Going Overboard

by L. A. Witt

  I let us into his room with the key his roommate had left with me. Dalton was definitely still unsteady, using the bedposts and the walls to stay upright as he moved around the room.

  “You need a hand with anything?” I asked.

  “Nah, I’m good.”

  “Okay. I’m just going to step out for a second and get my bag out of the car.”

  “Your—” He paused, holding himself up with the bathroom doorframe. “You staying here?”

  I nodded. “Doc says you can’t be alone. Your roommate’s staying at his girlfriend’s house tonight, so I guess you’re stuck with me.”

  To my surprise, that got a smile out of him. The first real one I’d seen since he’d gone out on the boat earlier tonight. “You don’t mind?”

  My heart did things I couldn’t even describe, and it was all I could do to play it cool. “Nah, man. Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you.”

  The smile warmed. He looked exhausted, queasy, and in a lot of pain, but he still smiled, and it still made my stomach flutter. “Thanks, Chris. For staying with me in the ER and here.”

  “Don’t mention it.” I gestured at the door. “I’ll be right back.”

  I always kept a shaving kit and change of clothes in my car for those times when I was sweaty, salty, and gross after a long shift. It only took me two minutes to get out there, grab my bag, and get back to Dalton’s barracks room, but that was two minutes of imagining all kinds of disasters. What if he passed out? What if he fell? Hadn’t the doctor said a concussion like that could result in a brain hemorrhage?

  By the time I keyed myself back into the room, I was out of breath from the sprint and the borderline panic.

  And Dalton was fine. He’d changed into a pair of blue sweatpants with NAVY in gold lettering on one thigh, and he was standing shirtless at the bathroom sink with his toothbrush in his mouth.

  Any other time, I probably would’ve grabbed the opportunity to ogle the fuck out of his lean body and smooth abs, but right then, I was just relieved he was still upright and conscious. Even the angry scrapes and mottled bruises couldn’t undermine the fact that Dalton was okay.

  He wasn’t upright or conscious for long, though. In the time it took me to brush my teeth and put on a pair of gym shorts, he got into bed and was out like a light. I’d finally started taking the nurses and doc at their word that he could sleep, so I didn’t freak. Instead, I sat on the edge of Stockton’s bed for a minute and just watched him.

  He was still pale. The stark-white bandage over the gash on his temple should’ve made him look like he had some color, but he really was that pale, especially next to all the scrapes and bruises. At least he wasn’t as ghostly as he’d been when the swimmers had fished him out of the water. That was a scary shade of white I hoped I never saw again.

  I shuddered, fought back the urge to caress his face just to make sure he was really there, and killed the light. As I climbed into the bed, I was more drained than I ever remembered being. I should have collapsed facedown in a pillow and passed out for a few hours.

  But every time I closed my eyes, I saw Dalton in the water or on the deck. I saw all the ways tonight could have played out but miraculously hadn’t.

  So instead of sleeping, I stared at Dalton’s profile in the darkness. Every time he took a breath, the fear in my chest settled a tiny bit more. He was okay. He was going to feel like shit for a while, but he was okay.

  And damn but I owed MA3 Rhodes one hell of a hug. And for that matter, the command owed her medals. Like, big medals. Not just a Navy Achievement Medal, which everyone involved in the rescue would probably get. No, she deserved one of those medals that practically got you an automatic promotion when someone saw it on your brag sheet. That woman had put herself in serious danger to save Dalton, and if our command tried to drop an award to a letter of commendation or some watered-down shit like that, there would be hell to pay.

  My throat tightened. She saved Dalton. Dalton almost died.

  I held my breath as I watched his silhouette. My stomach roiled and my eyes stung as reality sank in deeper than it had since I’d heard that distress call.

  I almost lost you tonight.

  What would I do without you?

  Long before I had any desire to be awake, my guts lurched and yanked me out of a sound sleep. I stumbled to my feet, the whole room listing and tossing around me, and by the grace of God, made it into the bathroom before I started heaving. I didn’t bother turning on the light—I just braced my arms on the seat and tried to keep my head between them.

