Amy heard Zak ask him if he could put the bandage back on.
“Yes, son. You do that.”
The curtain was withdrawn, and Zak stood towering over the doctor.
“You’re healthy and strong, son. If there were any way this eye was going to by some miracle regenerate, it would be to a young man like you. But—” He held his forefinger up, frown lines developing on his forehead. His eyebrows knotted beneath the bridge on his glasses. “—Not a promise. We’re doing everything possible. It’s up to the body to do what the body does. Think positive, but please, son, be prepared for the worst.” He slid his glasses down on his nose, looking over them to Amy. “That goes for you, too, little lady.”
Zak nodded, glanced over at her, and gave her a tiny arch at the left side of his mouth, a smile trying to be born.
“She’s got the optimism, doc. I’m a realist, and I don’t expect much anymore.”
The smile was gone. The doctor was taken aback. Amy could see worry pass over his face as Zak picked up his paperwork and headed to the door.
Amy walked up to the physician. “What are the odds?”
“Have you not seen his face?”
“No. He’s—”
“Amy?” Zak said, returning from around the corner. “You ready?”
They met with Zak’s physical therapist the next day, who examined his arm and thigh, moving them to check the range of motion in his elbow, shoulder, hip, and knee. She took notes on a clipboard and then informed him the bone repair was healing well, but that he would have a half-inch difference between his two leg lengths. She tested his reaction to pinprick on the soles of his feet. Stripped down to his boxers with no shirt, she watched him walk toward and away from her and continued to make notes. She had him bend over to try to touch his toes.
She had him balance on one leg and he nearly collapsed.
Her demeanor was gentle with Zak. “So I’m going to recommend no more jumping out of airplanes for now at least.”
Amy saw a smile finally grace his lips. The therapist winked at her and threw his clothes at him. Zak barely caught them in time.
“Good reflexes.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He was smiling again. Amy prayed it was evidence of a beginning thaw.
“I’m going to have you do some stretching exercises. Nothing too strenuous for now. Definitely no running, Zak. Nothing to upset that eye and your soft tissue healing, okay?”
He nodded.
“Here come some questions you’re not going to enjoy answering, but then, there’s always one—but I don’t think you’re that kind.” She had her arms crossed across her large chest. With her slim waist and hips, Amy thought she looked like a fifty-year-old Barbie doll. Her blonde hair was still long, braided and crossing her head like a crown. She wore a silk flower clip at her right temple.
“Ready?” Her eyebrows rose.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, get dressed and then have a seat.”
Zak obeyed, slipping his jeans up over his boxers. His abs flexed as he carefully put his tee shirt over his head and pulled it down. The therapist was making notes in her chart and didn’t notice. Zak sat next to Amy, and they both waited for her questions.
“First, how’s your elimination?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your poop and pee?”
Zak made a face, most of it obscured by the bandage, and shrugged. “Fine. No issues.”
“Good. And how about your sex life?”
“What do—what exactly are you asking?”
“Do you guys fuck regularly?” She removed her bright blue glasses and chewed on one earpiece.
Amy froze in place. Her urge to protect him trumped any concern for his embarrassment. “He just got back. He’s been tired.” She turned to look for agreement from him and was greeted with an evil eye. One. Evil. Eye.
Zak’s frustration showed in his heavy exhales. “Pam, can I call you Pam?”
“You may.”
“We’re working on that. As far as whether my plumbing works, it works fine, and yes, we’ve tested it. But I’m still getting used to the fact that anything like that we do has to be done in the complete dark. For obvious reasons.”
Their eyes locked until the therapist nodded slightly and then glanced over at Amy.
“But nothing hurts, right?”
“No,” he answered, staring down at his hands.
Pam was watching her carefully. The unspoken answer Amy gave her was, ‘Only my heart.’
On the way home, Amy couldn’t help the tears from cascading down her cheeks.
“Come on. Don’t start that again.”
