Marine Ever After (Always a Marine) (7 page)

“Yeah, okay, we’ll discuss repayment terms later. For now, my buddy Paul is here and he hooked up with one of the bridesmaids….”

Paul scowled, but Damon’s smirk didn’t waver.

“Yeah, Rebecca’s roommate.” He paused. “Any chance you have her number?” Shaking his head, he said, “Okay, thanks for checking, babe. I’ll see you tonight. Knock ’em dead in court.”

Paul exhaled and opened the top on the water bottle. “She doesn’t have it.”

“Nope. Said she wasn’t at most of the bridal planning because of her schedule and even did her fittings with Rebecca without the others. Sorry, man, you’ll have to wait until she and Cap are back from the honeymoon.”

“My own fault.” He found the perfect woman, and let her go. Scratching the back of his head, he sighed. He needed a haircut. “So, how’s it going with….” Hell, he didn’t remember the lawyer’s name.

“Helena.” Damon elongated her name, giving it sweet emphasis. Damn, the man was completely gone on her. “She’s good. We’re good.”

“She going to marry you yet?” Paul heard the stories from a half-dozen of the others. Damon proposed. Helena said no. He’d done four different ones so far, from the romantic to the utterly serious. Paul’s favorite involved Damon sending an attorney to her office to broach contract terms for a permanent merger. The man was a lunatic. Good-hearted, generous, and bat crap crazy.

“Yep.” And he didn’t lack in confidence, either.

“Does she know?” He couldn’t resist tweaking him.

“No, she’s convinced she’ll remain single to the end of time. But I’m wearing her down. Took her a whole week to say no last time.” He grinned.

“That’s an improvement?”

“Oh yeah, she said no thirty seconds after I made the first proposal and then didn’t talk to me for a week. Took her almost fifteen minutes the second time and a day the third.”

“At that rate, by the time you get to your tenth proposal, it’ll be a year before she says no.”

‘Exactly. All I do then is get her to a justice of the peace before the year is up and then it won’t matter. But enough about me. When do you report?”

“Day after tomorrow. Flight leaves tomorrow morning, I’ll be in Germany the day after and thus goes the rest of my year.” Teaching was a hell of a lot better than chasing intel in hotspots, but he was good at the latter. He hadn’t done the teaching gig before.

“Looking forward to it?”

Paul shrugged and finished the last of the food. He was stuffed. “Should be interesting. Do you miss it?”

“Yes and no.” Damon rose and stacked the plates. “I like being home. I like the life we have here. Miss the guys. Miss the action. Don’t miss the heat or the food.”

Paul laughed. “Yeah, I wouldn’t miss the food either.”

“You hanging or heading out?” He passed the plates off to another of the workers.

“Out. I need a haircut. Have to call my parents, and promised James I’d swing by and pick up some of the materials to take back with me.”

“And so he can make sure your head’s on tight.” Damon guessed.

Nodding, Paul rose and stretched. “Yeah, probably. Doc’s a good one though, so no complaints. See you around.” He held out his hand and Damon caught it in a firm shake before pulling him into a hard, easy hug.

“Don’t get dead, Master Sergeant.”

“Do my best.”

The chef let him out of the restaurant and Paul scanned the area. Maybe he’d check the local hospitals—how many did Dallas have? If he called, they might tell him if a Nurse Hansen worked on staff.

’Cause stalking her at work would be the way to show her you care
. He grimaced.
I can wait. Captain can get me the number. I’ll apologize when I call her. Chicks like that
.

Still, he couldn’t get the aching sensation of disappointment out of his gut.

It would have been damn nice to see her again
before
he left.

Chapter Six

Eleven Weeks Later

Lillianna sat and put her head between her knees. Deep breathing quieted the gurgles in her stomach.

“Oh, come on, not you, too.” Jodi’s voice came from somewhere behind her. But Lillianna didn’t dare sit up and look at her boss. “Go home, Lil. Get some rest. I’ll find someone to cover your shift.”

“I’ll be fine.” Lillianna exhaled a hard breath and straightened. A hard swallow kept the bile down and she managed a small smile. “We’ve been dramatically understaffed and you don’t have anyone who’s been off in the last twenty-four hours.”