  And, oh fuck, I didn’t think I’d ever been so miserable. Every time I retched, I thought I was going to black out from the pain. In my head. In my sides. In my stomach. Everything hurt anyway, and my digestive system shifting into violent reverse did not help with the pulled muscles in my torso or the splitting pain in the side of my skull. And it just kept coming. One deep, violent heave after another until I was damn near sobbing in between trying to breathe.

  Finally, it stopped. Even the dry heaving stopped. I spat a couple of times, fumbled for the handle to flush the toilet, then dropped back against the wall, still sitting on the cold floor. Elbow propped on my knees, I rubbed my forehead as if that might quell some of the vicious throbbing. If I just didn’t move, didn’t think, didn’t make a sound, the pain would back off. Or at least not get worse. Just . . . breathe . . .

  A firm hand squeezed my shoulder. “You okay?”

  Chris. Chris was still here.

  Relief and embarrassment mingled in my already tender stomach.

  “I’m good,” I croaked. “Did I wake you up?”

  “It’s okay.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Almost 0700.”

  Ugh. Way too early for two guys on the night shift.

  I groaned. I might’ve been trying to say something, but the pain in my stomach and my sides and my head scrambled my brain, and I decided the groan was all I’d meant to do. I kept rubbing my temples and willing myself not to get sick again. There couldn’t be anything left at this point.

  “Sorry,” I finally muttered. “We should . . . sleep some more.” I started to get up, but the room pitched so hard, I almost toppled to the floor.

  Strong but gentle hands steadied me, though. “Easy. Take it slow, okay?”

  As much as my pride wanted to bitch, it didn’t have the energy, and its protests were nothing more than a dull mumble in the back of my mind as I nodded.

  Chris slung my arm around his shoulders. He eased me to my feet, pausing when I hissed in pain. “You good?”

  “Yeah.” I winced and held my side as we continued upward. Once I was all the way up, I leaned against the wall and kneaded the sore muscle. “I get the feeling this is going to suck even more than the concussion.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  I nodded, grimacing. “Hurts to breathe.”

  “And puke, probably.”

  “Ya think?”

  He laughed and, when I was firmly on my feet, guided me out of the bathroom. The room was dark, and God bless him, he didn’t turn on a light. I wasn’t sure my head could handle that. I didn’t even know if I was light sensitive right then—I just knew my skull felt like it was about to implode, and I didn’t want to give it a reason to.

  Chris helped me back onto the bed, then sat on the edge. “You need anything?”

  “No. Thanks.”

  “Okay. Get some sleep.”

  I didn’t know why, but I almost expected him to press a kiss to my forehead.

  And when he didn’t, I knew exactly why I was disappointed.

  When we woke up for real, it was almost noon. Still early for us, but I was sure if I stayed in bed any longer, I was just going to get stiffer. And besides, I was hungry.

  Thank God the room was dark. Jay worked nights too, so we had a double layer of blackout curtains over the window. Only the softly glowing blue numbers on the clock between the beds gave away the time.

 
; I sat up carefully. I still hurt all over, and my stomach was pissed off and grumbling. My head throbbed furiously, probably as much from hunger as the concussion.

  In the other bed, Chris was lounging against the pillows, looking at something on his phone. “Hey.” He put the phone down and sat up. “How you feeling?”

  I was already sure I was going to get sick of that question. “Ask me again after I’ve had some coffee.”

  “Coffee sounds good. You want to go get some breakfast and then chill for the day?”

  I studied him, trying to keep him and everything else from doubling. “Don’t you have to work tonight?”

  Chris shook his head. “Chief knows what’s up. I’m supposed to keep an eye on you for forty-eight hours. Doc’s orders.” He smiled uncertainly. “Nobody wants to see either of our faces at work until that time’s up.”

  I laughed even though it hurt. “So am I S.I.Q.?” I’d only been sick in quarters once in my career, and the cabin fever had almost done me in.

