by Andria Large
“He doesn’t have any family?” She frowns.
“No, his parents gave him up right after he was born. He’s been in and out of group and foster homes his whole life, never getting attached to one specific family. He was never adopted.”
“Wow, that’s really sad.”
I shrug. “He’s okay with it.”
Appetite gone, Griffin pushes his bowl away and drops his head into his hands as he tries to process the info that he just received. He has to decide what the hell he’s going to do with it. Eva’s dainty hand encircles his heavily tattooed forearm. He lifts his head so she knows that she has his attention. She gives him a tender, sympathetic smile.
“You need to go be with him. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t go and he dies all alone,” she says.
He rolls his lips in and fights back the sting of tears in his eyes. He nods. “You’re right, I wouldn’t. But what about the shop? I have no idea how long I’ll be gone for.”
“I’m sure Dusty can handle it for a little while. That’s why you made him manager, right?” Eva replies, giving him a pointed look.
When Griffin’s time in the Army was done, he decided that he wanted to do something different with his life. He didn’t want to be a lifer. So when his eight years were up, he learned how to tattoo and put his artistic talent to use. He had always been fascinated with tattoos. After four years of long hours working in another shop, building up his skills, he was finally ready to go out and open his own shop. Shotgun Ink was born two years ago and has continued to grow ever since.
Dusty is his right hand man at the shop. He was the first artist that he hired and the man is incredible. Not only is he a stunning artist, but he’s got the perfect personality to deal with customers. Plus, he understands accounting, so he helps with the business end of things. There are also three other artists working out of his shop.
“Yeah…yeah, you’re right. Shit.” He sighs heavily.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Eva whispers and rubs his forearm reassuringly.
Griffin takes her hand in his and lifts her knuckles to his lips, placing a soft kiss there. “Thank you, Darlin’, for being so understandin’.”
“Of course, my love.” She smiles sweetly before leaning in to give him a soft kiss on the lips.
***
After a ten-hour flight into Frankfurt, Germany, then an hour and a half car ride to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center, Griffin finally made it. He paid out the ass for a plane ticket to Germany on such short notice, but what choice did he have? He needed to get there. He drops his bags off at the hotel he’s staying at then drives his rental car to the hospital. His stomach is rolling and his palms are sweating. What will I find when I get there? Is Gunnar going to look completely fucked up? Will I even recognize him? All these questions race through his mind and he’s not even sure that he wants the answers to any of them.
The front desk gives him a visitor’s badge and Gunnar’s room number. He’s in intensive care. Fuck, I don’t know how I’m going to do this. He’s lost friends before, it comes with the territory of being a soldier on the front lines, but this is his best friend, his brother. The guy who knows everything about him - his deepest, darkest fears, as well as his hopes and dreams. They’ve saved each other’s asses more times than he can count. The twinge of guilt in his gut is unmistakable; he should have been there with him. Maybe Gunnar wouldn’t be in this position had Griffin been there to have his back.
The sound of his own footsteps through the hallway seems unnaturally loud as he navigates his way to Gunnar’s room. The hospital is buzzing with people - nurses, doctors, orderlies, techs, and family members. They are all a blur. Griffin knows they’re there, but he can only focus on one thing - where he has to go to get to his friend. Scanning each room number as he passes the many doors, his stomach flutters and flips over, as the numbers get closer to the one he’s looking for. It’s hard to swallow past the growing lump in his throat, and he’s fairly certain that someone turned up the heat in this joint.
He almost passes it. Actually, he does pass it, but only by a couple steps. His abrupt stop echoes down the hall. It’s suddenly hard to breathe and he’s frozen in place, staring down toward the end of the hall. His heart was already pounding, but now it’s more like skittering in his chest.
I don’t know if I can do this.
“Hun, are you lost?” A female voice next to Griffin jerks him out of his motionless state, and he whips his head around to look at her.
“Uh…I…no…I mean…” he stammers while the nurse watches him patiently. He gestures in the direction of Gunnar’s room but is unable to form any more words.