She could barely speak. “I’ve been trying to be strong.”
“You can hardly look at me without crying. I’m reminded about who I am not every time I see your face.”
“Zak, that’s not fair. I’m trying to be sensitive. I’ve been careful. I try not to disturb you. I cook for you, clean for you. I’ve gotten all this paperwork you’ll need for your medical treatment, and it’s just sitting there on the table, waiting for you to complete it. I go with you to your appointments and—”
“I think that’s a bad idea. If you’re going to have private conversations with my doctors, do it so I don’t know about it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The optometrist. You were discussing something in private with him, or trying to.”
“I asked him what he thought your chances were you would see again from that eye.” She brushed away her tears. “And then he asked me if I’d seen your face.”
“And you told him no?”
“I told him the truth.”
Zak didn’t say a word all the way home. When they pulled up to the apartment complex, after shutting off the truck, he sat with his hands on the steering wheel. Leaves blew over the windshield, dancing in a late summer wind, reminding her that summer was gone. A lot of things were gone. It was about to become winter in San Diego, which wasn’t much of a weather change, but it would still be winter. For a lot of reasons.
“Maybe we need to have that talk. You know what talk that is, Amy, don’t you?”
“No. I’m not sure what you mean anymore. Please spell it out for me. I feel like I don’t know—”
“Oh, stop it. Quit complaining.” His fists hit the steering wheel. “Fuck!” he shouted, which made her jump.
“Quit complaining? How dare you say that? I’ve not complained at all since you’ve been back.”
“You cry every time you see me. I catch you watching me when you don’t think I do.”
“That’s not complaining, Zak. I used to do that before too, or don’t you remember?”
“Ah, no use. There’s just no fuckin’ way we can talk about this.”
“What is it, Zak? What is it that you cannot tell me? I’m here for you. For the long haul. I’ve said it so many times, I get the impression you don’t hear it anymore.”
“We should go inside to have this conversation.”
That suited her just fine. Anger was percolating in her belly. When she slipped down off the bench seat, her spine was jarred when her feet hit the ground. She slammed the door so hard even Zak turned toward her in alarm.
She hoisted her purse over her shoulder and walked fast, slightly ahead of him, all the way to the front door of their apartment. Just inside the door, she dropped her bag and slipped off her shoes. She made a big glass of ice water for herself without asking Zak if he wanted one, just made one for him and shoved it in his chest, practically pushing him backward with the force of it.
She plopped down on the overstuffed chair. “You asked me to give you time. It’s been three weeks, Zak. Not an eternity, but it’s about time we start moving in one direction or the other.”
He sat tentatively on the couch opposite her, crossing his legs, sipping on the water, his other arm extended down over the top of the padded fabric. “So tell me what those directions are again, Amy?”
&n
bsp; “Have I done something to offend you?”
“No.”
“Is it me? Are you tired of me?”
“How could it be you?”
“You don’t want to touch me. You don’t give me any encouragement at all. You fuck like I’m some piece of meat. Zak, where does all that come from? This was never you before. What’s changed?”
“I don’t want to make you spend your life with me, a freak, a cripple, someone you have to feel sorry for all the time. I want to stop saying I’m sorry, not because it isn’t the right thing to do, but because I don’t hurt you anymore.”
“Except that you are hurting me. You are hurting me every day, every hour we’re together.”
“Fuck that, Amy. You’re not the one with the face of a Cyclops. How could you even compare your pain to mine?”
“Shut up, Zak.” Amy stood and started for the hallway to go cry herself to sleep on the bed.
“Oh I see. Quitting now, are we?”
She wanted to slap him. “You are a monster! Not for how ugly you must be now, your face, your healing flesh. You’re a monster because of what’s inside you.” She regretted saying it, but the force of her rage wasn’t giving up easily. Even deep breaths didn’t help today.
“Sit down. Let’s finish this,” Zak said tersely.
