Ghost Dance (Tulsa Thunderbirds Book 3)

by Catherine Gayle

  I nodded and fixed myself a cup of coffee before settling in to wait. I wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight, anyway, so I might as well load up on caffeine.

  Over the next hour, I texted the rest of the Para-Pythons team to fill them in. A text wouldn’t wake them up if they weren’t already awake like a phone call might, but it would get word to them as soon as they were up in the morning. Not an ideal solution, but it was the best I could come up with at the moment. Then I called Wade’s boss and left him a voice mail. No matter what happened, I didn’t imagine Wade would be going in for work tomorrow morning.

  I was still keeping myself busy by letting people know what had happened when the doctor came in and took a seat across from me.

  “You’re London?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Before we put him under, Mr. Miller gave me permission to talk to you. He said you’d be here. Probably not anyone else, but he thought you would come.”

  Again, I nodded. Anything more than that, and I would probably fall apart. The only thing keeping me together to this point was having something to do.

  “He’s out of surgery and in recovery. We’ll let you go in to see him in just a bit, but he’s not in the clear yet. He’s got one heck of a gash on his head, and a concussion from that, but he also had some internal bleeding in his abdomen and around his lungs. We had to go in to make a few repairs. We’ll keep him here for a few days to be sure everything starts healing all right, and he might need some help at home once he’s discharged.”

  “His parents are coming from Alabama,” I said. “I’m sure at least one of them will stay.” His mother had been with him for months after he’d come home from Iraq, staying by his side to help him learn to face his new life, even when he’d screamed at her and thrown things across the room in his anger and grief.

  I hoped she had the strength to go through that again. This wasn’t the same kind of situation, but in some ways, it might be worse. I just knew that, even though I was here with him now, I couldn’t be the one to hold his hand through the process of healing.

  And it was my fault. That was the only thing making sense in my head, now that I was still long enough to allow my thoughts free rein. Wade Miller had gone and tried to kill himself because of me.

  I needed to see him.

  I needed to get out of there.

  I needed Dima.

  SVETKA WAS ASLEEP, her head resting on my shoulder, when the team plane touched down in Tulsa in the wee hours of the morning. Taxiing to the gate would take a few minutes, so I left her sleeping and turned on my phone to see if I’d missed any calls or texts.

  There was a voice mail from London. I pressed the button to listen to her message and instantly felt more awake the moment I heard her voice, but my mood changed in a heartbeat.

  “Hey. I know it’s the middle of the night, and you’re probably still flying home and all, but I just… I need to talk to someone. No, not to someone. To you.” She sniffled, which tore me up inside. “Call me? Whenever you get this. I’ll be up.” She fell silent for a moment, and I thought she must have hung up, but then she said, “I really wish you were here with me right now, Dima.”

  Apparently I tensed up while listening to London’s message, because Svetka woke and looked at me with worried eyes. She patted my cheek. “You’re upset, Dmitri.”

  “Something’s wrong with London,” I said.

  “Ah. Yes. Your girlfriend who isn’t your girlfriend.” She nodded, rubbing her eyes as the plane came to a stop at the gate. “What are you going to do about it?”

  “I need to go to her.”

  “So we’ll go to her.”

  For Svetka, it was as simple as that. Whatever I needed, she would make sure it happened, and she’d be right by my side the whole time. No questions asked.

  I didn’t deserve her, but I was damn glad I had her.

  Once I’d loaded all of our bags into my car, I called London’s number. She answered before it had finished the first ring.

  “Dima? I’m sorry. It’s so late. I shouldn’t have—”

  “Where are you?” I cut in. I didn’t want to hear her tell me she shouldn’t have called me, that she should be able to handle whatever had upset her so badly on her own. “Svetka and I will come to you.”

  “There’s no need—”

  “There’s every need. Where are you?”

  She sniffled. Still crying. I wanted to punch whoever or whatever had upset her enough to make her cry. “I’m at the hospital,” she finally said.

