He reached the sink, propped the crutch up against the wall, and spread the foam over his jaw and cheeks. He scratched the razor over his stubble.
A beeper sounded. “Declan, I have to go. Catch you later.”
“Okay,” he said. His eyes stayed with her, watching until she was out of view. Nurse Doris Niccly had been a gift to him these past few weeks. She’d been company, even on her days off, coming by to check on him, making him laugh, and generally answering questions. Her brother had died in Afghanistan, losing three limbs in the process. She would have given anything to be there, she’d told him. Any family member would be honored and grateful to see their loved ones again before they were gone.
Rinsing his face off, he dried it with the paper-thin white hospital towel and grabbed his crutch. Going to the bedside table, he took a Team FIVE coin, put it in the pocket of his sweatshirt, and went to the door. Heading down the hall, he stopped at the room of a kid, not more than nineteen, and entered. He sat in a chair and waited.
His eyes studied the young man who slept so soundly. He’d met Private Kellogg Lesterman on his second week. He’d started out in Declan’s room and then had been moved down the hall as complications arose. The kid had lost both legs up to the hip and both arms below the elbows. His family had been in and out constantly. There were seven Lestermans on scene and twelve waiting and praying at home.
Big families were an advantage, one he’d hoped to have someday. Now, well, he’d have to see how things went before he tackled the female hurdle again.
Checking the clock, Declan figured the Lestermans would be back from lunch shortly.
Declan had watched this kid struggle to be upbeat in front of his family and cry when he was alone. He wished he could ease the young man’s load. The kid had a significant journey ahead of him, and every day needed to count.
He wondered if other people felt that about him.
No, he didn’t want anyone to ever feel sorry for him. I’m damn lucky and know it.
It was obvious that every soldier or sailor housed on this floor had injuries that provided different challenges. Didn’t the brass know that one protocol did not fit everyone? But, hell, despair had to be the greatest crusher. Keeping that beast away was priority one. For individuals who took their problems to the track or the pool or some other kind of physical expression, problems got worked out fairly readily. When he couldn’t lick his issues with a workout, he knew he could often run the hamster wheel of doubt and frustration. Without the physical offset, the sitting around was tough on the psyche and sometimes even a killer.
The kid must have heard Declan thinking. He twitched and blinked his eyes open. “Master Chief,” breathed Kellogg, the delight radiating in his words. “Good to see you.”
“Declan. Or you can call me Dec.” Declan pulled the chair closer. “I brought something for you.” He held the coin up for Kellogg to see. “This is my Team coin. I want you to have it. If anyone ever gives you any guff, tell them you got a buddy that will do right by you.”
“That’s cool, Dec. Thanks. Can you put it on my tray so I can see it?”
Declan nodded and did as requested, placing the trident side up.
The kid took a shaky breath. “You’re going home soon, aren’t you?”
“Tomorrow.” Declan pursed his lips. He had so much he wanted to say and no idea where to begin. “Do you have time to talk?”
“Okay.” Kellogg licked his lips and looked at the tray table in front of him.
Declan grabbed his crutch and stood. He lifted the glass with a straw sticking out of it to Kellogg’s lips. Watching the kid take several long sips seemed to ease him.
When Kellogg nodded, Declan put the glass down. The private was breathing in short gasps now.
“Do you need me to get someone?”
The kid shook his head. “Don’t want anyone. Hate needing help.”
“Me too. But it doesn’t make you weak to ask for help. Actually it makes you stronger, because then you know your strengths and weaknesses, and you know for sure what you can learn from others. One of my BUD/S instructors used to say that.”
Declan almost lost his balance, and then he steadied. He wanted so desperately to leave the private with a feeling of hope. “I know…they’re telling you stuff here in the hospital. Like it will get better. I don’t know whether it will or not.” He took a deep breath. “Here’s what I do know: every day you have to find happiness. Laugh. Find joy. Love the people that love you. This is what we got—all we got is today.”
