Unbreakable SEAL

by J. M. Madden

Jerking his eyes away, he flung open the door and reached for a beer. It was the only thing inside his fridge. And he had enough to get wasted tonight.

  Lacey found herself watching for Max everywhere. She even went to the Starbucks for the next three days hoping to see him again, but she didn’t.

  As she drove home from work that day her gaze scanned the area, looking for his broad back and dark hair. She pulled into her spot and her gaze drifted to the assigned parking spot for 4C. The motorcycle. Of course. She should have known. The damn thing had caught her eyes several times zipping through the lot and down the street. And now that she’d met him, she realized he had been riding it. The sleek black bike had to be the most dangerous thing in the lot. Because every man suffering from hallucinations needed a contraption to hurtle over a hundred miles per hour.

  She shook her head as she walked past it and headed for the stairs. As she made herself jog up to the second floor, she wondered what else she could have done. She maybe could have called the cops, but what would they have done? Hey officers, yeah, this guy dropped his coffee and kissed me, and says he has spiders on him. They would have loved that. Probably would have hauled her ass off.

  When she got to her door, her neighbor from directly above her leaned against her doorjamb, waiting.

  Lacey grinned at the young woman. Hannah Campbell was a livewire, but she made Lacey laugh. Petite and tan, she was her opposite in almost every way, but they clicked like sisters.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Hannah pushed away from the doorjamb and moved to take a couple of grocery bags from Lacey’s hands so she could unlock the door.

  “Just waiting to see if you want to go out tonight. It’s the weekend and I know for a fact you haven’t been getting out much.”

  Lacey cringed and pushed the door open. “I don’t really want to go out, though. I appreciate the invitation, but wading through bars looking for the one guy who might give me the time of day is not my cup of tea. I’m a little old to be doing that kind of thing.”

  Furrowing her brows, Hannah shook her head. “Oh, please. You’re thirty-two, yes, but you’re not dead. You’ve been here for two years but you’ve only gone out with me three times. You’re freaking gorgeous. Men fall all over themselves when you go out with me. Tell her Frank.”

  The tabby blinked at her sleepily when he heard his name but didn’t leave the sunny windowsill he lounged upon.

  Laughing at the over-thirty crack, Lacey set her bags on the kitchen counter and started to unload. Hannah took the fruits and veggies, leaning into the fridge to put them in the crisper drawer.

  “Men don’t fall all over me,” she scoffed. “I know I’m boring, but I kind of like my boring life right now. It’s a relief to not have the same stresses as I had before at Walter Reed. I’m enjoying the ease of it.”

  Hannah folded the bags in her hand and turned to face her, giving her a scathing look the kind only a true friend could. “I think you’re full of shit. You could have any man you gave the slightest encouragement to. And I think you miss those cases you had. I’ve seen your eyes get all excited when you talked about working there. You don’t do that when you talk about Peter-dick’s.”

  Lacey cringed at the name Hannah had given her current boss, but wondered if she were right. Yes, her private practice job gave her a manageable schedule, good pay. No sudden revamps in authority like at the military hospital.

  And she didn’t have to see the cases that broke her heart anymore. The soldiers that came in so wounded that it was a miracle they had survived as long as they had. The guys that were so courageous and stalwart in the face of what the staff had to do to help them.

  After years of taking care of those guys, the constant strife and worry had worn her out. Before she left, Lacey had joked with one of the younger nurses that maybe her PTSD would dissipate if she were off the floor. And it was the truth. The constant anxiety had slowly whittled away at her soul. She’d gone for counseling for a few months after she’d left just to be able to sleep at night.

  The private practice work gave her a chance to breathe. Yes, there were still military personnel that came in, but it wasn’t the pressure cooker Walter Reed had been. Actually, it was damn boring at times.

  She thought about the guy a couple floors above. “Have you met the guy above you? Max? Tall, dark-haired, has eyes the color of gold.”

  Hannah sighed and rolled her blue eyes dramatically. “Oh…my…god! He’s so freakin’ hot! Have you seen him on that motorcycle he rides? I’ve tried to get him to go out with me, but he seems oblivious. Barely even recognizes the perfection standing in front of him.” She popped a hand onto her curvy hip, posing.

