A Touch of Regret (A Nick Bracco Thriller Book 8), page 29
“So Bruce is safe?” Jennifer Walker asked.
“He’s safe as can be,” Nick said, as they drove down a hill and saw the Pacific take up their entire view.
“Good, then I have one other issue.”
“Shoot.”
“I’m concerned about this Jake guy Bruce is seeing. His life has been complete mess ever since they been together and I’m worried—”
“Jen,” Nick interrupted. “Two weeks ago, I had the same opinion. I felt that Jake was unreliable, petulant, and immature. But my opinion has changed. Quite honestly, without Jake, your son would not be free right now. He went to Mexico by himself to save your son. No one else was willing to do something that brash or that stupid. Trust me, Jake is the best thing that could have ever happened to your son.”
“You really believe that?”
“I do. And in time, you will too.”
“Okay,” she said. “I trust you.”
“It’s over,” Nick said. “Enjoy your family and leave this behind.”
After the call ended, Matt said, “You realize you’re the one most affected by all this trauma. Everyone else just drifts in the wake of your epicenter.”
Nick understood his partner’s concern, but really, what choice did he have? Terrorists didn’t go by a set schedule, so he found ways to avert catastrophes, then took a few days off and repeated the cycle again.
“Please,” Nick said, gazing at the beauty of the Pacific. “I’m trying to put this behind me. Dredging it up only prolongs the healing process.”
“You’re just burned out.”
“You think?”
Matt shook his head. “Sometimes I think you’re daydreaming through your sessions with Dr. Morgan.”
“Naw, it’s just regular old-fashioned dreaming.”
“About what?” Matt said, rolling to a stop and parking along the curb of a residential neighborhood.
“About that,” Nick said, pointing to a group of people playing Wiffle Ball on the beach. Even from above the cliff where they parked, it was obvious who was playing. A team of soldiers wearing a combination of camouflage shirts and red, white, and blue swimming trunks played their positions on the sand field while a small boy stood at home plate, wagging his bat just like his dad had shown him. The pitcher sat in a wheelchair with wide rubber tires made for the beach and lofted the ball toward the boy. Thomas took a mighty swing and connected.
As the ball took off, it flew into the ocean breeze of centerfield and Tommy churned his legs to chase after it. He was the only one with the athletic moves of a professional ballplayer, and the only one without a shirt. He dove, stretching his body parallel to the ground and reached for the ball with his left hand and momentarily caught it, but just as he hit the sand the ball fell away from him. Tommy jumped up, grabbed the ball, and ran toward Thomas, who was already rounding second base with sand flying out from under his feet and giant smile across his face. By the time Thomas reached home plate, Tommy was breathing down his neck. The very moment after Thomas touched home plate, Tommy grabbed the boy and heaved him onto his shoulders and ran around the beach while the young boy laughed gleefully.
There were two interested spectators along the third baseline. Julie stood up from her beach chair and wildly applauded the home run, while Red stood next to her and bowed to the young boy with his arms stretched out. Nick heard Thomas’s laughter from eighty yards away and his heart swelled from joy and sadness simultaneously. He rubbed his cheekbone and realized the muscles used for smiling had atrophied so much, they ached now that he used them.
“That’s well worth dreaming about, buddy,” Matt said.
As they watched the antics from their perch on top of the hill, Nick said, “I don’t think I can do this much longer. I’m missing too much.”
Matt placed his hand on Nick’s shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. “I don’t blame you one bit. I would miss that too,” he said. “You want me to tell Walt?”
“Tell him what?”
“That we’re both leaving the Bureau. I’m not staying if you’re leaving. You know me, I’d get myself killed in the first week with a new partner.”
Tommy was now holding Thomas up over his head like he was waving a prize trophy around the beach. The cheers echoed throughout the walls of the canyon below them.
“Yeah, it seems like the right time, doesn’t it?” Nick said.
Just then a text from Walt popped up on Nick’s phone: URGENT.
Nick sighed, then dropped the phone onto his lap. He looked down at his family on the beach below them and said, “I’ll keep you posted.”
Gary Ponzo, A Touch of Regret (A Nick Bracco Thriller Book 8)