Kellogg’s mouth pinched tight, and then he hung his head. “I want out of this bed. I told my family that. I won’t spend the rest of my life in one.”
“Good for you,” Declan agreed. “Go out there and live. There are some honeys to catch and kiss.”
Kellogg smiled briefly. “They’re working on getting a chair that I can control with…with what I have.” The last part of the statement was flat, as if the heart was willing and yet the spirit was already defeated. Declan didn’t know any way to alleviate the burden. The best thing he knew to do was tease someone out of an emotional spot.
“Don’t go over fifty-five miles per hour,” Declan joked, holding Kellogg’s gaze for a long time. “You got my number. Call me anytime. They told me your voice-activated cell phone would be here tomorrow. And I’m here until 1200, if you want to catch the game on TV or just want to talk.”
The young man nodded and then looked out the window. “I don’t want to listen to that thing drone anymore. I want to get on with…everything.” His eyes welled. “I need to feel the Montana air on my skin. See my horse and my dog.” He gulped back the emotion. “I’m afraid I won’t…make it back there in time.”
Declan put his hand on the kid’s shoulder. He wished he could transfer his strength. “Hang in there.”
“Yeah.” As if he’d flipped a switch, the kid brightened in an almost maniacal manner. “Did I tell you I have a sweetheart? I met her at basic training. We write letters. I have a stack of them. My sister has been reading them over and over again. I even wrote one back to her two days ago. Hope she likes it.”
“Charlotte.” Even as he said the name, Declan couldn’t stop the cringe. He had overheard Kellogg’s mother and father talking. Apparently, the girlfriend had dumped him when she heard the news, giving the message to the family rather than telling her boyfriend herself. They couldn’t bring themselves to share this with him.
“My Charlie. I can’t wait to see her. Bet my parents will love her.” Kellogg coughed several times. He took a couple of shaky breaths. “Need to get rid of this cold first. I was never one for being sick. Rather be outside, doing things.”
“Me too,” Declan agreed. He could hear the Lestermans coming down the hallway. They were a loud and inviting group, the kind that pulled you out of your own quiet and into the fun. There was no doubt they’d keep a good eye on Kellogg, but still…something made him worry about the kid, as if his spirit wasn’t going to hang on to the hope of life and the joys it could bring.
“Your folks are on the way in.” Declan touched the private’s shoulder again. “Good meeting you, Kellogg. Stay frosty.”
“You too,” said Private First Class Kellogg Lesterman. Then those gray eyes moved away…back to the window…and to whatever was beyond Declan’s scope of vision that no one but Kellogg could see.
Back in his room, Declan dialed Maura’s number. He was relieved when it rolled to voice mail.
He cleared his throat. “Hey, pretty lady. It’s Dec. Just checking in. I should be home in a bit. I’ll let you know the details when I have them.” He hung up and lay down on the bed. What he was going to say to her? Maybe it was best to leave the decision in her hands. If she split because he lost a leg, he’d know her true motives for being with him. If she stayed, then most likely she really liked him. Either way, he’d have to be good with i
t.
Closing his eyes, he let his mind wander. It zoomed in on their day together at the gliderport and all the time they’d spent together, the sounds Maura made when she laughed, or of them making love. He liked that. He liked…her.
* * *
The air flight from east to west was pretty calm. The C-17 was filled to capacity and flew directly to Miramar. He didn’t know what he’d do from there…probably get a cab. His Teammates were still away, and he didn’t feel much like talking to anyone anyhow.
He was still trying to put the pieces together in his head. Closing his eyes, he focused on the Op.
“Hey, are you okay?” A Private First Class on his left shook his shoulder with a bandaged arm. The look of concern was fleeting as Declan’s gaze settled on the young Marine PFC.
“Yeah.” Declan nodded, turning his iron gaze away from the Marine. He thought he must have made some kind of noise. If he had, he honestly didn’t want to know what it was. Otherwise, he doubted the Marine would have dared. Declan knew how imposing his sheer size and haggard look could be.
