“Have you heard from Nicole? How’s Vic doing?”
Laura’s somber expression cracked into a genuine smile. “Making jokes. He’s taking her down to Italy before they head home. Listening to Nicole, you’d think he did no more than stub a toe instead of lose a limb.”
“Well, that’s good, right?”
Laura offered a one-shouldered shrug. “I think so.” She sighed and gripped the tote beneath her arms so tightly her knuckles showed white. Her gaze drifted over Jen’s shoulder to the door behind her. “How’s Shane?”
Jen puffed her cheeks out and let some of her exasperation show. “Do you want the truth or do you want me to lie to you?”
“Oh, the truth sounds like much more fun,” Laura said dryly.
“He’s a pain in the ass.”
Laura laughed out loud, then quickly covered her mouth with her hand. “Sorry. That’s more of a relief than you know.”
“Any ideas on how I keep him from ripping his IV out every five minutes? You know him better than I do.” She was willing to take suggestions at this point. Anything would be better than feeling this helpless and out of ideas.
Laura shrugged and tugged her hair from her face. Jen frowned and looked a little closer. Had she been crying?
“Hon, you should be able to relate to where he’s at right now better than anyone. You didn’t talk to me for weeks when you first got sick. I had to practically drag you to the spa at gunpoint to get those toenails under control.”
Jen snorted and covered her smile with the back of her hand. “Oh God, I’d forgotten about that.”
“Just don’t let him do anything stupid, okay? I’ll be here as much as I can for him, but you’re here every day. And I don’t know how much they’ll let me up here if I’m not official, you know?”
“Huh?”
Laura looked away. “I’m resigning as the battalion family readiness group leader.”
“What’s going on?” Jen tucked her hands into the pockets of her nurse’s smock.
Laura shifted the bag to her other shoulder. “Nothing. I don’t think I’m being a very good FRG leader. I can’t take care of my own husband, so how can I help the other wives? So I’m stepping down.”
“Does Trent know?” Jen asked cautiously.
“Don’t know. I emailed him. Haven’t gotten a reply, though.”
“He’s still not talking?”
Laura shook her head, biting her lips together. “And the rumors are damn near killing me.”
“What rumors?”
Laura shook her head. “They’re not important. I’m just so worried and I can’t help because he’s not talking. And all the rear d commander says is that Trent will call when he can.”
Jen slipped her arm around Laura’s shoulders and rested her head against hers for a moment. “I wish I had some way to make it better.”
Laura sniffed and pulled away. “Yeah, well, it’s my husband who’s being a shit. I’ll deal. You, on the other hand, need to deal with Mr. Crankypants in there for me, okay?”
She snorted and headed to the nurses’ station. “What am I supposed to do? Show him my scars? Hey, pal, check this out. I can totally relate to how you feel?”
“That’s so not funny.” Laura managed to laugh and look horrified all at once. “But hey, you never know, right?” Her tote buzzed and she fished around until she pulled out her phone. “It’s Nikki.”
Jen’s eyes widened. Carponti’s warped sense of humor might just be the thing to kick Shane in the tail and get him out of his funk. “How soon are they coming back?” Jen whispered.
“Huh?”
“Tell Nicole to get her and Vic back here. Shane needs him.”
Laura narrowed her eyes. “Hang on, Nikki. Jen, are you sure?”
“Yeah. I am.”
It was a risk. A big one considering that Carponti was still healing from his own injuries. But right now, it was a chance—the only one she had.
* * *
A quiet knock on the door penetrated the fog in his brain. He wished the damn nurses and doctors and well-meaning volunteers would leave him the hell alone. He didn’t want company. He didn’t want the neat little hygiene kits they left or the cheap underwear that wouldn’t fit over his freakish legs even if he had been interested in getting dressed. Which he wasn’t. Getting dressed implied that he was going somewhere. Which, again, obviously, he wasn’t.
He didn’t answer the quiet knock, hoping that if it was a visitor they’d leave. The friggin’ docs and nurses were in his damn room at all hours of the night and day. Not that he slept much. The drug-induced haze he lingered in couldn’t really be called sleep. So when the door to his room pushed open, he sighed and slammed his head back against the pillow and fought the urge to throw the remote control at whoever was walking in now.
“Wow, Jen wasn’t kidding.”
He glanced over sharply at Laura’s familiar voice. She stood near the door to the bathroom, her hands gripping the handle of the tote tightly. Her gaze flicked down his body, surveying the damage and he bristled but remained silent. Barely.
He hated this part. Each time someone he knew walked into the room, they didn’t see him, they saw his injuries. He felt like he was just another freak on display, and now knew exactly how he’d made others feel every time he’d glanced away and thought, thank God it wasn’t him.