  “You’re hurt?”

  “Not me. It’s Wade.”

  Fucking Miller. That was who I’d punch, as soon as I could get my hands on him. I didn’t care if he was already injured. That son of a bitch deserved anything I could deliver and more for hurting London again.

  “On our way,” I said. Then I hung up before she could tell me not to come.

  When we arrived at the hospital, they directed us to the emergency department waiting room. London wasn’t there, but a nurse said she’d let London know we had arrived. They wouldn’t let us go back to Miller’s room. Only family, they said. I wanted to argue that London wasn’t family to that son of a bitch, or at least I didn’t want her to be any longer if he was going to keep doing things that made her cry, but I bit my tongue.

  Ten minutes later, she wheeled in, still in tears.

  I was on my feet before the doors closed behind her, crossing over to pick her up. I was equally surprised and relieved when she wrapped her arm around my shoulder and buried her face against my neck.

  “It’s all right. I’ve got you,” I said, sitting in the nearest chair and settling her on my lap.

  “It’s not all right. Wade got drunk and crashed his truck, and it’s all my fault.”

  “Not your fault.” I should know. I’d gotten drunk and crashed my car, and there was no one to blame for it but myself. Miller might have been upset about London, but he was the one who’d put the drink in his mouth, and he was the one who’d gotten behind the wheel.

  “But it is. I should’ve taken his keys from him.”

  “How you could take his keys?” I asked, shaking my head. She wasn’t making any sense.

  “He came over.”

  My blood started boiling. “Already drunk?”

  She nodded. “He was a mess. Drunk and mad and lonely. He was going on and on about how he still loved me, how we should be together, but I knew he was going off the deep end so I had to do something. I had to get him some help. I could only get the gun from him, though—”

  “Gun?” I roared. The son of a bitch had gone over to her house, drunk off his ass, carrying a fucking gun? Around my woman. My fucking baby. If the asshole got out of this hospital, he wouldn’t make it very far. Not if I ever saw his ass again.

  “I tried to get him to give me the keys, but he stormed out. I couldn’t make myself shoot him. I couldn’t…”

  “He’d be in hospital if you shot him,” I said, as if it would make her feel any better about the situation. I knew it wouldn’t, though. She cared too much. She’d told me that before, but now I was finally starting to understand. And it was because she cared so damned much that she could be such a mess over a man who didn’t deserve her tears.

  “I know.”

  “You’d hate yourself if you shot him,” I pointed out.

  A fresh wave of tears welled in her eyes, and she nodded.

  “He did this to himself. It would have happened no matter what you did. You can’t save a man who refuses to be saved.”

  She nodded again, snuggling closer to me, and the truth of my words echoed in my head. Did I want to be saved? I wasn’t in the kind of shape Miller was, but I’d never been to war.

  Hockey players always talked about our game in those terms—saying a game was a real battle or a playoff series was a war of attrition all the time—but it wasn’t true. What we did wasn’t even in the same realm as what soldiers went through, so I couldn’t pu
t myself in the same boat as Miller.

  Yet I had to concede that London was right about me. Svetka had helped me to see it. Every day, I woke up and tried to atone for my past. Maybe it was time for me to look forward instead of back.

  Especially now that I had a baby of my own on the way.

  Svetka caught my eye over the top of London’s head. She gave me a small smile. Then she dug a shawl out of her bag and settled it around London’s shoulders. London glanced up at Svetka, who patted her soothingly on the back.

  “Not your girlfriend?” Svetka said to me in Russian. “I think you’re mistaken.”

  I held London close and slid my hand over her hair, urging her to relax into me as much as possible, thoughts zipping around in my mind like a thousand angry bees trapped in a box. But there was only one thought I could hold onto, only one that made sense in the numbing mass of ideas storming through my mind: I couldn’t let her worry that I’d end up in a situation like Miller was in now. I’d already done it once—long before I ever met her, thank goodness—but once was more than enough. I had to do whatever I could to assure her I wasn’t woo-woo bonkers, like Mrs. Petrov had called me.