The plane hit its descent. The energy among the men changed to one of anticipation.
Coming home was a good feeling and he couldn’t wait to be on the ground. He was sure the rest of the varied souls on board were thinking the exact same thing.
Leaning his head against the headrest, Declan contemplated what he’d remembered. Surely, someone had pulled the data from his camera for the CO. When he got back to his apartment, he’d check his gear.
His mind drifted back to the hospital. A lot of the West Coast SEAL community had checked in. They had definitely geared up and the number and size of boxes they had shipped to him was slightly embarrassing. He loved them for it, but he left most of it behind for the guys on his floor.
He shifted in his seat. Their acts of caring made it harder to ask his buddies to get lost for a while, but he knew his psyche pretty damn well, and his priority was to deal with his injuries in his own way. He’d always needed to figure out stuff on his own before he asked for help or relied on others. Maybe it was a survival instinct from his childhood. Whatever the cause, he didn’t relish putting the word out, but he knew he would.
As the soldiers and sailors began to deplane, he heaved his body up and steadied on his crutches—they’d made him take them both—and managed to somehow grab his pack with his less-needed hand. He must have looked pretty damned determined, because no one gave him crap about how slow he was going or offered him a hand with his stuff.
Sunshine beat down on him as he stepped outside. Blessed California. He turned his face up to relish it. There was definitely something special about the sun out here, as if it were medicine for all of life’s miseries.
Putting his head down, he concentrated on making it into the building. The walk into the terminal was intensely slow, and though he managed it, he was still sweating like a trainee on his first day of BUD/S.
A gruff voice barked at him as he entered the door. “What took you so damn long? I heard they were letting the ugly guys off first.”
It took Declan a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the cool darkness, and then he was dropping his pack and reaching for the owner of that voice. His lips split into a cheesy smile. “Gich, you, son of a bitch, good to see you.”
They shook hands, then the older SEAL slapped him on the back, nearly bowling him over before grabbing Dec’s pack and swinging it over his shoulder. They made their way outside to Gich’s giant truck and stowed the gear.
Once inside, Gich started the motor and pulled onto the road. “I need someone to do some stout tasting before I drop you off. Work for you?” That was code for stopping at McP’s Pub or Danny’s and drinking until someone blacked out. Declan had never really been a drinker and wasn’t about to start now. Beer was his exception, though he’d gone nonalcoholic for several years. Made it easier when he had to hop or shove off at a moment’s notice.
“I’m kinda tired…”
A hard look came from Gich, who studied him from head to toe. “Can’t avoid the world forever. A lot of people want to see you.”
“Yeah.” Declan was noncommittal. “I, uh, want to be good with things first.”
Gich nodded. “Understood. I’m not saying the rest of the community is going to get it, but I’ll abide by your wishes…for now.”
“Thanks,” said Declan. Looking over his shoulder, he spied a case of his favorite stout. Alongside it was his bag from the Team FIVE cages. “For saving me a trip.”
“Yep. Figured you’d need keys and stuff to get in. Not that I’m doubting your ability to jimmy a lock, just don’t want you to have to go get a new one when you’re done.”
“Good call,” Declan said flatly. The Commander could break in anywhere, though the XO had probably given some direction. He nodded with his head. “Who’s that for?”
“A friend. Thought he might need a drink. He’s a stubborn asshole who’d rather be alone than laugh his dick off with his friends.” Gich smiled and his mustache twitched as he held back the laughter. Before he pulled out of the parking space, he punched Declan in the shoulder. “Keep in mind we aren’t a sum of our parts, or even a part of them; we’re what we got inside. SEAL spirits are indestructible.”
Declan nodded. He resisted the urge to dump his emotional load on the Commander, former BUD/S instructor, and good friend. Instead he listened to the man harp about a pretty lady described as the sweetest thing he’d ever met and how he never ever wanted to let her get away.