She’s a sweet looking middle-aged woman with warm brown eyes and a kind smile. She dips her head in understanding and gives his shoulder a pat. “Take all the time you need, Sweetheart.”
Lips pursed, he nods. “Thanks.”
She leaves Griffin standing there outside of Gunnar’s room. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see that the door is open and there is an undisturbed view of the man lying in the hospital bed, hooked up to a bunch of machines.
Deep breath. He needs me. Gotta do this.
Griffin pivots on his heel out of habit and turns to face the battered and broken man lying in the hospital bed. His breath catches in his throat at the sight before him. The once vibrant, determined man has been reduced to a lump in a hospital bed with tubes and wires coming out and off of him. Pain he’s never felt before tears through his chest as he takes hesitant steps into the drab hospital room.
The closer he gets to the bed, the better he can see Gunnar. “Jesus,” he breathes as he stops next to the bed.
His gaze drags across the long curved row of staples starting from his left temple, over his ear, and down to the back of his shaved head. His chest is bare except for the bandage that is holding his right arm flush against his side. His right shoulder is completely bandaged up. Lifting his gaze to his face, Griffin sees that he has ventilation tubes down his throat and a feeding tube up his nose. He swallows hard. He can’t believe this is Gunnar Erikson, the guy who defied death more times than he can count, the guy who took a bullet to his ass cheek for him, the guy who never lets anything bring him down. That guy is not this guy.
Gently, Griffin covers his forearm with his hand. “I’m here, man. You’re not alone.” Giving his forearm a squeeze, he really hopes that he’s in there somewhere and can hear him. “I’m not goin’ home without ya, brother.”
Sitting down in the shitty chair next to the bed, he takes his first look around the room. Looks like most hospital rooms with colorless walls, a TV mounted on the wall across from the bed, machines out the ass, and curtains drawn over the windows, doing nothing but adding to the doom and gloom feeling going on.
He shoves to his feet and goes to the windows. Yanking the curtains open, he lets the sun shine down on his face for a moment before turning back toward Gunnar. Movement catches his eye and he glances at the female doctor walking into the room. She gives him a formal smile and props her clipboard on her hip.
“Hi. I’m Dr. Monica Keller. I’m overseeing all of Sgt. Erikson’s care.”
Moving away from the window, he sticks out his hand to her and introduces himself. “Griffin McCormick. I’m Gunnar’s best friend and power of attorney.”
She gives his hand a firm shake.
“Oh great! I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve been hoping someone would show up for him so I can explain his condition.”
“Yes, I’m dyin’ to know what’s goin’ on with him.” He motions in Gunnar’s direction. “I mean, he looks horrible.”
She hums her agreement, glancing over at him, her gaze somewhat sad. “Right now, he’s in a coma.”
“Like a medically induced one?”
“No. We’re not sure if he’s ever going to wake up from it, either.” Her tone is somber and sympathetic. It’s better than being robotic without any feelings at all, but her words still sting.<
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“What are his injuries?” He asks, having to clear his throat afterwards. There’s that lump again.
She lifts her clipboard and goes down the list of injuries that Gunnar sustained. It’s a long list, and it’s amazing that he actually made it out of there alive. If--no--when he does come out of this coma, he’s got one hell of a long recovery ahead of him.
“We have been seeing brain activity, so we’re hopeful that he’ll come out of it; I just can’t say when.”
Nodding, he looks over at Gunnar. “He’s stubborn, I’m sure he’ll wake up when he’s ready,” he tells the doctor, complete confidence coloring his words.
“Fingers crossed. In the mean time, talk to him, read to him, play music he likes, and anything else you can think of. There have been studies that show good evidence that when someone communicates often with a patient in a coma, they tend to come out of it quicker.”
“Okay. I can do that. Thank you, Dr. Keller.”