“Okay, let’s.” Amy allowed her defiant tone to infect the poison of their already nasty conversation. Never had it been this way, even when they’d disagreed before. She knew he wanted to hurt her, emotionally hurt her.
“You want out, you get out. We get an annulment, and we’re done. You can go screw all the guys up on the Police Force if you like to. Just don’t come show your face around here anymore. If that’s your choice, let’s just be done with it and move on.”
Amy couldn’t sit. With her arms crossed, she shouted, “Asshole.”
He was focusing on magazines on the table.
“Look at me, or are you a coward, Zak?”
He squinted and finally did return her gaze.
“I have about as much interest in the guys in Santa Rosa as you do fucking sheep. Don’t you ever say that to me again. I’m not a fuckin’ quitter, Zak. Just because you are, don’t make the mistake of calling me one. You owe me that, and I don’t give a flying fuck if you like it or not.”
He was silent. Something had shifted. She saw him stifle a snicker.
“I’ll give you this, Amy, you’re damn sexy when you swear. Man, you’ve picked up some choice ones while I’ve been gone.” He shook his head, arms crossed over themselves, but his gaze was fixed on the magazines.
Amy was still angry, but his comment caught her up short. In spite of everything that had been said, she wanted to go over to him, kneel, and beg that Zak she still hoped was inside to come out. But she knew it would be the wrong thing to do. She realized they needed help to untangle the knots that had formed. “Maybe we need to go through counseling. Christy said a lot of the guys go to Dr. Brownlee or Libby, Coop’s wife—”
“Not Libby! And not that fuckin’ shrink the Navy sent me to.”
“Okay, so Dr. Brownlee, then. I just can’t continue feeling like I’ll do something really wrong and you’ll flash out of here, maybe even hurt me. Can you answer that, Zak? Am I in danger? I want the truth.”
“I would never hurt you, Amy. You should know that by now.”
She sucked in air because she had to tell him fair and square. “How would I know that, Zak? You already have. But I’d gladly bear it, if I felt there was some improvement, some end in sight to this nightmare.”
“Did you ever consider perhaps we shouldn’t be together now? I have all this rehab and issues with the Navy wanting to retire me out. I’ve had one of the shortest fuckin’ careers as a SEAL in the history of the teams. I spent more time in training—nearly two years preparing and then trying out and then training more—than I ever did on deployment.”
“So you deal with all these things. We deal with all these things together. Unless, as you say, you feel we shouldn’t be together. Is that what you’re saying? Because I haven’t changed my mind about you. Have you changed your mind about me? Am I suddenly not worthy now? You don’t think I can handle it? Is that what all this is about? Do I have to suffer some huge life-changing injury before you’ll accept me? Is my sacrifice not worthy?”
She worried she had gone too far. Right now, he wasn’t quick to anger, thank God. He was quick to frustration, though. But not anger.
“I don’t want to have you treat me like a convalescing child.”
“But you are convalescing. You going to deny that? You could lose your eye if you aren’t careful. When are you going to face, really face, the reality of where you’re at, Zak? It’s not going away.”
“When are you going to face who you’ve gotten yourself stuck with?”
“Stuck with? You think I see you that way, Zak? I love you. I’ve always loved you. What could possibly change that? You mean some ugly bandage and some scarring and a bloodshot eye? That what you’re saying? Because that won’t do it. I want you back. I want all of you. Every part of you!”
“You want this?”
Zak ripped off his bandage. The face that grimaced back at her, full of pain, full of self pity, reminded her of a lost and injured puppy left at the side of a busy road, alone, shuddering, not knowing where to run to safety.
She knew her face registered shock. She blinked, not believing what she was seeing. Gasping for air, her mouth dry, the adrenaline pumping throughout her veins—it would have been easier to turn away, but she wouldn’t. She couldn’t give up on him. It didn’t look like him, but she’d find him.
Somehow she’d find him.
