Because of You: A Loveswept Contemporary Military Romance (11 page)

The tension eased back as the narcotic took hold, binding to the pain. The lines around his mouth relaxed, and his neck muscles visibly loosened. His fingers stayed linked with hers, though, strong and steady. She looked down at that hand she held and wondered at her fascination with this man who was capable of such naked determination.

“Better?” she asked. He nodded slowly and squeezed her fingers lightly before unthreading his hand from hers. “How’s your head?”

“It’s killing me.” He rubbed his forehead between his eyes. There was no force behind his words. None of the violence that had been there just moments before. Was he giving up? She didn’t need him climbing out of bed on his own, but this? This was somehow worse. She blinked rapidly then poked him in his chest, in the soft flesh between his pec and his shoulder. He turned his face quickly and scowled at her.

“Hurting yourself isn’t the way to get out of the hospital.”

A slow flush crawled up his neck and Jen almost took a step backward, anticipating an outburst. Almost.

Shane didn’t explode. Instead, his words came out quiet, the anger behind them barely concealed.

“You have no idea what it’s like to sit here and not be able to do anything for yourself. So don’t talk to me about healing when I’m just another warehoused GI.”

“You’re hurt. You need help. ”

His eyes flashed and he leaned up, getting right into her face. His voice was a low
growl, deep in his throat. “I don’t
want
help. I don’t need your help. I
want
to get fixed and get back to Iraq.”

She jammed her finger into his chest again. “You do need help, you’re just too stubborn to accept that the invincible Shane Garrison needs it. It’s not the end of the world.”

“This is your idea of help?” He slammed his fist against the rail of the bed. “Keep it and get the fuck out!”

She didn’t argue with him. She’d lost the one tattered edge of momentum she’d had. She left, and felt his rage burning holes in her back as she shut the door quietly behind her.

* * *

Jen’s hands shook and she balled them into fists until her nails bit into the skin. That had gone well. If by well, she meant utter failure. She closed her eyes as she calmed down, trying to remember how she’d felt when she’d been heaving on the bathroom floor after chemo. Thank God she’d had Laura. Her friend had cleaned up the mess and helped her into bed. And she’d stayed by her side all night.

Just like Shane, Jen hadn’t wanted to hear that she needed help. Laura had stuck with her through those terrible times, even though she had been eight months pregnant with her second child and Trent had again been deployed. Jen had protested, but Laura had stuck. And when Jen’s brother had served her with legal papers contesting their grandmother’s will, Laura had still stuck.

Jen pushed away from the door of Shane’s room, and the unpleasant walk down memory lane. Just then, Laura walked down the hall, like she was walking out of Jen’s
memories. She looked exhausted and was carrying a large, colorful tote that doubled as a purse. Shane’s injury had capped off a month filled with bad news. Laura looked tired and Jen knew she wasn’t doing well. No one was. The Surge was taking its toll on all of them.

“Have you heard from Nicole? How’s Vic doing?”

Laura’s somber expression cracked into a genuine smile. “Making jokes. He’s taking her down to Italy before they head home. Listening to Nicole, you’d think he did no more than stub a toe instead of lose a limb.”

“Well, that’s good, right?”

Laura offered a one-shouldered shrug. “I think so.” She sighed and gripped the tote beneath her arms so tightly her knuckles showed white. Her gaze drifted over Jen’s shoulder to the door behind her. “How’s Shane?”

Jen puffed her cheeks out and let some of her exasperation show. “Do you want the truth or do you want me to lie to you?”

“Oh, the truth sounds like much more fun,” Laura said dryly.

“He’s a pain in the ass.”

Laura laughed out loud, then quickly covered her mouth with her hand. “Sorry. That’s more of a relief than you know.”

“Any ideas on how I keep him from ripping his IV out every five minutes? You know him better than I do.” She was willing to take suggestions at this point. Anything would be better than feeling this helpless and out of ideas.

Laura shrugged and tugged her hair from her face. Jen frowned and looked a little closer. Had she been crying?

“Hon, you should be able to relate to where he’s at right now better than anyone. You didn’t talk to me for weeks when you first got sick. I had to practically drag you to the spa at gunpoint to get those toenails under control.”

