Clint looked up. “Lydia, I don’t need you here.”
“I think your wife should be here,” the new doctor said.
“She’s not my wife,” Clint growled. “And I sure as hell don’t need her for this conversation.”
Lydia sucked in air. It was like he’d punched her—not in the gut, but in the heart.
Dr. Varma saw her stricken expression and turned back to Clint. “Mr. Archer, you need to take it down a few notches and realize we’re all on your side.”
“How do you figure?”
“Why would we be against you?” Dr. Varma asked logically.
“Because you don’t know your ass from a hole in the ground?”
Lydia stepped forward, she’d had enough. This was not the man she loved, this was not Clint. She’d read up on TBIs and she knew that people who suffered from them usually had trouble with their emotions. Clint sure was having trouble controlling his anger.
“Clint, do we need to bring in Drake so he can fight you on this? Or Mason so he can boss you around? What’s it going to take for you to listen to the doctors, because I realize it isn’t me.”
“It’s going to take someone who has a reasonable answer. Something definitive. If I hear, ‘I don’t know’ again, I’m going to strangle someone.”
“Good luck with that. You’re so weak you can’t even stand up.”
Clint tried to push himself up from the bed and then flopped back against the pillows. He glared at Lydia.
She shoved her fists on her hips. “Yeah, you got something to say, Sailor?”
They continued to lock eyes, and Lydia finally saw his lips twitch. She watched the start of a grin develop. Then a smile. Clint started to laugh, then it was full-blown.
When he finally stopped laughing, he turned to the two doctors. He shook his head in defeat. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. I’m not usu…usu… I’m not like that. I’m okay to listen to what you have to say now.”
The other doctor cleared his throat. “Actually, Chief, what you just experienced is quite normal with your kind of injury.”
Lydia watched Clint carefully as Dr. Ivanhoe spoke. He was listening intently.
“Your brain suffered a traumatic injury.”
“A TBI,” Clint interrupted.
“Exactly,” Dr. Varma said. “And everyone responds differently with a TBI. We won’t know what to expect with you until you begin your recovery process. To tell you the truth, I’m amazed at how quickly your language and cognitive skills have come back after being unconscious for five weeks.”
Even though he was trying to remain stone-faced, Lydia could see Clint’s relief at the doctor’s words.
“So, what are the milestones you expect for someone with a traumatic brain injury?” Clint asked. He said the words slowly. Lydia could tell he was trying to ensure he remembered and said each word correctly.
“Before we can set milestones, first we need to determine where you are today. We need to check out what you’re capable of doing physically. We also need to check your cognitive skills, as well as your memory. You need to realize that some of your memory will probably be lost forever. That’s to be expected, but other parts can be regained.”
“I am the communications and computer spe…spe…go-to guy for my team. I think we should also check out my, what do you call it? My ab…ab… good work with equipment,” he shot out the last words with frustration. “Why could I talk when I was angry? I remembered words just fine then. This is ridiculous,” he said angrily.
Dr. Varma suppressed a chuckle. “That’s understandable. Your brain is on auto-pilot then and isn’t thinking, it’s just reacting. The fact you can do that bodes well for a full recovery.”
“As for your idea to work with computer equipment, I think that’s a very good idea,” Dr. Ivanhoe agreed.
“Why do I keep popping off?” he asked quietly. Lydia knew he was mad at himself and probably ashamed of his behavior.
“Chief, you’ve got to understand, and prepare yourself for, swings in your moods. We’re also going to assign you a psychologist to help you better monitor your emotions and deal with the mood swings. If he or she thinks it is necessary, we will prescribe some medication to help with this.”
“I don’t want drugs,” Clint said adamantly.
“I’m not surprised,” Dr. Varma’s smile was kind. “But I think you’re going to find the medicine more tolerable to a loss of control.”
“We’ll see.”
“Tomorrow we’ll send in a physical therapist to start some gentle exercises here in bed. You should be walking around the ward by the end of the week.”
