He nods. “She’s just down the hall. But I’d advise you to keep your visits brief.”
It takes me all of half an hour to sweet-talk my night nurse into swapping my bed for a wheelchair, and minutes later I’m staring through the window at Scottie as she sleeps. I watch her for hours until I’m forced back into bed. I watch her the night after, and the horror that covers her features as she comes to and has to be sedated. Her eyes meet mine just as the medicine takes hold, and they flutter closed.
My days are spent pacing the halls in rehabilitation, and my nights watching her sleep. Scottie suffered a second-degree burn to her abdomen from the explosion, her wrist had to be rebroken and set, and she’s being treated for dehydration and malnourishment. I’m sure she has her own list of things I’m not privy to, but as long as I can see with my own eyes that she’s okay, I’ll deal with it.
Fear flickers through my thoughts briefly as I watch her through the glass, wondering what I’ll feel when the day comes that I can’t lay eyes on her anymore.
Chapter Twenty-One
Gavin
Noah sleeps in the bed next to me as I search through the docs in my lap until my eyes blur. I rip off my reading glasses and give myself a minute to breathe through the rip in my chest. My wife has been missing for fifty-six days, and every single one of those days has been hell on earth. Training my eyes on our wedding photo, I sink back into my search as my cell begins to ring.
“Walsh.”
“Gavin, they found her.”
“Hold on.” I slip out of bed and race down the hall to shield Noah from my reaction. Heart thundering, I step out onto the back porch and don’t recognize my voice when I speak. “Tell me.”
“She’s recovering at Landstuhl. She’s going to make it, man. She’s coming home.”
Pulling my head away from the mouthpiece, I grunt out my relief as my eyes sting. Roger speaks to the extent of her injuries as I take a seat on the foot of our steps.
“Jesus Christ,” my voice cracks, unable to disguise my anguish at the truth of what they’ve done to my wife.
“That’s not all.” His hesitance has my hackles rising as I brace myself for the worst.
“Tell me.”
The clarity of the night sky mocks me as I fall to my knees in a cloud of disbelief. Hope turns to despair as I disintegrate, clutching my chest. No. No. No! Not my Katy.
It takes me minutes to speak before I hear myself finally ask, “The responsible?”
“We got them. All of them.”
“Doesn’t fucking change anything, does it?”
“I’m sorry, Gavin.”
“I’ll leave tonight.”
“They’re still treating her, and she hasn’t been debriefed yet. You know the drill.”
As brutal as this is, there is no way for me to get to her until she’s been through the process. My hands are tied. For the first time in my life, I resent the army I’ve pledged my allegiance to.
“We’ll get her on a plane the minute it happens.”
I take my first full breath in fifty-six days.
“Thanks, Roger.”
“She’ll get through this. She’s a good soldier.”
“What about her company?”
“Recovering as well.”
“Good to hear.”
“Hang in there. We’ll have her home soon.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Katy
I come to sometime in the middle of the night, feeling the strain on my stomach as I lurch forward. Sweat covers me while I fight to get my breathing under control. I turn my head, giving in to the sudden urge to look for him on the other side of the glass, and find his eyes fixed on me. I’ve been trapped in this room for nearly two weeks, doctor’s orders keeping us apart. They wanted to limit my interaction to keep my environment sterile while my burn heals. While I heal. But my head refuses to let me rest, while my mind swims in the horrors of what I just survived.
Except I don’t feel like a survivor. The outside of the bunker is a new form of prison. The only thing that drags me down further than the memories that haunt me is my inability to talk to him. I sit up in bed and drag my IV pole with me. Briggs sees my intent and shakes his head in warning. Ignoring him, I manage to get to my feet, and in seconds he’s next to me.
“Scottie, stop—what are you doing?”
His hands are on my hips, and I turn to face him—so close we’re sharing breath. I bask in the feel of his proximity as we lose ourselves in the contact.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” Verna, my night nurse, scolds as she rounds the bed, and I lose his touch. He takes a step back, and I flinch at her hands on my body, at her intrusion.