She sends him a small closed-mouthed smile before exiting the room. With a heavy sigh, Griffin scrubs one hand over his face, while he props the other one on his hip. This is fucking horrible. Letting his gaze rest on the damaged man lying peacefully in the bed, he prays to God that he pulls through.
***
Three weeks and two days. That’s how long Griffin has been here. He goes to the hospital every day and spends hours with Gunnar, talking to him and telling him stories of the things they’ve been through together. He plays country music in the background because it’s Gunnar’s favorite, and he brings some Men’s Health magazines in with him to read the articles out loud. Gunnar has always been big into fitness, so it’s hard to see him wasting away like he is. He’s lost a lot of weight over the past few weeks, which he is going to be fucking pissed about when he wakes up. Griffin hasn’t lost hope yet. Of course, doubt wiggles it’s way into his thoughts every now and then, but he does his best to shove it back. Being negative will not help Gunnar, or Griffin for that matter. He needs to remain positive.
He’s reading aloud an article about the five best sex positions for her when he glances up to see that Gunnar’s eyes are cracked open. Excitement races though him. He shoots up from his seat, grabs the handrail of the bed, and leans over him so he can see Gunnar’s whole face. His hazel eyes are dull and unfocused, not looking at anything in particular. They are just open slightly. He waves a hand in front of Gunnar’s face…nothing…no flinch, no blink.
“Gunnar?” He takes Gunnar’s left hand and gives it a squeeze. “Hey, Buddy, can you hear me?”
But he gets no response, just continuing to stare off into space. Griffin grabs the remote that’s sitting on the tray next to the bed and hits the button for the nurse. While he’s waiting for her to show, he continues to talk to Gunnar, trying to get him to do something like blink or squeeze his fingers.
“Hey Hun, did you need something?” Gunnar’s nurse for the day, Becky, pops her head into the room.
“His eyes are open.”
Her dark eyebrows shoot up to her hairline as she makes a beeline for the bed. “Oh wow, they are,” she says, her tone letting me know that she’s surprised. “Let me page Dr. Keller. Keep talking to him.”
With that, she leaves Griffin alone with Gunnar. “Hey man, if you can hear me, you gotta wake up. I can’t stand seein’ ya like this.” Focusing on his face, he watches for any sign that he can hear or understand him.
Dr. Keller enters the room a few minutes later. She immediately starts assessing Gunnar, doing different tests and asking him to either blink or squeeze her fingers. He does end up blinking, but Griffin can’t tell if he just blinked or did it because she asked him to. He didn’t do it right after she asked, so he doesn’t know. Eventually, he shuts his eyes and doesn’t open them back up.
Dr. Keller checks the monitors and his IV before turning to Griffin with a genuinely pleased smile. “This was a really great thing that just happened, Mr. McCormick. If he’s opening his eyes, then that means he’s starting to come out of the coma. Hopefully, he’ll progress quickly now, and we’ll be able to take him off the ventilator soon.”
“That would be fantastic,” he says with a relieved sigh. He’s finally given a sign that he’s going to come out of this.
“Keep doing what you’re doing.” She sends Griffin a wink then walks out of the room.
He looks over at Gunnar. “Come on, Gunnar, you can do this,” he urges quietly.
Chapter Two
"CAN YA squeeze my fingers, Buddy?” says the male voice with the southern drawl that he’s been hearing a lot of recently. He’s not sure how long the guy has been here…he’s not even sure how long he’s been here. Actually, he doesn’t even know where he is and is really fucking confused right now.
Gunnar curls his hand around the fingers resting against his palm. He doesn’t understand why it’s so important that he squeezes whoever’s fingers they are, but he asks him to do it fairly often. It’s kind of annoying, really. Whoever this guy is, he never shuts the hell up. He reads shit out loud, and talks like he knows him, telling stories that supposedly happened when they would hang out together. Gunnar doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about, he doesn’t remember any of that happening…ever.
“Yes! That’s great, man! Do ya think you can open your eyes for me?”
He groans. Leave me the fuck alone already!