He swallowed and tried to think of something civilized to say. But he wasn’t feeling civilized and despite Laura’s being a good friend, he didn’t want her company.
Unless … “You don’t happen to have a coat hanger in there, do you?” he asked.
Laura frowned and shot him a funny look. “Why?”
“I will have your children if you’d straighten one out for me.”
“What are you talking about?” She approached the bed then, his remark breaking through the barrier that had kept her away from the bed.
“My fucking arm is itching like crazy.” He tried to shift his arm inside the cast but it didn’t move and the creeping sensation of something prickling up his skin crept higher.
“I wish I’d thought to bring some.” She shrugged. “Sorry.”
Shane sighed and tossed the remote onto the sheet next to his hip. “You’re no help.”
“You really are in a sunny mood, aren’t you? You could try being a little bit less of an asshole, you know.” Laura shifted the tote higher on her shoulder and folded her arms over her chest.
“Laura—”
“I’m just giving you a hard time.” She swallowed as her voice cracked. “You scared the shit out of me.”
She bit down on her lips and looked away.
“Ah, hell, come here.” He lifted his good arm and she accepted the peace offering, hugging him gently before pulling away. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“Yeah, well, it’s not like this is Disneyworld.” She swiped beneath her eyes. “Are you okay?”
He shrugged. “Peachy.”
“I thought we covered this don’t be a dickhead stuff already,” she said dryly.
“Yeah.” He tried to smile. It was weak but it was there. “We did.”
“So, anyway, I brought you some clothes. I don’t know when you’ll be out of the bed or anything but, well, as sexy as that hospital gown is, I’m sure real clothes might make you feel a little more, I don’t know, normal?”
He glanced down at the cast covering his left arm. “Not likely. But thanks.”
Silence greeted his sullen response but he couldn’t make himself apologize. Laura was a friend. She’d gone out of her way to come see him and bring him clothes. And how did he say thanks? By being a douche bag. Trent was going to kick his ass when he saw him next.
“This isn’t the end of the world,” she said quietly, her palm warm against the exposed skin of his forearm. “And I know this is the last thing you want to hear, but I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Look, Laura—”
“Don’t argue.” She squeezed his arm gent
ly, then let go. “I’ve got to get going. I know this sucks but I meant it. I’m glad you’re okay.” She sniffed and set the tote on the floor between the chair and the bed. “The clothes will be here if you change your mind.”
Finally he looked at her and saw the tears shimmering in her eyes. “Aw hell, Laura, don’t cry.”
She shook her head and covered her mouth. “I’m not.”
“Bull.”
“Busted.” She rolled her eyes and smiled weakly. A faint buzzing filled the silence and she tugged the cell phone out of her purse. Something thawed around his heart when her eyes lit up, just a little. “Trent?”
She motioned to the door and rushed into the hall. He hoped the call didn’t drop but in the hospital, it was likely. The door shut behind her, leaving him alone in the silence once more.
He closed his eyes and wished he could have made conversation. Asked about the kids, about the wives. About anything so he wouldn’t have been such an asshole. But then again, that was what he was good at.
He scoffed. What he had been good at. Now? Now he was … he had no idea.
But he damn sure wasn’t a good friend and wasn’t much of a soldier anymore, either. He looked down his body at the dingy white cast and the sheet covering the skeletal frames around his legs.
What the hell was left?
Chapter 7
Three weeks since he’d been shipped out of Iraq and he was just as useless now as he’d been when he’d first arrived. The only difference was now, he was slightly less stoned and every single nerve burned with energy, both real and imagined. He looked down at his right arm as an itch crawled up his wrist toward his elbow. He shuddered, unable to do anything to stop the sensation—it felt like a spider was crawling over his skin.
Nurse Ratchet had confiscated the coat hanger he’d transformed into a scratching stick.
Bitter helplessness tasted like sand in his mouth. He scrubbed his hand over his face, wishing like hell he could shave. That he could take a piss by himself. That he could do anything other than sit here.
He was stuck. Between the pins sticking out of his legs and the stitches holding his abdomen together, the cast on his right arm and the tube sticking out of his dick, he was a damned invalid. He clicked through the channels searching for anything related to the war, but all anyone was talking about was some pop star’s latest stint in rehab.
He was going fucking insane.
The door to his room slammed opened and Shane glanced over, expecting to see one of Nurse Ratchet’s pals.
Shane’s mouth fell open, but no sound squeezed past the knot in his throat. He barely recognized the man who walked into his room. His face was covered with a bushy red beard, his dark red hair grown out and slicked back in some Irish version of the Fonz. He’d let his hair grow out of that stupid red patch months ago, but this? This was ridiculous. Cold shock crawled up his spine when he saw Carponti’s bandaged arm. Several inches too short.