  In the end, that was all London had been asking of me. Maybe she had been too hardheaded to put it in simple terms, and maybe I had been equally hardheaded in digging in my heels and refusing to acknowledge the truth, but that was all she wanted of me.

  I’d be more than just an ass if I denied her that much.

  The waiting room doors opened, and a couple of the other players from London’s sledge hockey team walked in. I recognized them as some of the other wounded military veterans, like Miller.

  They eyed the way I was holding London on my lap, but then they gave me a nod.

  “Take her home,” one of them said. “We’ll stay. She needs rest.”

  I thought that was an excellent idea. I wanted to take her home. With me. So Svetka and I could take care of her, and so I could make sure she understood I intended to do whatever she needed of me in order for us to have a future together.

  Because as far as I saw it, London was my future. And I liked the way that future looked. I liked it a lot.

  I DIDN’T HAVE it in me to argue when Dima said he wanted to take me back to his place. I was too tired—both physically and emotionally—and too thankful that he was here with me when I needed him most, to do anything other than nod or shake my head. I even let him carry me out to his car while Svetka pushed my wheelchair, loaded with both her purse and mine.

  When we got to his house, he carried me up to his bed and set me there while he went back for my wheelchair and all of the bags he and Svetka had taken with them on the road trip. Apparently they hadn’t even stopped at home before coming to the hospital.

  I felt awful that he’d brought her along for all of that. It was the middle of the night after a long trip, so she should be resting instead of trying to take care of me when my friend was in the hospital.

  But before Dima had finished bringing everything inside the house, Svetka knocked on the door to Dima’s bedroom and came in carrying two steaming cups of tea in dainty china, complete with matching saucers.

  She handed one of the saucers to me and nodded toward the space next to me on the bed, as if asking for permission to sit. I nodded and took a sip as she sat beside me. Instead of drinking her tea, she watched me, a kind smile forming soft lines around her lips and eyes. After a moment, she started speaking to me in Russian. The only thing I picked up was Dmitri, several times, and then later, girlfriend—that one, she said in English. She paused after a bit and took a sip of her tea.

  “Thank you,” I murmured. For the tea. For the kindness. For whatever it was she felt the need to tell me, because undoubtedly it was something wise. I only wished I could understand more of it.

  Then she patted me on the cheek, got up, and left the room, closing the door behind her.

  I wasn’t sure what she’d said, but it felt like she was welcoming me into the family or something equally sweet. Now I wanted to know what Dima had told her about me while they were on the West Coast.

  He came into his bedroom a few minutes later, smiling when he saw me sipping from my china cup. “Svetka said she made tea. Help you sleep better.”

  I returned the cup to the saucer, staring down at the faint hint of tea leaves falling to the bottom. “She said something. Lots of something. Your name and girlfriend were all I could make out.”

  “She wants to know you. Find out if you can cook well enough to make me fat.”

  Eek. I pulled a face. Svetka would be out of luck there. Dima was far and away the better cook out of the two of us.

  “She might teach you to make bread,” he warned.

  “Do you have a fire extinguisher handy?”

  He chuckled as he sat next to me, rubbing a hand over my shoulders and upper arms before tugging at the hem of my shirt. “Come on. Need to get you in bed.”

  I set my saucer on the nightstand and let him slip my shirt over my head, too tired to resist. In no time, he’d stripped me down to my bra and panties and found one of his soft T-shirts to slip over my head.

  He nudged me to lie down, but I shook my head.

  “I should go to the bathroom first.”

  “Ah. Need your purse.”

  “Yes.”

  Without asking for an explanation, he bounded down the stairs to get it and brought it back up before I had finished transferring myself over to my chair.