Jen snorted and covered her smile with the back of her hand. “Oh God, I’d forgotten about that.”

“Just don’t let him do anything stupid, okay? I’ll be here as much as I can for him, but you’re here every day. And I don’t know how much they’ll let me up here if I’m not official, you know?”

“Huh?”

Laura looked away. “I’m resigning as the battalion family readiness group leader.”

“What’s going on?” Jen tucked her hands into the pockets of her nurse’s smock.

Laura shifted the bag to her other shoulder. “Nothing. I don’t think I’m being a very good FRG leader. I can’t take care of my own husband, so how can I help the other wives? So I’m stepping down.”

“Does Trent know?” Jen asked cautiously.

“Don’t know. I emailed him. Haven’t gotten a reply, though.”

“He’s still not talking?”

Laura shook her head, biting her lips together. “And the rumors are damn near killing me.”

“What rumors?”

Laura shook her head. “They’re not important. I’m just so worried and I can’t help because he’s not talking. And all the rear d commander says is that Trent will call when he can.”

Jen slipped her arm around Laura’s shoulders and rested her head against hers for a moment. “I wish I had some way to make it better.”

Laura sniffed and pulled away. “Yeah, well, it’s my husband who’s being a shit. I’ll deal. You, on the other hand, need to deal with Mr. Crankypants in there for me, okay?”

She snorted and headed to the nurses’ station. “What am I supposed to do? Show him my scars? Hey, pal, check this out. I can totally relate to how you feel?”

“That’s so not funny.” Laura managed to laugh and look horrified all at once. “But hey, you never know, right?” Her tote buzzed and she fished around until she pulled out her phone. “It’s Nikki.”

Jen’s eyes widened. Carponti’s warped sense of humor might just be the thing to kick Shane in the tail and get him out of his funk. “How soon are they coming back?” Jen whispered.

“Huh?”

“Tell Nicole to get her and Vic back here. Shane needs him.”

Laura narrowed her eyes. “Hang on, Nikki. Jen, are you sure?”

“Yeah. I am.”

It was a risk. A big one considering that Carponti was still healing from his own injuries. But right now, it was a chance—the only one she had.

* * *

A quiet knock on the door penetrated the fog in his brain. He wished the damn nurses and doctors and well-meaning volunteers would leave him the hell alone. He didn’t want company. He didn’t want the neat little hygiene kits they left or the cheap underwear that wouldn’t fit over his freakish legs even if he had been interested in getting
dressed. Which he wasn’t. Getting dressed implied that he was going somewhere. Which, again, obviously, he wasn’t.

He didn’t answer the quiet knock, hoping that if it was a visitor they’d leave. The friggin’ docs and nurses were in his damn room at all hours of the night and day. Not that he slept much. The drug-induced haze he lingered in couldn’t really be called sleep. So when the door to his room pushed open, he sighed and slammed his head back against the pillow and fought the urge to throw the remote control at whoever was walking in now.

“Wow, Jen wasn’t kidding.”

He glanced over sharply at Laura’s familiar voice. She stood near the door to the bathroom, her hands gripping the handle of the tote tightly. Her gaze flicked down his body, surveying the damage and he bristled but remained silent. Barely.

He hated this part. Each time someone he knew walked into the room, they didn’t see him, they saw his injuries. He felt like he was just another freak on display, and now knew exactly how he’d made others feel every time he’d glanced away and thought, thank God it wasn’t him.

He swallowed and tried to think of something civilized to say. But he wasn’t feeling civilized and despite Laura’s being a good friend, he didn’t want her company.

Unless … “You don’t happen to have a coat hanger in there, do you?” he asked.

Laura frowned and shot him a funny look. “Why?”

“I will have your children if you’d straighten one out for me.”

“What are you talking about?” She approached the bed then, his remark breaking through the barrier that had kept her away from the bed.

“My fucking arm is itching like crazy.” He tried to shift his arm inside the cast but
it didn’t move and the creeping sensation of something prickling up his skin crept higher.

“I wish I’d thought to bring some.” She shrugged. “Sorry.”

Shane sighed and tossed the remote onto the sheet next to his hip. “You’re no help.”