  Lacey grinned at the younger girl’s enthusiasm, but was secretly a little relieved. She took the reusable shopping bags from Hannah, stacked them together and put them in the cupboard where they belonged.

  She didn’t have any business wondering about the man upstairs. But she did. It was one of her downfalls when she worked at Walter Reed. Every single one of her patients had left an impact on her and she wondered about them long after they were gone. There were a few she still talked to occasionally, but not many.

  Hannah eventually got bored and took off. Lacey crossed to the window to stroke Frank. The cat purred and rolled over so she could stroke his fat belly. She glanced down at the parking lot but didn’t see anyone moving around. She looked down the street, hoping for a glimpse of a motorcycle, then shook her head at her foolishness.

  Chapter Three

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  Hannah called her several days later, panic lacing her voice. “Lacey, you need to go check the guy upstairs. I think he wrecked his bike!”

  “What?” She rubbed the sleepiness from her eyes. The credits to Grey’s Anatomy were rolling on the flat screen across the room.

  “I just passed him on the stairs. He’s got road rash all over him and didn’t even seem to notice he was bleeding. I asked him if he was okay, but he told me to fuck off. Seriously? I was being nice and he told me to fuck off. Who does that?”

  Lacey sighed and pushed up from the couch. “Okay, I’ll go check on him. He’s probably in pain. Don’t worry about it.”

  She hung up on Hannah before she had to listen to any more. Then, grabbing her bulging first-aid kit from the bathroom, she headed for the door. She glanced down at her sleep shorts and t-shirt, but decided she was decent enough to go out. Jogging up the steps, she waved at Hannah, head poked through her own door on the third floor, then continued up to the fourth floor. 4C was directly to the left and the door was cracked open. There was a smear of blood on the door.

  Lacey leaned her head toward the crack, listening, but didn’t hear anything. “Mr. Tate?”

  She rapped her knuckles on the panel, but there was no response. Pushing the door open, she looked inside.

  The apartment was almost completely bare. A recliner sat in front of a dark TV. But there was nobody around. She stepped into the room. “Mr. Tate?” she called.

  Again, no response. Daring to walk further into the dim apartment, she flipped lights on as she went. This apartment was set up exactly the same as hers, so she headed toward the back. The bedroom door stood wide open and she paused on the threshold. In the light from the hallway, she could see Maxwell Tate lying on a messy bed on his stomach, staring at her. Lacey cringed when she saw the blood dripping from his dangling right hand onto the carpet. A sizeable puddle had already formed.

  “Mr. Tate. Can you hear me? I wanted to check and make sure you were okay.”

  He blinked but didn’t move. Lacey hit the light switch but nothing happened, so she moved forward cautiously. “I need you to say something so that I know you’re with me.”

  His pale eyes angled up and focused in on her. “I’m here.”

  “Good.” She smiled. “Can I check you over? I’m a nurse.”

  Frowning, he nodded against the mattress.

  Lacey slipped on a pair of gloves and mov
ed closer to the bed. She grabbed a discarded towel to drop beneath his slowly dripping hand then leaned around, looking for the source of the blood. “Mr. Tate Max may I touch you?”

  “Please,” he sighed, eyes latched on her.

  Lacey grasped his wrist in her left hand and lifted. The entire underside of his long arm was scraped up, as if he’d slid for a good ways on pavement. She cringed and pulled a penlight from her bag, skimming it over the abrasion. It looked like a fairly clean scrape, but he definitely needed to have it cleaned. She let his arm dangle again and flashed the light over his back. She couldn’t contain a gasp as she caught sight of his scraped skin through the ripped black t-shirt.

  “Max, I need to do a quick exam, okay? Can I listen to your back?”

  He didn’t tell her no so she drew out her stethoscope and listened to his breath sounds. Sounded clear, although a little inhibited. Maybe just because of the way he was lying. She wrapped the blood pressure cuff around his opposite arm. Surprisingly good. He flinched when she ripped open the Velcro and gave her a dirty look, then fell back to his belly. Lacey checked what she could reach and what he would allow her to.