* * *
Stairs were a bitch and a half. Something he used to take two at a time now had him moving at a snail’s crawl. Made him feel fucking frustrated! When did the little stuff become so tough?
“Do you need help getting it all inside?” Gich was shorter by several inches, but the man’s power made him a giant.
Dropping the case and duffle at the door, Declan went back to the top of the stairs.
“No thanks, Gich,” said Declan, proffering his hand instead. The faster he said good-bye, the sooner he could be alone in his apartment. Home. Something he’d been craving since this shitstorm happened.
Gich slapped it away and gave him a hug. Power that could snap a spine wrapped around his shoulders, and then Gich was thumping him on the back again. Damn, that man could dislodge food without the Heimlich. Size and strength just didn’t change things when your core was fueled by belief and confidence. This man had taught him that, and so much more.
“Hey, how did you know…when I’d arrive?”
“Old Frogs & SEALs. A Team wife is in touch with a couple of the docs at Walter Reed and the Master Sergeant at SOCOM. She badgered them all until she knew when you were coming so you could be met and the community could roll it out for you. I added my dime about waiting on the fanfare. She deferred to me.”
Declan nodded. “Please thank her. And I’m glad it was just you.”
“I know.” Gich headed back down the stairs. Over his shoulder, he yelled, “Stay ugly.”
“You first.” Watching Gich leave was bittersweet. Part of him wanted to invite the guy in and the other part just needed time alone. Sliding his key into the lock, Declan opened the door. It smelled clean and fresh in here, like bleach, ammonia, and glass cleaner. Must have been a Team wife.
He pushed the case into the entry hall, pulled the rest of his gear into the apartment, and closed and locked the door. Despite the fact he was being careful maneuvering over the pile, he stumbled and landed on his shoulder.
Crawling away from the pile, he pulled himself to his feet, got his crutch, and went immediately to the glass door. He stood there with his hand on the latch, wanting to open it and smell the fresh air. Craving the sunlight on his skin and the ocean lifting him high on the waves. He could get lost out there, forever. It’d be such a happy way to go…
Turning away from the temptatio
n, he went into the bedroom, stripped off all of his clothes, and collapsed on the bed. His mind needed to shut off. His body was shaking with exhaustion. Just a few hours… That’s all I need.
Cramps twisted and squeezed his stomach. Waking up abruptly, Declan was covered in sweat. He shook his head, trying to make the memory fade, but it was far more vivid and memorable than the sand in his pants during sugar-cookie drills.
Moving his legs toward the side of the bed, he groped on the floor for his crutch with his hand. Fingertips wrapped around the cold metal, and he pulled it closer so he could haul his body out of bed.
He headed into the other room slowly, grabbed a beer from the case, and fished his pain pills and antibiotics out of his pack. Gich’s stout was the real stuff, no near beer here. He knew he probably shouldn’t combine the two—the medication label was pretty explicit—but he didn’t give a shit right now.
He slammed the edge of the bottle cap against the counter, and the top popped off and foam spewed out. He sipped, once, twice, three times, feeling the warm brew hit the spot.
Withdrawing the prescribed meds, he tossed them onto his tongue and chased them down with a long pull of brew. “Ack,” he said, tasting the chalky film and bitter taste left behind by the pills.
He finished off the stout before heading back to his bed. Pulling off the sweaty comforter, he tossed it aside and lay down on the cool, clean sheets.
There was one scene he was hoping to avoid, the thing he hadn’t dreamed about yet, but that had lingered on the edges of his conscious and subconscious mind. He had successfully anesthetized himself, not realizing that he was unleashing the dam of his memories.
“Can you hear me, Master Chief?” The man was rubbing his knuckles on Declan’s sternum. “I’m Dr. Walters.”
That fucking hurt! “Yes,” Declan answered. His eyes were slits because the light was so bright. He wanted to close them, to just go to sleep. Why wouldn’t they let him sleep?
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