“Come on, Gunnar. You can do it.”
Is he calling me Gunnar? Is that my name?
Wanting this guy to shut the hell up, he drags his heavy eyelids open. He can’t see too much, everything is blurry, but he can see different colors and shades of light. There is a darker blob next to him shaped like a person. He turns his head toward it to try and see better. He can feel the excitement radiating off of the blob. It starts bouncing up and down.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” the male voice chants.
Gunnar can’t keep his eyes open any longer so he lets them close and is soon drifting back to sleep.
The next time he awakens, it’s because he’s gagging. Something is being dragged up his throat and it’s making him dry heave. When it finally comes free, he gags a couple more times before he’s able to swallow and get it under control. A mask is placed over his nose and mouth and he can hear people talking to him, but he’s too confused to even understand what they’re saying. A strong hand grabs his left hand and squeezes.
“You’re okay, Gunnar, just breathe,” the male voice says.
He tries to ask why he keeps calling him Gunnar but his voice isn’t working. His throat feels fucking raw, and it hurts to even breathe, let alone try to talk, so he gives up quickly on that. The effort alone has him exhausted and drifting back to sleep.
Waking up this time is a bit easier. He’s able to open his eyes wider and see clearer. Someone talking quietly somewhere off to the left has him turning his head in that direction. He sees a tall, muscular, tattooed, good-looking, bearded guy pacing back and forth over by the windows while talking on his…what the fuck is that thing called again? Griffin glances over at Gunnar, stopping dead in his tracks when their gazes meet.
“Babe, he’s awake, I gotta go. Talk to you later…love you, too.”
He shoves the…the thing…that you talk on…into his back pocket as he steps closer to the bed.
“Hey, man. You’re lookin’ pretty awake this time,” he says as his dark eyes scan Gunnar’s face. He recognizes the voice as the guy who’s been talking and reading to him.
“Wh--” Gunnar start but has to clear his throat because it’s so scratchy. “Where am I?” His voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s all he can manage.
“You’re in a hospital in Germany.” The man states.
“Why?”
“You…uh…you were injured in an attack on your base. You don’t remember?”
Gunnar frowns in confusion. Base? What base? He shakes his head. “No.”
Now it’s the other guy’s turn to frown. “I don’t know if that
’s a good thing or a bad thing.”
“Who…are you?” Gunnar forces out. Shit, he can’t talk much longer, it’s killing his throat.
“Really? You don’t know who I am?” The guy says, the hurt look in his eyes tells him that he should know, but he has no idea.
Gunnar shakes his head again.
“Do you know who you are?” he asks cautiously.
He blinks rapidly, his eyes darting around as he racks his brain for his own name. When he looks back up at the guy, he doesn’t even have to shake his head because he already knows the answer.
“Shit,” he bites out and shoves his hands into his brown hair as he turns away from Gunnar. When he turns back, guilt washes over him when he sees the torment in the man’s eyes. “I’m Griffin McCormick, your best friend. Your name is Gunnar Erikson. Does that ring a bell?”
Gunnar gives him a pained expression as he shakes his head in answer. “Sorry.” He doesn’t know what else to say. If he knew those names, he would tell him, but he doesn’t; they aren’t even familiar.
Griffin nods and pulls in a deep breath. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. Let me get the nurse to see if she can have the doctor come and check you out.”
Some time later, a pretty female doctor enters Gunnar’s room. He doesn’t really know how long it took for her to get here, his concept of time is all out of whack. She gives him a friendly smile and introduces herself as Dr. Monica Keller. Her dark hair is pulled up into a bun on top of her head with her bangs swept to the side. She’s on the shorter side and very petite, but she has a very big presence. Her confidence is clear and her intelligence shines out from her light brown eyes.
“How are you doing, Sgt. Erikson?” she asks with a small smile.
Gunnar cocks an eyebrow at her. Sgt. Erikson? “You tell me,” he replies, then places a hand to his throat and swallows hard.
Goddammit! It hurts!