  Chris shrugged. “Yeah, probably. Even if you are, there’s nothing that says you can’t go out and get something to eat. You hungry?”

  My stomach grumbled audibly before I could even respond.

  He smiled. “Come on. Let’s go feed you.”

  After we’d both showered and dressed, we swung by the harbor building so I could get my wallet and keys from my locker. My phone had been in my uniform, and it was done for. I’d turned up my nose at the apocalypse-proof cases everyone else had, because they were bulky and expensive. Guess the joke was on me since now I got to pay for a whole new fucking phone.

  Once we were finished at the harbor building, we didn’t have to go far to find food. Anchor Point was like any military town, and it had restaurants and bars clustered around the base gates. They’d finally opened up a McDonald’s a few months ago, and I didn’t think I’d ever seen it with fewer than five cars stacked up in the drive-thru.

  Fast food really wasn’t my thing, but with as wonky as my stomach had been all morning, a couple of Egg McMuffins and a Coke sounded like the safest bet. Might not taste spectacular, but if it meant avoiding a repeat of earlier this morning, I’d eat it with a smile. Good thing they served breakfast all day now.

  As we stood in line, I could still feel the deck pitching under my feet while the room spun around me. It was a weird feeling, but I was starting to get used to it enough that I could at least stay upright.

  At the counter, I placed my order. When the cashier gave me the total, I opened my wallet and . . . stared. I needed . . . seven dollars . . . and seven cents . . . so that meant . . .

  The green bills were supposed to make sense. Couple of twenties. A ten. Some wrinkled ones. A five tangled up in there somewhere. How much did I need? What the fuck?

  “Sir?” the girl prompted.

  “Um . . .” Heat was suddenly rushing into my face. “I . . .”

  Chris leaned past me and put his card into the credit card machine.

  “Thanks,” I muttered, but I was rattled. That had never happened before. I could settle up a bill and calculate the tip in my head when I was drunk, for God’s sake.

  After we’d gotten our food, we found a table. Sitting didn’t even seem to help. Now my equilibrium was all fucked up again. I could stand all right, and I could sit of course, and the dizziness was becoming almost normal, but my mind was all over the place.

  I hadn’t been able to count out cash.

  I hadn’t been able to figure out how to pay for a McDonald’s order.

  The bills hadn’t made sense, and the numbers hadn’t added up, and—

  “Hey.” Chris’s hand was a solid, anchoring presence on my arm. “You okay?”

  No. I am so not okay.

  He squeezed gently. “You really rang your bell last night, didn’t you?” The question was light, but laced with genuine concern.

  Oh. Right. My head. As if I’d forgotten about the relentless throbbing radiating from my right temple.

  “Yeah.” I stared down at the receipt on the tray. “Guess I did.” Then I looked at him, and I didn’t sound like myself as I said, “I couldn’t count the money.”

  He nodded grimly. “I know. I could tell.”

  “Fuck . . .”

  “Relax.” He gave another squeeze before releasing my arm. “The doc said you might have some trouble for a little while. Memory. Balance. Cognitive stuff.”

  I met his gaze. “He did? Did I . . . Am I forgetting an entire conversation?”

  Chris smiled and shrugged. “You were pretty out of it right then.”

  “Oh. Did he say how long this shit will last?” I gestured at my head.

  He was quiet for a moment, chewing thoughtfully. After he’d washed down a bite of his McMuffin, he said, “He figured the worst of it’ll last a few days, but some of it might be a few weeks.”

  My sandwich almost slid out of my hand. “A few weeks?”

  “After smacking your head like that? Yes. Of course it’s going to take—”

  “But the E-6 exam is coming up.”

  Chris grimaced. “Oh shit.”

  “Yeah. Oh shit. If I don’t make MA1 this time around . . .” I couldn’t finish the thought. Didn’t need to. Panic surged through me, which didn’t help my balance. Good thing I was sitting down. Now how the hell was I going to sit for an exam? If I couldn’t count out some cash for a damn sandwich, how was I supposed to answer multiple choice questions about my job, the Navy, military history . . .