“I know I don’t. I also know you’ve covered more than your share of shifts three months ago and in the last two weeks.” Jodi squeezed her shoulder. “Go home. Forty-eight hours. Stay there. I’m taking you off the call rotation. Get some sleep, puke your guts up, do what you need to do. Take a saline bag or three home, too. Make sure you stay hydrated.”

She left before Lillianna protested. Jodi was good people. Her stomach swam on another wave of nausea and she had to stuff her fist to her mouth and race for the stalls on the far side. When she didn’t think she would lose any more of the contents of her stomach, she leaned on the cool siding. Jodi was right, no matter how hard Lillianna tried to avoid the reality—she hadn’t managed to avoid the viral gastroenteritis. It took out most of Peds and then made its round of the surgical nurses. Apparently it was the ER’s turn.

Exiting the stall, she rinsed out her mouth at the sink and washed her hands fastidiously. Praying for luck, she grabbed her purse and the duffel with her change of clothes from the locker. She would make do with the scrubs. She stopped by to grab the recommended bags of saline on her way to the car. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to have the fever and misery everyone else had suffered from—or maybe she had that to look forward to when she got home.

Joy and rapture
. The humid August air slapped her in the face as soon as she cleared the doors. The Texas heat soared into the upper 90s if they were lucky and beyond three digits when they weren’t. She couldn’t really tell what the day’s temperature was stuck at, but hurried to her car anyway. Pulling open the door, a blast of congealed humidity struck her.

Her stomach revolted at the overabundance of heat—cars turned into convection ovens in the Texas summer. Leaning in, she started the engine and dialed the A/C to its coldest setting and opened all the windows to let out the suffocating air. Maybe she should have put the saline bag in and laid down in an on-call room.

She positively melted. Finally, the nausea subsided and she climbed in. Driving with the windows open wasn’t pleasant, but as soon as cold air filtered out of the vents, she closed them and sighed. Bless the coolness.

Lillianna hated to be sick. Whether it was a naturally strong constitution or the fact her father’s Army assignments dragged her around the world and exposing her to so many places growing up, she didn’t get sick often. The cold air seemed to do wonders for the nausea, but she didn’t look the gift horse in the mouth and headed straight back to her apartment. Forty-eight hours of sleep sounded good.

She hadn’t been that tired after seventy-hours straight in the hospital, a wedding, and back to it for another three days while her co-workers battled the raging respiratory symptoms of the last flu to blow through the staff. Regular as clockwork, every three months, and summer always seemed to be worse than winter.

Three months.

Eleven weeks. Almost three months. Lillianna slammed her foot on the brake, nearly hitting the car in front of her. Her stomach swam. Sucking in a noisy breath between her teeth, she signaled and cut over three lanes. Drugstores sat on nearly every other corner. Ignoring her gut’s complaints, she parked and threw herself out of the car and into the store.

It wasn’t possible. But…eleven weeks and she hadn’t had a period since before the first flu outbreak. She hadn’t been paying attention, not with her schedule and switching from days to nights so Jodi could go on vacation, then back to days again. Hell, half the time she didn’t know whether she was coming or going.

Standing in front of the over-the-counter pregnancy test shelf, she scanned the brand names. The hospital used one particular type, but she wanted two or three—false positives were possible. False positives on three different brands? Far less likely.

It’s viral gastroenteritis—this is just an overreaction
. But even her mental voice lacked the conviction to make her believe the sentiment. Condoms failed all the time. Nothing was one hundred percent foolproof, even when used correctly.

And they’d used it correctly. Despite the sick misery coating her insides, a shiver of desire raced over her skin. She’d woken more than once in the last few weeks, remembering that night and wishing it had lasted longer than one night. But only for as long as it took her to wake all the way up. Then the cold, harsh reality that Paul was military reminded her she was better off with the memory for comfort.

Choosing the three best tests, she grabbed a bottle of Pepto and some antacids, a case of Gatorade, and added a box of saltines to the stack. She drove home with her purchases, sipping the pink, chalky liquid straight from the bottle to avoid another session of vomiting. Her nerves aggravated her already upset stomach.

She left her duffle in the car and grabbed the plastic bag and her purse. In her apartment, she traded her scrubs for a tank top and shorts. More of a rip-the-Band-Aid-off kind of girl, she went ahead and peed on all the sticks and lined them next to each other on the counter. Peeling off her surgical gloves, she tossed them into the trash and cracked open a bottle of Gatorade to drink.