“Sooner than that,” Clint smiled grimly.
“We don’t want you to push yourself. If you do, that could push back your progress.”
“Lady, I’m a SEAL. If you think it is going to take a…a…physical ther…doctor and a week to get me walking the hallways, you’re out of your mind.”
“He’s right about that,” Lydia chimed in, choosing to ignore the fact that he’d been having trouble remembering words. “You’ve practically thrown down the gauntlet.”
It felt good to be on more familiar territory with Clint. She was just going to shove his earlier words down deep and try to forget he’d ever said them. If she could.
“See, Lydia knows.” Clint smiled at her.
“Yep, I know him.”
“Yes, you know your man.” He held out his hand to her. She grasped it in relief. Yes, maybe he hadn’t known what he’d been saying. Maybe it was his head just going wonky.
“Well, we are sending in a physical therapist tomorrow as well as a psychologist. They will be the ones who will get base lines for us to determine what we’re working with, and determine where you are, and then we can start talking about milestones.” Dr. Ivanhoe was all business.
Clint squeezed her hand tighter. He was worried.
“Chief, remember, you are already an amazing case. I can’t think of one other TBI case where the patient has been in a coma for basically five weeks and then the next day is having clear conversations.” Dr. Varma had a kind smile on her face.
“Not clear.” He said slowly. “I can’t remember words.”
“Trust me, you’re doing incredibly well. Having trouble finding words here and there is nothing, believe me. But let’s let the therapist and psychologist in here hopefully tomorrow so we can get started.” She walked over to the computer in the corner of the room and typed in some notes, then she turned back to Clint. “Dr. Ivanhoe and I will be back here daily to check on you. We’ll also be getting updates from the other two people involved with your case as they come aboard.”
“And the milestones? When will we set those up?”
Dr. Varma turned to Lydia. “Is he always this determined?”
“This is mild,” Lydia answered with a smile.
“Chief, as far as I’m concerned, I plan for you to be my star patient that I write papers on.” Dr. Varma said with a smile. “But you’re going to also have to follow directions and know this is not going to be an easy trail, even if you are the best recovery from a TBI known to mankind. You were put into a medical coma for three weeks while you were in Germany to allow your brain to rest so the swelling could come down. Then you stayed in a coma for two weeks afterwards. That alone would cause anyone to have some cognitive issues, let alone someone who had the kind of trauma to the brain that you did.”
Lydia felt Clint’s grip on her hand tighten, even as his palm felt clammy. Her heart ached for him.
“Five weeks? I didn’t know I was in a coma for five weeks.”
Shit, I’ve told him that twice, haven’t I?
“Yes, five weeks,” Dr. Varma nodded. “Since you’re into computers, think of this as needing some time to reboot.”
“Alright,” Clint said slowly. “I guess that makes sense.”
He was now crushing her hand. She knew the others couldn’t tell what was going on in his head, but
she could.
He looked apprehensive.
He looked exhausted.
He looked scared…and that scared the hell out of her.
9
His cast hit the railing on his bed, his head was pounding, and he was dripping in sweat. He tried to see around the room, but it was like everything was underwater. No, he was in a tornado, it was spinning him around, tunneling him through the vortex.
Clint clutched at the rail, but it was with his hurt arm, and pain rocketed up to the top of his spine, sending lightning bolts of agony into his brainstem. He leaned over the bed and heaved up the little bit of food he’d eaten onto the floor.
What was happening?
He’d never felt so helpless in his life.
He felt tears at his temples.
Now a roaring freight train was tunneling through his brain and he needed it to stop.
“Chief.”
The sound got louder.
He heard someone shouting.
“Chief Petty Officer Archer, you’re safe. You need to calm down.” It was a soothing female voice. Clint couldn’t see her. She seemed far away, like she was at the other end of the tunnel.
“No!” he roared when the train came at him with its bright lights.
“Does your head hurt?” a new voice asked. He was so dizzy and nauseous, he thought he’d puke if he answered.
“Get a basin.”
Something touched his head, and it felt like a glove covered in tacks as it moved his head to the right. He puked again, but he heard it hit plastic, not the floor.
“Get an orderly, he’s detached his hand IV. We’re going to need to hold him down to reinsert it so I can administer medication.”
Nobody is going to hold me down!
Clint swung with his cast. He didn’t have the satisfaction of hitting anything.
“I need you to calm down, Clint. We need to give you some medication. It will help with the pain.”
“No drugs.”
Was that my voice? Why am I yelling?
“What do you need, ma’am?” a man’s voice asked.
“I need help getting his IV back in. Can you hold his arm down?”
Clint swung again with his cast, happy when he heard the man grunt.
“Chief, you almost hit a woman. Is that who you are?” the man growled.
The tornado stopped. The roaring in his head went quiet for a blessed moment. He stopped moving.
I couldn’t have done that. I don’t hit women.
He tried to open his eyes, but the light was like sandpaper on his eyeballs. He couldn’t stop the groan that turned into a gag.
“Oliver, he didn’t almost hit me, you didn’t need to say that.”
Clint turned his head and kept his eyes open. He was seeing double. Two Dr. Varmas. Two brunette women. Two Olivers. The man was pissed.
I’m pissed too, and sick. What’s wrong with me?
He gagged again, but there was nothing left to throw up.
He felt the slightest prick in the back of his hand as the needle slid in.
“Clint,” the woman, Dr. Varma, spoke softly. “Tell me how you feel.”
“Head. It hurts.”
“On a scale of one to ten, how badly does it hurt?”
Clint gritted his teeth and gasped at the pain. “Eleven, nineteen. Don’t know, bad.”
“I’m going to give you something to relieve the pain.”
“Need to work through the pain,” Clint bit out.
“You won’t get well that way. Your body needs to rest. These bad headaches will not help you get well. It will hamper your progress.”
“My pogess…pogess…” Clint tried again. “You said I was getting bedder,” he slurred. “Shit, you gabe me drugs,” he accused her.
“How is your head now?” Dr. Varma asked.
“I’m dizzy again, but it’s not a torn…torn…whirlwindy.” Clint laughed.
“I’m taping this button to the rail, within easy reach. The first sign of pain, nausea, or anxiety, press it.”
“Nopers,” he smiled easily. “No drugs.”
He saw two Dr. Varmas roll their eyes. “Nurse, I’m writing in his chart that he needs to be checked every half hour for the next day.”
Clint rolled his head and saw a pretty brunette. “Hiya. You look like Lydia. Where is she?”
“It’s after visiting hours. Her friends took her back to the hotel. She’s been here too long, she needs some rest.”
Clint squinted at her. “But I’ve only been hee a day, right?”
“Eight days. She’s been by your side the entire time.”
Clint yawned. “Love her. Hopes she came back.” His eyes shut.
There was something so lonely about this hotel bar. She and five other people were in it. Lydia had done her best not to make eye contact with the guy who’d been sitting in the corner and had offered to buy her a drink an hour ago. There were two other couples. One flirtatious, obviously a new couple, the other an old and tired couple.
Riley and Angie were upstairs. They thought she was in bed, which she had been—for thirty seconds. Why had she reserved a king-size bed when she should have asked for two double beds? She ached in such a big bed without Clint beside her. She’d been in pain since the moment Mason Gault had called her to tell her to get to Germany. But back then the pain had been overridden by terror. Now she was buffeted by waves of pain and confusion.
Lydia felt Clint’s frustration with the medical staff’s non-answers, but she understood them. She was frustrated too, but not nearly to the level he was. He was over-the-top. Then there were his headaches and the way they took over his entire body. She wanted to be like that character on Star Trek who could absorb his pain and make it her own. She would do anything to change places with Clint. She had no idea how to help him. The professionals she had talked to all had said the same thing. You need to just ‘be there for him’. What a load of shit. She wanted to do something. Clint would definitely find a way to do something if he were in her shoes.
She thought back to when he had carried her through the Mexican jungle for five days, in the rain. He had saved her life. Without him, there were hundreds of times she would have given up and let death take her. He wouldn’t let her go. The stubborn bastard.
She gave a rueful grin. That was good, wasn’t it? Her lips had smiled, kind of. Lydia gave a watery sigh. She wanted Clint to get better and she didn’t know how to make that happen.
What am I supposed to do, God? What am I supposed to do? Give me something tangible to fucking do!
God, why hadn’t she gotten a degree in medicine? No, she had to get a degree in criminology and computer science. Fat lot of good that was doing her now. She didn’t even have anyone in her family who could help her unless she tapped her sister’s husband to throw money at the situation, and he’d already offered.
Nope, she was stuck in a holding pattern, and Clint was stuck in hell. She needed to be able to help him, she did! It was like everything she had accomplished the last three years since she’d become an American citizen didn’t matter. Sure, she’d put her education to use and ended up in the San Diego Police Department’s Cyber Crimes Unit. She might feel good about it, but it never allowed her to do what she wanted, which was hunt down more of the kind of animals who had traumatized and almost killed her sister. Beth’s tormenters might be dead, but many others needed to be banished to hell.
But not right now. All of that took a back seat to Clint Archer. Hell, Even SDPD was making a lot of noise that she couldn’t have indefinite leave and she couldn’t care less, but her immediate boss was fighting the good fight.
Fuck ‘em.
How could she make this better? She looked down at her phone again and stared at the website that detailed the myriad of symptoms of TBIs. Apparently lashing out at people you loved was normal. It didn’t feel normal, it felt like a personal hit. Had Clint guessed what she’d been hiding? Did he know?
She felt someone behi
nd her. She looked up and couldn’t see Romeo where he’d been watching her. Oh God, please say he hadn’t snuck up behind her.
“Are you okay?” Angie asked as she slipped into the seat across from her. Then she looked at Lydia, “stupid question. Sorry.”
Lydia gave her friend a half-smile. “I’ve been researching TBIs. No two are alike, that’s what they all say.” She swirled the little bit of watered-down scotch that was left in her glass. “They also say that he’s going to have to go through the stages of grief. I get that. I really do.”
Angie nodded, but didn’t say anything, she just listened.
“But he’s in the anger stage, and he’s lashing out. He’s not himself. I try to help, but it doesn’t seem to matter.”
She took a big gulp of air, ensuring she didn’t cry.
“That doesn’t really matter though,” Lydia said as she straightened her shoulders. “What matters is ensuring his recovery. Whatever that’s going to look like.”
Angie reached out and grabbed Lydia’s hand.
“I get it,” Angie said. “I really do.”
It took a few heartbeats for Lydia to remember why Angie could say that with such authority. She had met her husband, Finn Crandall, when he was breaking under the stress of PTSD. He’d basically gone AWOL, but Mason had covered for him.
It had been scary for the whole team. Lydia truly believed that had it not been for Angie there was no way that Finn would have made it out of his own personal hell. Of course, the cherry on top had been attending sniper school and ranking first place. According to Clint that was the toughest training any of them could go through. It took intense mental and physical fortitude, and Finn had aced it, to the point that they tried to recruit him as an instructor. His team had been in awe.
“What did you do? How did you cope?” Lydia asked.
“It was damned hard, and don’t let anyone tell you any differently. I just wish you had family around right now, that would make a difference. I had my granddad.”
Lydia grunted. Like having her parents around would help. Her mother would cry, and her dad was still resentful that he had to take help from Clint. It was a clusterfuck. Beth, her husband Jack, and their two beautiful children were the only bright spots in her family. Angie didn’t know about her parents, and there was no need to tell her now.
Her Unbroken Seal: A Navy Seal Romance Page 6