  And I couldn’t just pass the exam this time. I had to blow it out of the water. There was one more exam this year, but I didn’t want to bank on that one. Not with this much on the line. Advancement was getting insanely competitive within our rate, and either I got promoted this year or I got out.

  “Fuck.” I pressed the heel of my hand to my aching forehead, trying to find some relief from the pain and my thoughts.

  “Take it easy, man.” Chris’s voice was soothing. “It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours. The exam’s not for like three weeks. You’ll recover.”

  “God, I hope so.” I lowered my hand, took a breath, and reached for my sandwich again.

  After I had some food and caffeine in me, I did feel better. Still not exactly Einstein upstairs, but less like my body was going to quit working altogether. I’d take that.

  When we were done, Chris took our trash, and I started to follow, but of course, that couldn’t be uneventful and easy—

  I got up and immediately had to grab the table’s edge when the world wobbled.

  Chris took my elbow. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Just . . . forgot my balance was jacked up.” I smirked despite the panicky feeling in my gut. “What does it say about my head injury when I keep forgetting I’m a wreck?”

  He laughed halfheartedly but didn’t let me go. I realized he still had the tray in his other hand.

  “You’re good at this shit,” I said.

  He shrugged, but didn’t say anything, and carefully released my arm before he took a couple of steps to get rid of our trash. The whole way, he kept glancing back at me, probably making sure I didn’t fall on my ass or something.

  Now that I was upright, though, I wasn’t too bad. Not as steady as I wanted to be, but I was finding my sea legs, which I’d never expected to need on dry land.

  With a little support from Chris, I made it to his car and slid into the passenger seat. Then he went around to the other side, got in, and started the car.

  I pressed my elbow against the window and kneaded my thumping forehead. “When I don’t feel like shit again, you know what I’m gonna do first?”

  “What’s that?”

  I lowered my hand and turned to Chris. “I’m gonna kick MA1 Anderson’s ass.”

  Chris laughed humorlessly. “You make it sound like there’s gonna be anything left of him by the time you’re feeling better.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yep. If I don’t get to him, Rhodes will.” Chris s
hook his head. “That dude better be sleeping with one eye open.”

  I sat straighter. “Rhodes. She’s okay, right?”

  “Yeah. She texted me earlier to check on you. Says she’s tired, but she’s good.”

  “Oh.” I cocked my head. “Why do I feel like you already told me that?”

  “I did. But the doc says that’s normal too.”

  “Great.”

  He drummed the wheel with his thumb. “So, you need anything to tide you over at the barracks?”

  “I could stand to make a trip to the commissary. And I need to get a new phone.” I rubbed my forehead. “Why does that all sound so fucking tiring?”

  “Because it’s exhausting even when you haven’t smacked your head on a boat.” He gave my arm a gentle pat. “Come on. We’ll go down to the Exchange and pick one up for you. I’ll make sure they don’t fuck you over on the terms or something.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled, and I actually felt it. Everything had been on its head since last night. I couldn’t even rely on myself to count out money or drive a car.

  But there were constants in my world, and one of those constants was Chris. He had my back. I’d never doubted he did, but damn if he hadn’t come through when it counted the most.

  I owe you so big, Chris.

  “I am so stealing your couch one of these days.” I sprawled across Chris’s amazing sofa.

  He watched me from the kitchen. “You can get it out the door, it’s all yours.”

  “Oh yeah?” I carefully laced my fingers behind my head. “Didn’t fit?”

  “Not without bending a few laws of physics, no.” He glared at the front door and shook his head. “We had to take the goddamned door off its hinges.”

  I smirked. “Anyone ever told you about this thing called a measuring tape? Really helps when you’re shopping for furniture.”

  Chris rolled his eyes. As he turned away to get something out of the fridge, he called over his shoulder, “I think I liked you better when your bell was rung.”

  “It’s still rung,” I said. “Just . . . not as much as it was.”