Prologue: Unsettling News
865 Words
Prologue: Unsettling NewsNash rubbed his hands over his face and raked them through his spikey blond highlighted hair. “Seriously, Sam,” he said as he plopped down on the sofa. “How can you stay so calm, with the wedding only a month away?”
“Isn’t that the wedding planner’s job? To do all the worrying for us?” But Sam knew better. Harley, their wedding planner, was also Nash’s best friend. Although abundantly competent, Harley was high strung and tended to run every little status detail by Nash.
“He’s great, but no, worrying still falls under the grooms’ jurisdiction.” Nash’s grass green eyes twinkled as he heaved an exaggerated sigh and placed the back of his hand against his forehead in a teasing display of faux-dramatics. “I guess I’ll just have to agonize enough for both of us.”
“No…” Sam grinned and leaned over to kiss Nash’s furrowed brow, then his nose, then finally his lips before coming up for air to add, “Nobody needs to worry. Or you can let my mother do it for us if you think someone must.”
“Your mother is a peach. I adore your mother. Can I adopt her?”
“She’s already unofficially adopted you.”
“I think she’d love anybody who makes you happy.”
Sam groaned softly. Of course she would. Nash had made his life enjoyable again, and his whole family loved Nash for it. Nash had heard the stories. “I put them through hell. Dark times. I’m so glad I met you.”
The oven timer went off and Sam got up to check on the roasting chicken pieces. “It’s ready,” he hollered from the kitchen after pulling the pan out of the oven. “Will you pour the wine, hon?”
“Just a sec. Someone’s at the door. Damn, I hope Harley hasn’t come up with something new to stress me out.”
Sam opened a cabinet, pulled out two dinner plates, and began dishing up the roasted meat and vegetables. When he turned around, Nash was standing in the doorway with his eyebrows drawn tightly together.
“Sam,” he hissed. “There are two military policemen at the door asking for you. What the f**k is going on?”
“MPs? I have no idea. They didn’t say?”
“No, they want to talk to you. They’re setting up a laptop computer out there.”
Sam’s eyes widened. Why on earth would military police need to talk to him? Even if some piece of that f*****g, f*****g airplane had washed up at this late date, he doubted family would be pointedly notified, let alone paid a personal visit. No, it couldn’t have anything to do with that old tragedy.
“I guess there’s only one way to find out.” He straightened his shoulders and walked to the living room. Hopefully he wasn’t about to be arrested for something he couldn’t even understand.
“I’m Sam Greene, how can I help you gentlemen?”
The two visitors glanced at each other, then the thinner man with the sharp nose and clear blue eyes clarified, “Samuel Miller-Greene?”
“Well, yes, technically. I never changed it back after my husband died. I use the full name for signing documents. I just tend to shorten it these days for casual use.”
The men shared another glance and seemed satisfied with that reply, giving each other barely perceptible nods. The man with the round face and warm brown eyes spoke. “I’m Major Johnson and this is Sergeant Rosings.” Sam nodded and they all shook hands. “May we all sit at your table here, Dr. Miller-Greene? We have some images to show you, and I think you’ll find this news rather unsettling.”
Sam felt the blood drain from his face. Unsettling. That sounded like it might be a softer way of saying awful. He took a deep breath and asked, “May my fiancé join us? I get the feeling I’m going to want the moral support.”
Major Johnson’s lips twitched a bit at the question, but he quickly recovered his composure and replied, “Of course.”
Nash moved to Sam’s side, introduced himself, and they all sat down.
Major Johnson cleared his throat, took a quick look at Nash, then returned his focus to Sam. “Dr. Miller-Greene, a discovery was made this morning during a drone training exercise in the Pacific.”
Fucking hell. A “discovery” in the f*****g Pacific Ocean. Apparently a grisly discovery rather than a simple chunk of fuselage to warrant a personal visit like this. Sam stiffened and felt Nash’s hand slip into his.
Major Johnson continued. “Some people were spotted on a remote and insignificant island. They were determined through initial surveillance to be stranded there. When the drone descended to make itself known, the individuals communicated with it by writing in the sand. They identified themselves as survivors of the TransOceanic Flight 3012 plane crash and wrote out their names.”
Sam sat rigidly and held his breath as Major Johnson paused. Survivors? Could it really be possible? These men wouldn’t be here making a personal visit to inform him, would they, unless…?
“Dr. Miller-Greene, we’d appreciate it if you would give a positive identification of the man who indicated he was your husband, Henry.”
Time seemed to stop as Sam stared into the man’s eyes, trying to comprehend what he’d been told. Nash’s hand crushed his.
“Henry’s alive?” His voice broke with just those two words, and that’s all he was able to manage.
- Writer