  “Were you wearing a helmet, Max?”

  “No,” he sighed.

  “I’m going to check your head, okay?”

  He didn’t answer, so she reached down and ran her fingers over his scalp. There was a goose egg on the back of his head about the size of a golf ball, but no obvious blood. Kneeling in front of him again, she reached forward to rest her hand on his brow. His eyes had fallen shut and he flinched when she touched him, but allowed her to flash the penlight into his eyes. They responded exactly as they were supposed to. He slammed his lids shut and turned his head in the opposite direction, away from her.

  Back on her feet, Lacey flashed the light down his long legs. She could see blood on the sheets where he’d shifted them, but couldn’t find the source of the blood.

  “I think you need to go to the ER.”

  Those golden eyes snapped open in the dim light. “No.”

  Lacey sighed, shaking her head at how obstinate men could be. Military especially.

  She prodded at him. “Max, you need to hop in the shower to wash off this blood and dirt if you’re not going to go to the emergency room.”

  He mumbled something but didn’t respond.

  Crossing to the bathroom, she flicked on the light, happy when it actually worked. Her eyes were drawn to the counter and the black gun resting there. “Hell,” she muttered. Picking the Sig Sauer up she cleared the chamber, a little chilled when she realized it was loaded, with one in the barrel. She put the gun under the cupboard and the clip in the mirrored medicine cabinet, then turned the shower on.

  Max hadn’t moved an inch during her time in the bathroom.

  “Max, you need to get up. I have the shower running.”

  He mumbled something then pushed up on the mattress, muscles bulging. He sat at the side of the bed, staring into the hallway.

  “Max.”

  He looked up at her, his shadowed golden eyes desolate.

  Lacey felt her heart lurch in her chest. She’d seen sadness many times over in her career, but the absolute anguish in his expression made her eyes burn. Unable to turn from him, she sat down on the mattress beside him. “What’s wrong?”

  He blinked and shook his head. “They’re gone.”

  Lacey had a feeling she knew what was wrong, but she asked anyway. “Who?”

  Max sighed and looked away, then ripped his t-shirt over his head, not even acknowledging the pain he had to be in. Lacey ran her eyes down his chest, telling herself she was doing it for medical reasons, but she couldn’t help but remember how that cobbled stomach felt against her breasts.

  He stood up and started limping for the shower, shoving his running shorts down his hips as he went. Once again, she was torn between checking the scrapes on his back and admiring his rounded, tight butt. Something caught her attention and her gaze drifted up. There was a deep scar on the right side of his body, almost an inch deep and about the size of a fist, just below his shoulder blade. Before she could drag her eyes away, he disappeared into the steam. What the hell had done that?

  Lacey shook herself, wondering why she’d lost her focus. Yeah, the guy was good looking, but damn. She’d never become so distracted by a man’s body that she couldn’t function. Hell, ninety-nine percent of her patients were male, but this one was truly affecting her.

  Removing the gloves, she folded them into themselves. After the shower she would be able to disinfect the scrapes. Then she could get out of here.

  As she waited for him to get out of the shower, she glanced around. There were no decorations on the walls. The bed had sheets on it and a light blanket, but that was it. Dirty clothes were scattered everywhere. The drawers of the single bureau were out and a little twisted. As if he’d tried to push them home but a corner had caught.

  Unable to help herself, she kicked his dirty clothes into a pile in the corner. She planned to strip the bed but couldn’t find spare sheets in the hall closet. Only a tall gun locker. Really?

  She did what she could with what she found, but ended up running down to her apartment and grabbing a spare fitted sheet. She threw his in her washer and jogged back upstairs to make his bed. Frowning, she looked at the open bathroom door. He should have been out by now.

  “Max?” She knocked on the panel loud enough that he should have heard her, but there was no response.

  Creeping forward she peered inside, but didn’t see his form behind the shower curtain. Concerned she crossed and ripped the plastic back.

