now. “My sweet wife told me the only reason I was being such an A-hole—her word, not mine—was because grief lasts as long as true love. It has to; it’s a measure of how deeply we love the ones we lost. And when the day comes that I lose her…”
He looked at the floor between his feet, his heart pounding like a son of a bitch. “I’ll be just as big an A-hole as I was then.” Alex lifted his chin and met Mother’s teary gaze. “Like it or not, death leaves a son of a bitchin’ crater inside of us, Sasha. We’ll never stop missing the ones we lost, but only because we gave them our whole hearts.”
The room was stone-cold silent when he finished. Alex had never shared so much emotion or personal information with his TEAM before. He might never again. But then again, he did trust everyone in this room with his life…
He’d learned a lot since Catalina Montego had crashed onto the scene two years ago. Exorcising her evil spirit from the District and Virginia had taught Alex how fast he could lose the very thing he’d always wanted, yet had ignored, whenever TEAM troubles came calling. Namely, his family. A guy didn’t get many second chances. That was what Kelsey was, his second chance. He’d never deserved her, but God knew he needed her. And she’d blessed him with his third and fourth chances: his daughter Lexie Rose and his newborn son Bradley Patrick. And now, living with his elderly father’s Alzheimer’s, Alex was learning how to forgive, something he was still working on.
Everyone was listening, but he focused on the trembling woman at his knees. “I’d like you to manage all things technology related, Sasha. From concept to invention to patent, hell, to worldwide distribution, if DoD allows. You’ll hire the people who’ll do the best job for you. It’s a big world out there and a new terrorist every day. Are you still part of my TEAM or not?”
“Thank you.” She whispered so low he had to lean in to be sure he’d heard right. “I needed this.” A tiny sad smile quirked one side of her lipstick-painted mouth. She squeezed his hand. “And I’m okay being called Mom. I’m staying. I’m in.”
Jameson rapped his knuckles on the tabletop. “You heard her. Mom’s staying! Let’s celebrate, people!”
As a thunderous “Ooh-rah!” filled the room, Alex allowed a long, deep breath. His TEAM was back. All of them.
Chapter Forty-Five
Day forty-three and counting. Trish had been moved from the hospital in Alexandria to a nearby rehabilitation center. There Tripp met the indomitable Gracie Fox-Armstrong. She was one of the many physical therapists on staff, also Junior Agent Taylor Armstrong’s wife. When Trish woke up—if she did—Gracie would be her personal trainer. She’d already assisted in treating Trish for her venereal diseases. Eventually, she’d teach Trish to stand again, how to walk, feed herself, and everything else active people did. Then she’d accompany Trish home to help her transition back into the real world.
But for now, Trish remained bedridden and unresponsive. One good side effect of her coma was that the drugs, booze, and smokes she’d used, were now out of her system. She’d detoxed under strict medical care, something she never would’ve done before her attack. Her cervical cancer hadn’t required a complete hysterectomy, as Doctor Pitt had initially diagnosed. Instead, an oncology specialist removed it via what he’d called a simple trachelectomy. Didn’t sound simple to Tripp, but the doctor assured Andy and Tripp that option gave Trish the best chance of being able to carry a pregnancy to term. Which was important to Andy. She’d started believing in miracles again. Tripp took the wait-and-see approach. This was Trish after all.
As unlikely as it seemed, she’d gained weight. The anemic, skeletal woman she’d been the night she’d nearly lost her life, was gone. Regular nourishment via a feeding tube did that. Her skin tone was more pink than gray these days. Chalk that up to Gracie, who tended to Trish’s personal needs, daily cleanliness, and hair care.
If only Trish would open her eyes and tell him to fuck off. That was what Tripp lived for.
“Okay, steep hill up ahead, Pooh Bear. Time to dig in and give it your all,” he told her as he manipulated her right leg into a smooth bend, followed by a gentle lift and a full extension. Gracie had taught him how to work his sister’s limbs to prevent stiffness. “Pretend with me, you’re the best downhill racer in the world. Uphill, downhill, doesn’t matter. You can beat everyone else on this track. Here we go again.”
Tripp talked throughout Trish’s workout. It was his day with his sister. Ashley was working out at TEAM HQ with, of all people, Zack Lennox. He was teaching her self-defense; Jameson would eventually teach her parkour. Tripp and Ashley were meeting his mom at noon for lunch, before Andy took over sitting with