Sitting on the floor of her bathroom was acceptable. She kept it virtually spotless—too many years of her father’s inspections and her mother’s habits were ingrained in her. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back against the wall. The tests would be negative. Clearly she was ill and her condition exacerbated by exhaustion. Sleep. She needed sleep and it would all be better when she woke up.

The ringing cell phone jarred her awake. Sitting forward, she grimaced at her dry mouth and stared around the bathroom befuddled. Why was she sleeping in there? The ringer split the silence again and she dragged herself up, to find her abandoned cell lying on the dresser.

Her mother’s face flashed on the caller ID. Coughing once, she answered with a quick, “Hey, Mom.” Sinking down on the bed, she fought to keep her eyes open. Stopping at the drugstore had been a mistake—momentary panic—the illness messed with her head.

“You sound terrible, sweetie.” Trust her mom to call it like it was, always keeping the faith.

“I’ve been better. How are you?” She grinned at the bad joke.

“We’re fine. We’re in Belgium. Your father has meetings at NATO.” Pride filled her voice and why shouldn’t it? At an age where he should have retired, her father instead wanted to be considered for a job with the medical staff and advisor at Allied Command Operations.

“Cool.” It was the best she could manage.

“Have you considered our offer to have you fly over for a vacation?”

Get on a plane? Ugh. Her stomach flip-flopped at the idea. “I really can’t, Mom. I don’t have the accrued vacation time and we’ve been strapped for staff. I should be there right now but Jodi sent me home.”

“Oh, baby. You should rest then. I can call you later.” It didn’t take much to arouse her maternal instincts.

“I am. I have fluids and everything.” Sitting on the bed didn’t stave off her exhaustion. Rising, she headed to the bathroom. Maybe some cold water on her face would do wonders. Phone in one hand, she concentrated on not walking like a drunken sailor on her way home from a binge. “How long will you be in Belgium?”

“Just a month, then we’ll be back stateside. Your father is scheduled to teach a semester at West Point. If he earns the job here, we’ll be back in Belgium in the spring.”

“So then there’s plenty of time for me to visit, see the countryside, and play tourist with you.” The last thing she wanted to do was play tourist or travel. She was sick to damn death of traveling and not even a dozen years settled in Texas got her past the idea. She turned the faucet on. The cool water felt great on her wrists.

“Well, I’ll hold you to that. We should know by Thanksgiving.”

“What do you do if he doesn’t get it?”

“Oh, honey, pray he gets it. Your father does not want to retire. And frankly I’m not sure I want him to. You remember what it was like to PCS with him when his duty station didn’t need him immediately.”

The grimace in her mother’s voice almost made her laugh. Almost. PCS—permanent change of station orders arrived and turned her life upside down more times than she cared to admit. When the military said move, the family moved. Her father was a workaholic, proud to the bone, and dedicated to his country. He didn’t handle idleness well.

“I will, Mom. I promise. Look I need to—” She swallowed the next words and stared at the three home pregnancy tests on the back of the toilet.

Two blue lines.

A plus sign.

And a big, fat pregnant stared back at her.

“Lillianna? Did I lose you?”

Oh. My. God.

“I’m going to be sick, Mom—I’ve got to go.” Disconnecting the call, she dropped the phone on the counter and ignored the clatter in her race to flip the toilet lid up.

***

She tried not to fidget. She’d never experienced so much dread in her life as she did waiting for her OB to come into the room. Patricia Carter opened the door and her expression confirmed Lillianna’s fear. “I am pregnant.”

“Yup.” The doctor sat down on a stool and studied her. “Nearly three months, your HCG levels are pretty high, you’ve got symptoms….”

“Yeah, I know exactly when it happened.”
Happy Anniversary, Becca. I got pregnant at your wedding. Sorry, I only meant to catch the bouquet
.

“Well, the time to talk about options is right now.” Patricia didn’t sugar coat facts or ease into subjects, she took them by storm.

“I know my options.” It was all she’d thought about for the last four days since the three tests came back positive. She’d made an appointment with her OB and came in for blood work. Then waited for the results. In the meanwhile, she worked. It was what she had. Work.