  Max sat on the floor of the shower, head bent. Even from a distance she could tell the water was ice cold. “What the hell are you doing?”

  His dark head stayed bent but he flinched as if he awoke. She shut the water off and knelt on the floor, then rested her hand on his nearest arm. “Max.”

  Finally, he blinked up at her. “Oh, hey Angel.”

  She tried not to be affected by the endearment, because it was probably just a symptom of his psychosis, but it had been a long time since she’d heard anything like it. Giving him a look, she tried to urge him to his feet. Tendrils of blood were starting to curl away down the drain and she saw the raw scrape down his right thigh. Did she even have bandages that big?

  She stood and held her hand out to him. “Come on. You need patched up.”

  He looked up at her hand, then her face, and seemed to come to a decision. Using a hand on the floor, he pushed to his feet. Lacey reached for a towel from the rod but he stepped out onto the rug before she could even hold it up.

  Max’s hand drew her gaze though when he reached past her to set a lethal looking eight-inch black knife next to the sink before taking the towel. Where the hell had that come from? She’d scanned the bathroom after she’d found the gun, but hadn’t seen anything else.

  Lacey looked up into his face, searching for the explanation on why he would have had a knife like that in the shower with him. Did he think she was a threat? No. She wasn’t naïve. She’d had patients commit suicide on her floor before.

  Was Max one of those that were looking for that release?

  Tears burned against her eyelids, but she refused to let them fall.

  He took the towel from her and wrapped it around his hips. Lacey motioned to the toilet seat lid. “Have a seat, Speed Racer.”

  He dropped to his ass, lean muscles of his abdomen tightening, towel edge slipping down between his strong thighs. For the first time she noticed a wide, stylized tattoo on the back of his shoulder, opposite from the deep scar. From this angle she could see feathers but not what it was exactly.

  The extra-large first aid kit sat on the counter. Lacey pawed through it, looking for the broad pads and the antibacterial salve.

  Max didn’t move when she lifted his arm to blot the fresh blood away. He shifted his gaze to her, scanning her face. Lacey gave him a smile as she ran her fingers over his cold skin.
“Aren’t you chilly?”

  Shaking his head, he let his eyes fall to the floor. “Didn’t even feel it,” he murmured.

  “Well,” she told him, “you can take my word on how cold it is.” She shivered dramatically.

  The corner of his very full mouth tipped up in a slight grin, then his eyes fogged over again. He moved his arm when she guided him to, but he didn’t talk to her anymore, no matter how many times she tried to start the conversation.

  As she tugged the towel away from his thigh there was no hint of modesty. She tried to drape it to cover his distracting nakedness, but ended up just drawing more attention and embarrassing herself. She spread antibacterial from the point of his hip down almost to his knee, then she started bandaging.

  Lacey prided herself on having a complete, sufficient first-aid kit, but by the time she was done with Max her bag was feeling empty. The big, silent man had also started to shudder with cold.

  Her heart ached for him. Against her better judgment, she was truly concerned.

  “Max, do you have meds you need to take at bedtime? Max?”

  He blinked his golden eyes at her. Then, without even looking at what he was doing, he reached for a pillbox on the counter. It was separated into days of the week. Narrowing his eyes, he looked at the box, finally selecting a full section of pills. It wasn’t even Thursday, Lacey noticed, just the next full one. He tipped a pile of pills into his hand and threw them into his mouth dry. Cringing, Lacey quickly ran a glass of water from the faucet and handed it to him.

  She looked at the pills in the next slot and observed several psychiatric and psychotropic medications. As she recognized what they were, she shook her head, confused. There were several here that did the same thing, and several more that treated completely opposite things. In total, he took eleven pills at night. Some of them very addictive.

  Surely he wasn’t prescribed all of these at once.

  “Where are your bottles, Max?”

  Without looking, he tugged open one of the drawers in the vanity. All of the bottles were there and as she started reading, she realized they were indeed prescribed at the same time and for opposite things. There were also five different doctors’ names listed on the amber bottles. Petrovic, her own doctor, was one of them. So she had probably seen him at work.