“You really are in a sunny mood, aren’t you? You could try being a little bit less of an asshole, you know.” Laura shifted the tote higher on her shoulder and folded her arms over her chest.

“Laura—”

“I’m just giving you a hard time.” She swallowed as her voice cracked. “You scared the shit out of me.”

She bit down on her lips and looked away.

“Ah, hell, come here.” He lifted his good arm and she accepted the peace offering, hugging him gently before pulling away. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, well, it’s not like this is Disneyworld.” She swiped beneath her eyes. “Are you okay?”

He shrugged. “Peachy.”

“I thought we covered this don’t be a dickhead stuff already,” she said dryly.

“Yeah.” He tried to smile. It was weak but it was there. “We did.”

“So, anyway, I brought you some clothes. I don’t know when you’ll be out of the bed or anything but, well, as sexy as that hospital gown is, I’m sure real clothes might make you feel a little more, I don’t know, normal?”

He glanced down at the cast covering his left arm. “Not likely. But thanks.”

Silence greeted his sullen response but he couldn’t make himself apologize. Laura was a friend. She’d gone out of her way to come see him and bring him clothes. And how
did he say thanks? By being a douche bag. Trent was going to kick his ass when he saw him next.

“This isn’t the end of the world,” she said quietly, her palm warm against the exposed skin of his forearm. “And I know this is the last thing you want to hear, but I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Look, Laura—”

“Don’t argue.” She squeezed his arm gently, then let go. “I’ve got to get going. I know this sucks but I meant it. I’m glad you’re okay.” She sniffed and set the tote on the floor between the chair and the bed. “The clothes will be here if you change your mind.”

Finally he looked at her and saw the tears shimmering in her eyes. “Aw hell, Laura, don’t cry.”

She shook her head and covered her mouth. “I’m not.”

“Bull.”

“Busted.” She rolled her eyes and smiled weakly. A faint buzzing filled the silence and she tugged the cell phone out of her purse. Something thawed around his heart when her eyes lit up, just a little. “Trent?”

She motioned to the door and rushed into the hall. He hoped the call didn’t drop but in the hospital, it was likely. The door shut behind her, leaving him alone in the silence once more.

He closed his eyes and wished he could have made conversation. Asked about the kids, about the wives. About anything so he wouldn’t have been such an asshole. But then again, that was what he was good at.

He scoffed. What he
had
been good at. Now? Now he was … he had no idea.

But he damn sure wasn’t a good friend and wasn’t much of a soldier anymore, either. He looked down his body at the dingy white cast and the sheet covering the skeletal frames around his legs.

What the hell was left?

Three weeks since he’d been shipped out of Iraq and he was just as useless now as he’d been when he’d first arrived. The only difference was now, he was slightly less stoned and every single nerve burned with energy, both real and imagined. He looked down at his right arm as an itch crawled up his wrist toward his elbow. He shuddered, unable to do anything to stop the sensation—it felt like a spider was crawling over his skin.

Nurse Ratchet had confiscated the coat hanger he’d transformed into a scratching stick.

Bitter helplessness tasted like sand in his mouth. He scrubbed his hand over his face, wishing like hell he could shave. That he could take a piss by himself. That he could do
anything
other than sit here.

He was stuck. Between the pins sticking out of his legs and the stitches holding his abdomen together, the cast on his right arm and the tube sticking out of his dick, he was a damned invalid. He clicked through the channels searching for anything related to the war, but all anyone was talking about was some pop star’s latest stint in rehab.

He was going fucking insane.

The door to his room slammed opened and Shane glanced over, expecting to see one of Nurse Ratchet’s pals.

Shane’s mouth fell open, but no sound squeezed past the knot in his throat. He barely recognized the man who walked into his room. His face was covered with a bushy red beard, his dark red hair grown out and slicked back in some Irish version of the Fonz. He’d let his hair grow out of that stupid red patch months ago, but this? This was ridiculous. Cold shock crawled up his spine when he saw Carponti’s bandaged arm. Several inches too short.

Holy fuck.

Carponti strolled in like he didn’t have a care in the world and flopped into the chair that was reserved for visitors. Except for Laura—who visited him regularly despite his less than charming attitude—it had gone basically unused since Shane had arrived. Not that he wanted company anyway.