  “Thank you,” I murmured. But I felt like I owed him an explanation, especially after the way I’d almost blown up at him over that very thing a while back. Maybe it was because there wasn’t anything sexy about what we were doing now so I felt less embarrassment. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Maybe it was the aftermath of the adrenaline that had coursed through my body all night finally draining from my system. Maybe it was just the fact that I was coming to accept the fact that I wanted Dima to be in my life long term, and that meant there were things I needed to tell him. Whatever was behind it, I unzipped my purse and reached for my small supply bag.

  He watched silently as I took out a catheter and held it up for him to see.

  “Since my accident, I haven’t had much control over a lot of things with my body,” I said. “It’s not just my legs. I can’t use the bathroom without help, or if I go too long, I might have accidents.”

  “You can’t feel it?” he asked. He didn’t seem disgusted or offended, thank goodness.

  I shrugged. “Sometimes I can tell when my bladder is full. Not always. But even then, I can’t always squeeze the right muscles to make it empty. I have to follow a timing program for all of this kind of stuff,” I said, waving my hand in the general direction of my lower abdomen. “I can’t just trust that I’m going to feel a signal when it’s time to go, or else I’m bound to have an accident.”

  “Don’t want accidents,” he said, his tone making it sound like he was teasing me.

  Teasing was a very good sign. I fought the urge to smile as I wheeled myself to the bathroom.

  When I returned, he’d changed out of his clothes, only keeping on a pair of boxer briefs. I parked my chair by the bed and engaged the lock before climbing in. I pulled the blankets over my body and lay on my side, facing the edge of the bed where my chair was.

  He turned off the light and lay down behind me. “Can I hold you?” he asked softly.

  I nodded, and his strong arm came around my waist, tugging me against him until we were nestled together like spoons.

  The heat of his body was like a drug. Before long, I was out, content at least for now to let him soothe my frayed nerves.

  I DIDN’T WANT anything to wake me from my pleasant, soft, dreamy state, but morning sickness had other plans. I bolted out of Dima’s embrace and transferred into my chair as fast as I could, barely getting to the bathroom in time.

  He and Svetka were both waiting for me on the other side of the bathroom door when I came out, concerned looks on their
faces.

  I blushed, because I wasn’t sure if Svetka knew I was pregnant, and this might not be how Dima would have wanted to tell her. At least she didn’t speak much English. I hoped she wouldn’t understand, so he could tell her whatever he wanted her to know.

  “Just morning sickness,” I explained.

  Dima nodded but still looked worried. “The baby is okay?”

  “Fine,” I assured him, but Svetka’s reaction stole all my attention.

  “Baby?” she repeated. Then her eyes went wide, and a huge smile lit up all her features. She started rattling off all sorts of things in Russian that I couldn’t possibly follow, pushing past me into the bathroom. She wet a cloth and wrung it out, then used it to pat my face and the back of my neck, still nattering on excitedly. Here and there, I caught baby and girlfriend as she patted my cheeks. Then she stood right in front of me, staring straight into my eyes, and said, “Zhena.”

  I raised a brow in Dima’s direction, but he responded to Svetka in Russian instead of translating what she’d said to me. After a bit of back-and-forth, she rolled her eyes and headed downstairs.

  “She’s going to bake bread,” he said as she disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Care to explain all that?”

  “She knows you’re pregnant,” he said dryly.

  “I caught on to that much, funnily enough.” When he didn’t elaborate, I asked, “What does zhena mean? Because something tells me it has nothing to do with baking bread.”

  He gave me a long, serious look. “Means wife.”

  “Oh.” The weight of the word felt heavy. That was not what I’d been expecting.

  “Told her not to worry about us. We’re working it out.”

  I nodded, but then I wondered what he meant about us working it out. Was that what he wanted? Marriage? Right now, I just wanted to know that we could function together for a period of time without trying to kill each other. I needed a lot more stability, on both our parts, before I could begin to entertain the idea of something as permanent and life-changing as getting married, even if it was something I wanted with every fiber of my being, now that the thought had entered my mind.