Holy fuck.
Carponti strolled in like he didn’t have a care in the world and flopped into the chair that was reserved for visitors. Except for Laura—who visited him regularly despite his less than charming attitude—it had gone basically unused since Shane had arrived. Not that he wanted company anyway.
Reclining in the chair, Carponti kicked his feet up on the edge of Shane’s bed. “You’re still in the hospital? Legs get blown all to hell and suddenly you can’t walk. What the hell is the army coming to?”
Shane finally thought to close his mouth, then struggled to smile at his best squad leader. The last time he saw him—“You survived that explosion?”
“Nice to see you, too. Asshole,” Carponti said with a grin. “You tried to send me out on the MEDEVAC. I ended up dragging your heavy ass onto that bird instead. With my arm half torn to hell, I might add.”
Carponti continued, oblivious to Shane’s silence. “Is this what you’ve been doing for the past month? Sitting back here relaxing? And you still have all your limbs? That is such bullshit! Put a Band-Aid on that shit and get your happy ass back over to the sandbox.”
“What are you on?” Shane was reasonably certain Carponti had lost his mind.
“Me?” Carponti’s eyes widened in pure innocence, an expression that was both familiar and unsettling. It meant he was into something. Something bound to get Shane’s ass in a sling one way or another. “Nothing. Well, nothing much.” He held up his bandaged arm and waved it around like a flag. “Check this out. Makes buttoning up shirts a whole new adventure. The only thing that sucks is that sometimes my fingers still itch. And the docs don’t have a pill for that. At least not one that works.”
Shane could barely form a complete sentence as deep disquiet crawled over his skin. “When did you get hit?”
“There was another IED after you went down. My arm got pinned in between one of those heavy armored doors, and the truck. By the time they got me out, the arm was pretty much dead. So the docs over in Germany did a quick little nip and tuck and sent me on my way.” Carponti was chomping on mint gum, like a Valley girl at the mall. “Boy, I’m sure glad they didn’t stop my combat pay right away. I took Nikki shopping in Italy so she’d stop hovering over me. Man that woman can shop.”
Shane struggled to smile. To do something other than gape at his friend. The guy had lost part of his arm, and he made it sound like nothing.
“CID gave her leave?” Shane asked, struggling to pull his thoughts together to form at least one coherent thought. Carponti had swaggered into the company tactical operations center about four months back, bragging that his wife was now a full-time investigator at the Fort Hood Criminal Investigations Division and that everyone had better watch their asses. He’d had a feeling that Carponti hadn’t been kidding when he’d mentioned it to LT Randall.
“Yeah. She’s working gangs in Killeen and the Central Texas area with the feds. Man, you’d be shocked at how many gangs send guys into the military. They try to buy people off, too, especially armorers and guys with access to weapons repair parts. You’d be amazed at what she can’t tell me.”
Shane struggled to keep up with Carponti’s stream-of-consciousness dialogue. Damn it, but his brain was clouded. Carponti continued, oblivious. “We thought we’d lost you. But I knew it was going to take a whole lot more than a couple of bombs to knock your disgruntled old ass off the planet.”
Finally, Shane’s thoughts cleared as his lips cracked into an awkward smile. “I’m only five years older than you, dickhead.”
“I rest my case. So anyway, when are they sending you home?”
Shane didn’t want to talk about home or his lack thereof. His mom had been more of an incubator than a parent. His dad? Well, he assumed his dad was one of the random truckers his mom had pretended Shane didn’t know about. And he’d closed out his apartment when he’d deployed, never dreaming he’d need to have a place to stay before the end of the tour. No, home was the last thing Shane wanted to think about.
Carponti was fine, cracking darkly inappropriate jokes as always. Suddenly that was the most important thing in the world to him. Why was he freaking out if Carponti wasn’t?
“I have no idea. Who else got hit?” Who else had he let down when he’d been taken out of the fight?
“Adkins broke his arm in like four places, but he pissed and moaned so much the docs let him stay. He’s riding the rest of the rotation out in the orderly room, but he’s happy because he’s still with the boys.”
Shane’s smile slipped more firmly into place. The knot around his heart loosened. Just a little. It was so good to hear Carponti’s voice. To hear about his men.
“How’s Captain Davila doing over there?”
Carponti’s jaw slowed on the gum and his gaze went a thousand miles away to the Iraqi desert. “He’s holding up, I guess. There were rumors flying around that someone in our battalion had killed some Iraqi civilians. