I Never Asked You To Save Me: Book 3 The Wakefield Romance Series

by Hewitt, Theresa Marguerite

  Wait, what am I doing? I shouldn’t be doing this but it feels too good right now. The next thing I know, we’re outside the club walking down the sidewalk.

  “Where are we goin’?” I laugh, trying to keep up with Garth who is pulling me forward and Brad who has his arms wrapped around my waist, his lips seemingly attached to my ear as he nibbles on it, sending the shivers across my skin. I shouldn’t be doing this, I remind myself again but everything is a little hazy.

  “We have a hotel room right down here,” Garth laughs, his green eyes lighting up as his eyebrows waggle at me. Brad sweeps me up in his arms and I snuggle into his shoulder, giggling as his lips touch mine, his tongue running along the sensitive skin.

  The beeping of a key-card being slid, the clicking of the door locking behind us and a few seconds later I’m dropping that designer dress down to the floor. Standing before the two men, I’m not comprehending what I’m doing, I only know that their lips on my skin feels amazing right now. The way their hands roam over my skin and pull me down onto the bed with them makes my heart race.

  I’m not thinking about the possible consequences. I’m not thinking about Bobby.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~

  April 1, 2013

  Ellie

  My head is pounding. My body hurts everywhere and as I gather my dress and shoes from last night off the hotel room floor I’m hating myself. How could I have done that? I know it was fueled by the ecstasy Melody had slipped me and the alcohol I had consumed, but there is no excuse for sleeping with Garth and Brad. I could have said no, but the words never formed on my lips.

  “Leavin’ so soon darlin’?” Garth asks from the bathroom doorway, his half naked form wet from the shower with his green eyes washing over me. Pulling the dress over my head, I try to give him a smile but I know it’s weak and he shakes his head. “We were all pretty drunk last night darlin’. There’s nothin’ to be ashamed of.”

  “What am I goin’ to tell Bobby?” I whisper, plopping down onto the edge of the messy bed to slip my heels on. It’s what I’ve been thinking about all morning. What am I going to say to Bobby? Should I tell him? I have to tell him. I’ll have to tell him everything in order for us to be truly happy. He’d have to know who he’s getting involved with.

  “Well,” Garth ponders my question for a second, sitting down next to me. “You’ll know when the time is right to tell him. It’ll be one of those moments when you’re just joking about your past and then the conversation will turn to sexual partners. Trust me, I’ve heard some stories about that boy that could rival Hugh Hefner, so he has no ground to get mad.” He chuckles and kisses my cheek.

  It doesn’t make me feel any better, in fact, I feel horrible. How could I have let this happen? I keep kicking myself in the ass mentally as I say goodbye to Brad and Garth, leaving their hotel room and getting in the first cab that pulls up. I don’t try and hide the shame filled tears that flow on the ride to Marco’s penthouse, only wiping them away with a shaky hand as I step from the cab, paying the man and not waiting for the change.

  “Well look who decided to grace us with her presence,” Marco jabs as I make my way through his kitchen, not bothering to look them in the eye as I head for the upstairs bathroom. I can hear their footsteps following me up the stairs, but I don’t stop.

  I don’t want to talk about it. Slamming the door shut, I crank on the shower, almost ripping the dress from my body and chucking the heels into the garbage can out of anger. The tears and shame take over and I fall to my knees, naked and crying in the middle of the enormous bathroom.

  I hate myself. Again. I hate that I couldn’t keep my legs closed. I hate that I couldn’t say no when I needed to. I hate that I keep fucking up my life whenever things seem to start going in the right direction.

  I feel Marco’s strong arms surrounding me and pulling me from the tile floor, holding me to his chest as he whispers in my ear, ‘Tell me what’s wrong hun.” Melody’s touch meets my shoulder and I swing out of anger at her.

  “You lied,” I sob, pointing my finger in her face.

  “Yeah, well, I thought you needed to loosen up,” she shrugs, sinking back against the sink cabinet. Really? Is that all she has to say for the reason she gave me ecstasy and lied about it.

  Shaking my anger away, I divulge my night to my boss and co-worker all the while still lying naked in Marco’s arms. They keep silent. Too silent and I pull myself from Marco’s arms, standing and wrapping myself in a towel.

  “The only thing I can say hun, is maybe to not let it bother you.” He stands and leans back against the sink, his muscular arms crossed over his chest. “You and Bobby aren’t even together. Yeah, sure, you’re “talking”” he says with air quotes, “but we’re not in high school anymore. You’re a grown woman. You can sleep with who you want.”

  “Yeah, but I feel as if I betrayed him,” I say wiping the last tears from my cheek. Marco just shrugs, throwing his arm over my shoulder and kisses my temple. I can hear my phone ringing in the bedroom and Melody comes back in, her hand outstretched and I can see that it’s Rhea calling.

  I really don’t feel like talking to her right now, my heart still hurting from my monumental mistake but I answer it anyways. “Ellie,” she cries, not even waiting for me to say a full hello and I can tell she’s been crying.

  “Rhea, what’s wrong? Is Charlie okay?” My mood goes from bad to worse in a split second, my chest tightening with hundreds of scenarios playing out in my mind right now. Is he sick? Is it Chad?

  “It’s Bobby,” she cries and I can hear Chad talking in the background. Bobby. My breath catches in my chest and I wait to hear what she has to say.

  Hurt? Bobby? I can’t take it. The pressure on my chest explodes. I’m a horrible person. Pushing that all aside I pray to God and hope that he listens even after my actions last night. “Please, not Bobby.”

  CHAPTER FIVE:

  April 20, 2013

  Bobby

  There are two hundred and ten ceiling tiles in my room. You want to know how I know this? Because it’s all I’ve been starring at for the last week since being flown back to the states. Stark, white, boring, God damn hospital ceiling tiles. The door to my room opens and I avert my eyes from the same spot I’ve been looking at since waking up to see the plump middle aged nurse waddle her way into my room, a clipboard in hand.

  “How are you feelin’ this morning’ Mr. Timmons,” she asks, just like she has every day, working her pencil across her page as she checks my IV and monitors.

  “How would you feel if you lost half of your leg to a grenade,” I grumble. It’s the same answer I’ve always given her and she huffs, giving me an angry look out of the corner of her eye.

  Well? What does she want me to say? Oh, I feel great even though I’m missing my left leg below the knee. Yeah.

  “The doctor says you’ll be back in therapy this afternoon. I have to check your bandages before you go.” She nods towards my bed, asking me silently to remove the blanket from my leg but I don’t move. I don’t want to look at it. She huffs again and puts her clipboard down on the bedside table, pulling the sheet from my leg and I move my eyes back up to the ceiling.

  Waking up in the hospital after the explosion I was so confused. Uclid was there at my side and I’m glad he’s okay. I hadn’t thought I was hurt too bad, looking to my friend and joking with him about why he looked so glum with this sad look on his face. He broke the news to me like a bowling ball smashing through a china cabinet, dealing with my explosion of anger afterwards as I ripped the blanket from my body; seeing the injury myself for the first time.

  I can’t help but feel as if my life is over. My life as a SEAL is definitely over. I’ll never run like I use to, enjoying the feel of my muscles working away. I’ll never be the same man. Sure there are those that have carried on with their Team career with an injury like mine, but right now I can’t see myself doing it.

  “Come on now, Mr. Timmons. You have to watch me so you can do t
his yourself.” The nurse tugs on my shirt and I turn my eyes to her, not moving my arms. She tugs on my shirt again and I sigh heavily, shifting in the bed and throwing my right leg over the edge, waiting for her to start her demonstration. I know how to change a dressing, but I’ll let her amuse me for a few minutes.

  The sight of my leg disgusts me. It’s red and irritated, not to mention sore. As she pulls the last bandage away I have to grind my teeth to keep the string of curses from spilling out. Of course I have friends who have lost fingers or limbs and have run into service men and women who have, but facing this is another story. Being the one with the bandages is different. I never thought this would happen. Sure, being a SEAL, the danger comes hand in hand, but I just didn’t think it would happen. It pisses me off to no end.

  The nurse is fumbling with the roll of gauze and the pain in my chest boils over in anger. “Give me that,” I snap and yank the roll from her hand, ignoring the shocked look on her face.

  Twirling the damn material around the stump of what once was my shin, the hurt continues to build, tightening my chest as tears waver on the edge from spilling over. I am not going to cry, at least not in front of this pudgy woman. All I need is for her to go out and gossip about the hard ass that broke down in front of her.

  After finishing the bandage, I pull the suspension sleeve over it, tugging it up to hit over my knee while ignoring the ache from the tender flesh. Sliding the simple prosthetic limb from the bedside, I slide it into place and lower myself into the ready wheelchair. “Okay then,” the nurse mumbles, pushing me from the room and heading towards the Physical Therapy wing.

  We pass a girl standing in the hall holding flowers in her hands and for a split second my breathing stops. Is it Ellie? As we pass I get a good look at the woman’s face and the sudden hope that had risen in my chest is tampered again by the anger and hurt as I realize it’s not her. It’s not that pretty little thing that I dream about at night when I actually sleep. I haven’t dared to talk to her yet. I don’t want her to see me like this.

  I have seen Chad and Reno; they’ve been in to see me a couple of times in the last week. Chad tells me that Ellie is calling and texting Rhea every chance she gets asking for updates on me. I just can’t keep it together long enough to see her right now. I feel like I’m less than a man. Chad has been telling me that seeing those who care about me will bring a better mood into my situation right now. I just can’t. I don’t want to see those questioning and pitying looks in their eyes.

  An hour and a half later, I’m walking with the help of support bars gripped between either of my hands as my therapists hands are on my hips, the sweat dripping from my forehead with the pain radiating through my leg. I don’t want to stop. I want to walk and get the hell out of here. I don’t want this damn silver leg with the sneaker attached. I don’t want this pain.

  “Alright then Bobby, that’s enough,” my therapist says as I reach the end of the walkway and swing around into the waiting wheelchair. The reconstructed muscles in my leg are screaming and I pull the prosthetic off, hoping for some relief which doesn’t come.

  “You did awesome today Bobby. Nurse Shelley will take you to the tub and I’ll see you after dinner.” My doctor waves goodbye as I nod, leaving the room being wheeled by the next pudgy nurse.

  Like really? Can’t I have one good looking nurse? No, I’d rather have Ellie. I’d rather have her petite figure, dark short hair and striking blue-green eyes in my presence. Just thinking of her beautiful face makes me close my eyes, trying to live in the day dream. I feel as if I can even smell her perfume, the fruity, flowery alluring scent that wraps itself around my heart. Maybe Chad is right. Maybe if I see her, I’ll feel better.

  What will she think? They haven’t told her what kind of injury I’ve suffered, so I wonder what she thinks happened. What if she is disgusted by the half a man that will stand before her? What if this damn metal leg makes her think twice about giving me a chance?

  That familiar and seemingly ever present pain in my heart rejoins me as I slide into the therapy tub, letting the soothing temperature and jets sink into my stressed muscles. This nurse is talking to me, but I don’t care. I let her words blur into oblivion as I lean my head back on the edge of the massive tub and stare at the ceiling.

  Sometimes it feels as if this is unreal, as if it is a dream and I’ll wake up at any second. The pain, it isn’t real. The hurt in my heart and the hate in my mind for my situation aren’t real. I’ll wake up in my apartment and be able to call up Ellie, taking her out to dinner and a walk along the beach, feeling the sand under my toes.

  But that isn’t right. This is real. The pain I’m feeling below my left knee from my strained, reconstructed muscles is very much a reality.

  One more bandage change after the tub and I’m left in my room, sitting in the wheelchair by the window to look out over the bustling cityscape. Norfolk is as crammed as bread in a can and it makes me want to see the country. I want the little town of Wakefield to be exact. To drive down the almost bare two lanes with the corn and tobacco fields on each side. I want to smell the fresh air after a slight rain and the dirt on my hands as I help Chad and Harlan put in hay on the farm. I want to be anywhere but here, with my two hundred and ten ceiling tile friends.