“I want him in here.”
His face is covered in concern while his eyes fully drink me in. I know I must look like hell, and I’m sure I could use a run with a toothbrush, but I can’t help the compelling need inside me to be near him.
“Scottie, we have to follow the rules so you can heal.”
“Since when do you give a shit about rules?”
“Where you’re concerned, they matter.”
“Stay,” I beg as the nurse looks between us curiously. “I can’t sleep. Please, just stay.”
Verna hoists me back into bed and checks the nonstick padding that covers my burn. I wince as Briggs catches sight of it, and his mouth parts slightly.
“Sexy, right?” I joke half-heartedly as his eyes flit to mine. I wonder briefly if he’ll ever look at me the way he did, with longing and hunger, instead of pity. Regardless of the way he feels, this need for his presence won’t dissipate. Seconds have been agonizing without hearing his voice. My days and nights are spent trapped in dreams I can’t wake from. The only thing I have to look forward to is seeing his face when I finally release myself from their hold.
The nurse drags a chair across the room and places it next to my bed. “You’ll need to wash your hands, and don’t touch her.” She leaves us without a parting glance as Briggs makes his way over to the sink. I stare at his form; his frame is too thin. The weight of the months we spent in captivity lay heavy on his shoulders. He glances my way as he washes, and my heart cracks because he can’t even muster the smile I’ve grown to love. Dark circles outline his eyes, and he pumps more soap onto his hands. It seems like a small eternity before he’s back at my side, although it’s only been seconds. I drink him in, free of the debris from living in filth. He’s so insanely gorgeous. His amber eyes have lost a bit of their sparkle, and I wonder if he sees the same defeat when he looks at me. We sit, wordless, until I can’t take it anymore.
“Please, Briggs, crack a joke, something.” I don’t want things to be weird between us. I couldn’t take that.
“I’m trying here, Scottie.”
“Stop trying, just…just say what you’re thinking.”
“How do you feel?”
“Better, every day.” I swallow hard, assessing him. “God, you look so good.” My eyes trace the strong line of his jaw, the fullness of his lips.
“You’re such a liar.”
“I’m not. I mean, if we’re comparing injuries—”
His sharp retort cuts me off. “You win.”
“Don’t,” I say with a shaky voice. “Don’t. Just don’t even go there.”
“I don’t want to upset you.”
“Then don’t upset me,” I say coldly and finally rip my eyes away.
“You can talk to me.”
“I am.”
“You’re not,” he scolds. “And you can’t keep it in there to fester. You need to come clean.”
“For who? For you? Do I need to make you feel better about what happened to me?”
“You want me to say what I’m thinking?” It’s a challenge. My eyes meet his, and slowly I nod in reply.
“I think that they failed. They tried, but they failed. You need to remember that they failed when it gets heavy. Katy, look at me.”
Anger boils just beneath the
hurt he sees on the surface. I don’t want any part of what he’s saying. I feel like if I let it out, it won’t stop. I’m nowhere near ready for that shitstorm. I meet his eyes in the orange light of the room, and there I get lost.
“You’re still beautiful, full of life, and so strong. So fucking strong.” His voice cracks. “Even with me, especially with me, but you don’t have to be, Scottie—not with me. You don’t have to be strong. It’s not your fault.”
“I know that.” I duck away from his scrutiny. “I know exactly what it was.”
“It’s my fault. They saw it. They saw what…” He falters as he pulls his chair in closer and runs a hand down his face. “If I hadn’t been so fucking obvious…”
“And I wasn’t? We needed each other,” I whisper before I let what I’m thinking pass through my lips. “I still need you, Briggs.”
His misty eyes pierce mine.
“I don’t want to worry about what that means; I just want to be okay with needing you.” I hold out my hand, and he shakes his head.
“Scottie—”
“Please, please.”