Chapter 22
So there it was. Evidence she couldn’t hardly stand to look at him. He had to see it. It was the completion of the injury that had happened at the Canaries. This wound came last—the face of the woman he’d have died for, would still die for—repulsed and scared out of her wits. He could see it was going to be hard on her. It would require everything she had.
He could make nice. That would be the gentlemanly thing to do, and in his former world, that’s what he would have tried to do: be gracious. But it had to be done this way. She needed to decide if it was cut and run or stay. And if she stayed, she wouldn’t be allowed to pity him, or he’d leave.
He was glad the stirrings he’d been having about the regret for his actions since coming home weren’t fully intact. Otherwise, this would be even more painful than it was. No, this was her time to decide. He wouldn’t influence her one iota. It might appear like he didn’t care, but he did. He was afraid of himself he cared so much. Maybe tonight that scab would be picked and it would be all over.
Whatever it was, she wanted real. Well, real was staring her in the face.
She was coming toward him now. If she touched him, it would hurt.
Amy reached the couch, climbing onto his lap. She was searching between both his eyes, his good one and the one that might as well have been stitched closed. Her fingers touched his cheek, traveling over the ridges where the stitches had been removed two days ago. The skin underneath was sensitive, and it tickled slightly. Her fingers traced his non-existent hairline, the red surface, skin that came from somewhere else, shiny but sensitive to her smoothing motion, as if she could cure his cratered face.
Her fingers moved over to his lips. She leaned into him, her warm breasts against his cotton shirt taking his breath away. And then the miracle of miracles happened; she followed where her fingers had pressed, and she gave him the gift of her lips. Her tongue sought his. She drank from him, inhaling him as her body bloomed into full arousal while her fingertips still pressed lightly on his scars.
“Amy—I.”
“Shh. I see you, Zak. I see all of you. I want all of you. I want you now.”
“But I—” He couldn’t speak because she was in his mouth again, sucking his tongue deep inside hers and then releasing him. She moved to his right,
making small nibbles on his healed but puckered flesh, following the lines of the ridges of his repair. If kissing something could make it well, like his mother had done with him as a child, her kisses would surely heal him. She laid her flawless cheek against his. She kissed his earlobe, tugging on it with her teeth. Her tongue circled the arch of his outer ear, which had been untouched by the assassin’s round. The liquid whisper she gave him set his soul on fire.
“Open your heart, Zak. Let me come in.”
He felt her tears as she continued to whisper.
“I ache for you.”
He brought his hand up, splaying his fingers through her hair; his other hand felt the soft texture of her perfect bottom beneath her jeans.
He stood, holding her with one hand beneath her rear, pressing her against him, her legs wrapped around his waist. She continued to kiss his flawed face, even to touch some of the healed patches with the tip of her tongue. He walked them to the bedroom. He laid her with all the tenderness he could muster, allowing her to fall back slowly into the cool cotton sheets. On his knees before her, she had two fingers in her mouth, her dark eyes calling to him in the unmistakable message of lust.
How could he be so lucky to have found someone so beautiful, someone who wanted him so deeply? She started to remove her top, and he stopped her.
“No. Let me do it. I want to do it all.”
Her luscious smile had to be kissed. Her fingertips followed from the arch below his still-swollen eye, up along his temple and onto his body’s fledgling regrowth of hair as he penetrated her mouth.
“Take me, Zak.”
“Slowly, my love.” It was the first word he’d used since coming back that gave him an emotional tag. She moaned and turned her head, exposing her long neck. He explored the wonder of its smoothness with his tongue then his fingers. Their kiss was still attached as he unbuttoned her fly, pushing the stubborn jeans down her hips.
Back to his knees, he held her ankles with one hand while he peeled her pants from her. He spread her flower with his fingers, pressing her clit with his thumb, then put his mouth on her and sucked the little bud stiff.
True Blue SEALs: Zak (True Navy Blue #1) Page 22