  “If you stare too long you might creep out the people on the street,” the familiar voice pulls me from my loathing and I swing my chair around to see Chief leaning up against the doorway, his new job attire a striking difference to our usual camo.

  He’s got grey suit pants with black dress shoes, a white shirt and black tie. His suit coat is probably out in his government issued car, courtesy of NCIS. As he saunters in, his leader attitude still firmly intact, I can’t help but shake my head at him. Getting married and having a young son still hasn’t dampened his cocky aurora.

  “Hey Chief, how’s it goin’?” I wheel my chair over to my bed, hopping out as Chad sits down on the corner of the hospital white sheets, throwing his feet up in the spare stiff chair. Tucking my leg under the thin sheet I can see him watching me out of the corner of his eye. I can’t blame him. I’d be curious too if our roles were reversed.

  “I’m same as always. The bigger question is how you are?” He gives me a strong look, assessing me with those blue eyes that use to cut through me when we were in training and on missions. Sometimes I can read Chief just by his eyes and I can tell he’s waiting for me to tell him that I’m having a hard time. He can probably tell and I don’t try and hide my disdain any further, sighing heavily and leaning back against my pillows.

  “It’s hard,” I mumble, seeing his eyebrows raise and his head nod in agreement. Hard wasn’t even close. Impossible, that was a better word, but I can’t admit total defeat. Admitting defeat would kill what little piece of my SEAL self I have left and I’m clinging to that for dear life. I need that piece of me to get through this shit.

  I can tell he’s waiting for me to go on and elaborate as he straightens his tie, clearing his throat lightly and peeking at me from the corner of his eye. He was never one to push unless it was necessary. He knows when to back off and leave well enough alone. That’s what made him a good leader and a good Chief.

  “I don’t feel like me,” I have to force out between clenched teeth, the muscles in my jaw tight from the pain in my chest. It hurts even more to admit it out loud. To say the words and realize that this is my life now, there is no going back. As my fists clench at my sides and I focus in on my tattooed forearm I say, “I don’t want this to be me.”

  “But it is you Bobby,” Chad says through a heavy sigh, slapping his hand on my shoulder and looking me right in the eye. “I can’t say that I know what you’re goin’ through and I can’t tell you what to feel, but I don’t want to see you like this.” He waves his hand at my slouching figure and I feel the need to sit up straight while being scrutinized by him.

  “I need you to see the doctors they want you to see. They can help with the mental aspect of your inju
ry,” he sternly adds, giving me a knowing look. Word must have trickled down that I had refused to see the psychologist. I don’t want them to tell me that I need to take this drug and that drug to feel better. I don’t want to feel like a zombie in life.

  “I don’t need to take God damn drugs Chief,” I snap, throwing the blanket off of my leg and pointing to it. “I need my damn leg back.” I can feel the heat reaching my skin, turning my neck and face red. The anger that I’ve been trying to hold back feels like it’s going to rip through my chest like an Alien as I stare at my friend, Chad. My one time Chief. My one time and never to be again SEAL brother.

  “Snap out of it Timmons,” he raises his voice, his blue eyes baring down on me as he stands, moving to the side of the bed. “You’re not the only damn man who’s been through this. This happens every day and whether you want to admit it or not, being a SEAL, you go out there knowing that this is a possible outcome because that’s what we do.” His stare was trying to force the truth into my mind and I turn my face away, looking out the window and trying to not be here.

  The hurt and reality of my life is pressing down on my chest, taking my breathing to heavy and labored as I fight the tears that try and take over. I’m not a bitch, I don’t want to cry. I’m focusing in on the sounds of the city outside my sterile hospital room when Chad’s fist connects with my chest, taking my breath away and spilling my anger over the edge it was teetering on.

  “What the hell do you want me to say Chief,” I yell, turning on him in full blown rage mode, grabbing his dress shirt in my hands and balling the material in clenched fingers. “What. The. Fuck. Do you want me to do? Tell you I don’t want to live like this, because I don’t. I don’t want to be the man kids stare at as I walk down the street. I don’t want to be the friend that everyone pities. Fuck that.” I shove him back, wiping at the stream of moisture running down my heated cheeks and seeing the turmoil run over Chad’s face.