He chokes as he grips my hand and presses his lips to the back of it. He holds them there, and I close my eyes at the feel until a gut-wrenching sob escapes him, and his body starts to shake. Ignoring the burn, I lean forward and run my free hand down the back of his neck as he breaks in front of me. I take in the flutter of his lids and the thick black of his lashes as thin tears escape beneath them. They fall on our joined hands, on the bed between us. He gathers himself in our touch as he kisses my hand, again and again, each kiss more feverish, more reverent. He turns my wrist palm up and covers it too with his soft lips as mine part at the feel. Awareness of his touch pricks down my spine, and it’s all I can do to keep from begging him for more. The second his gaze meets mine, it’s all back—the longing, the hunger, the need. We sit and stare, our hearts beating in sync until he starts to pull back.
“Don’t. Please don’t.”
“Jesus, Katy.”
“Please, just stay.”
He leans forward, burying his forehead on the side of the bed. “They’d have to throw me out.”
“Don’t let them,” I murmur before I lay back, never letting go of his hand.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Katy
“Please state your name for the record.”
“Staff Sergeant Kathryn Nicole Scott.”
The devil is in the details. I stare at the man across from me, who no doubt has a drawer full of chest candy. His glower is a mix of subtle accusation and interest. The accusation part is to keep me on my toes, to keep me honest with my answers, but as I delve further into those fucking details, his face pales. He chokes on the button at the top of his collar, and at one point I visibly see him flinch. He’s heard it all, probably, firsthand accounts from POWs, but from the way he’s firing off his tells, I’m positive he’s never heard it from a woman. Hands shaking, I speak with an emotionless voice, yet I feel every word and every act I recall, in detail. And I swear as I recite the facts of the doomsday before we gained our freedom, I’ll never utter the words again.
If this is numb, it’s not fucking helping. I yearn for Briggs, who I’ve only seen twice since the night at the hospital. His visits are brief and always interrupted by the staff, our connection lost in his inability to meet my gaze. He was released after our night alone in my room, and while I couldn’t be happier he’s fully recovered, the selfish part of me still wants us here, together. I was finally discharged this morning but can’t leave until after this final debriefing.
“Thank you, Staff Sergeant. On behalf of the United States Army, I thank you, and your country thanks you.”
He rattles off more procedures for the coming months as I wait for useless words of encouragement to pass his lips. He tells me the army needs dedicated soldiers like me. I have no interest in being a soldier, and by choice, I won’t be one much longer. The irony isn’t lost on me that, in the four months I was deployed, I accomplished so little. Certainly not enough to justify the price.
The answer to the question I asked myself months ago has been answered. What kind of soldier am I? I see it in his eyes as I’m dismissed with sympathy, not pride—not much of one.
Maybe it was the idea, the strength of a soldier, that appealed to me. But without him, Briggs, I feel little. We’re finally free, capable of conversation without being in shackles, and where is he? Anger courses through my veins as I’m escorted to a hotel, in wait for the plane home. I’ve finally been given permission to call Texas, and as I stare at the waiting phone, I can’t bring myself to pick it up. I want so much to hear Noah’s voice, but I’m afraid he won’t recognize mine.
The fabric of my uniform suffocates me as I hastily strip it off and toss it onto the chair next to the window. Spotting my new scar in the reflection, I quickly pull my T-shirt down over my jeans, flinching when a knock sounds at the door.
Briggs hesitates as he stands outside the entryway.
“Hey, I—uh…” He cups the back of his head as I scour him in civilian clothes—dusty black boots, faded Levi’s, black T-shirt, and his dog tags. “I just wanted to check in and see how you were doing.”
“Stop it,” I say with a hint of the anger I feel toward him. “Don’t act like a stranger to me.” My voice cracks as his eyes finally reach mine. I can breathe again as I see his visible exhale. Opening the door, I take a step back as he walks in, and my world stops turning. The air no longer moves. My heart actually skips a beat. I don’t blink…I can’t seem to formulate a coherent thought and judging by the look on his face he can’t either.
