Hold on Tight Read Online Free PDF Page B

yet—no, she looked tired, worn out. Probably didn’t know why she’d been feeling like crap lately.
    She still looked fucking beautiful to him. Tough and regal all rolled into one long, lean package. And at that moment he didn’t give a shit that she’d come there to investigate him—her admission outside his door that afternoon told him what he needed to know.
    The way she’d let him hold her hand on the way to the elevator told him even more.
    Sneaking back into the hospital was easy enough. After he’d stripped down and shoved on the stupid hospital gown so as not to draw any more attention to himself, he thanked the guy who’d lent him the gun and the cammies.
    His bag, which had been brought in from the helo, contained only dirty clothing. His weapons were with Saint, who would bring him fresh fatigues in a few hours for the trip, so for now he pulled the hospital garb off, shoved his sweats back on and powered up his cell phone to call his brother.
    Jake answered on the first ring. “You’re all right.”
    “Yeah, I’m all right.” He paused, throat tight. “But Mark …”
    “Fuck, Chris. Just fuck.” Jake’s voice was hoarse.
    “Yeah” was the only thing he could say in response, the only thing he needed to say. And for a few minutes there was silence over the line as the two men shared their grief together.
    Jake spoke first. “Saint said the FBI came by to see you.”
    “I’m sure he said more than that.”
    “She still hot?”
    “She’s all right.” Chris smiled to himself as he lay against the pillow. His window hadn’t been repaired but someone had taken out the remaining jagged glass, so the sounds of soldiers on night watch on the base floated through, gave him comfort that a civilian hospital wouldn’t.
    He’d see Jamie tomorrow. Maybe, when they landed, he could spend some more time with her, figure things out.
    Christopher wasn’t speaking to him. It was the second time in twenty-seven years his son had done this—it had cut Kenny to the quick the first time and was much worse now.
    It didn’t matter that he understood his son’s struggle, probably more than Chris did himself. But sitting here in a stadium in Texas, clutching his cell phone in his hand so he wouldn’t miss a call and surrounded by blaring music and the thousands of fans there to watch the first leg of his band’s big comeback tour—a success, to be sure—Kenny hated every second of the non-contact.
    Nick had called to reassure him that physically Chris was fine, as did Jake, multiple times, even though neither of his other sons had seen Chris in person yet. And their He’s all right rang hollow on both ends, because they all knew Chris was far from all right. None of them were.
    His sons had suffered losses, had seen and faced death multiple times, but Mark Kendall’s death, his sacrifice, was something they’d be struggling with for a long time.
    “Great comeback, Kenny.” One of the record execs clapped an enthusiastic hand on his shoulder and he nearly jumped out of his skin. “We didn’t think they’d be alive this long, never mind performing.”
    Yes, Kenny had brought this particular band back from the dead, so to speak—got them through rehab and divorces and kept them hidden from the paparazzi until they were ready for public consumption.
    Now the band was all about the music. The members thanked Kenny over and over again for helping them find their way back to where they’d started—back to the beginning.
    “They’re good kids” was all Kenny told the exec before excusing himself. He pushed his way through the front-row crowds, toward backstage, where it was no less loud and chaotic, and finally found a small, empty dressing room to rest and think about his boys.
    “It doesn’t make sense, Kenny,” his young wife had whispered twenty-seven years earlier on that snowy Christmas Day morning. “They told me I’d have three boys.”
    “I don’t know, Mags.” He’d been lying