We stare silently into each other’s eyes, as we’ve done so many times over the weeks we spent together in captivity. Only this time when I look at him, it isn’t laced with fear, but with overwhelming relief and more…So. Much. More.
From the moment I’d woken up in that hospital, I’d been a mess. I was lost and angry. I felt scared, empty, and alone. I should’ve been happy—elated even. But, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing, and I know that something is this man standing before me, regarding me with so much longing, and what looks like love.
We stand inches apart, but with the way that I yearn for his touch, it may as well be oceans. As his hand lifts to cup my cheek, my breath catches in my throat. That simple touch sparks every nerve ending in my body to life, causing my pulse to race and the blood to rush to my head.
Briggs rubs his thumb beneath my eye, brushing away my angry tears. “I know you, Scottie…” His voice breaks as he shakes his head in disbelief. “I know you.”
“Please…” I whisper back, placing my hand over his racing heart, unsure of what I’m asking but positive he knows the answer.
Briggs’s expression is pained, his face a mix of emotions—of indecision. It’s as if he is asking my permission to cross that invisible line, the one that with any other man—in any other situation—would never have been breached. For me, now, it doesn’t exist at all. There are only the two of us. Briggs and me. Alone in this room.
Briggs lifts his hand and then pulls back, suddenly, his face taut with frustration. “I need to—to touch you…” He balls his fingers into a tight fist. “Tell me no. God, Scottie, just…just tell me you don’t want this.”
I can’t. I want whatever this is more than my next breath.
Swallowing what little resolve I have left, I whisper softly, “I can’t.” My eyes lift to meet his—honey and wildfire.
“What exactly are you saying? I need to hear the words.” He takes a tentative step closer. “Tell me what you want.”
Staring into those pleading brown eyes, without an ounce of reservation—without a thought for the consequences—I beg. “Touch me.”
A growl escapes through his barely parted lips as he lunges for me. His hand tangles in my curls and he tilts my face up to meet his. “I dreamed of this.” His big brown eyes convey so much sincerity. “So many nights I drea
med of what it would be like to be free from those chains and to hold you in my arms. God, Scottie, tell me this is real. Tell me I’m not dreaming.”
The warmth of his breath on my lips is almost too much to bear. It makes me dizzy with want. Every ounce of my body is alive and pulsing with need for this man.
Reaching up, I cradle his freshly shaven face in my shaky hands. “It’s the truth.”
Unable to resist the pull, our bodies collide as his mouth crashes into mine. Our teeth tap lightly before he separates my lips with a hungry tongue.
Finally.
I don’t know why that’s the word that keeps rushing through my head. But, here and now, with his lips on my mouth and his hands on my skin…that’s exactly what it feels like—finally.
It feels like I’ve been holding my breath for weeks…months…and he’s filling my starving lungs with new life. Reviving all of my dead parts, all the broken parts, if only for the briefest of moments.
His lips are so soft and thick, his tongue warm and urgent. He devours my mouth, using just the right amount of force. It’s the most sensual, most life-altering, kiss of my life. I want to live right here in this moment for eternity.
A moan escapes my throat as he gently backs me against the closed door. “Shhh,” he whispers as his lips turn up. “You trying to get us caught?”
In a blink, I back away from him, just as the hotel phone rings, causing me to recoil. Chris’s eyes search mine as I trace my lips in front of him. He watches the movement of my fingers as the line reappears. I take a step toward him, and the phone rings again. Cursing, he steps away as I pick it up.
Heart racing, my voice is barely a whisper. “Scott.”
“Katy?”
“Gavin?” I rasp out as the floor shakes beneath me, and I sink to the edge of the bed. Gavin’s desperation sounds over the line as I look to Briggs, who slinks out, closing the door quietly behind him.
Guilt consumes me even as my heart calls out to the man who’s just walked out on me. A man who had every right.
Heartbreak Warfare Page 10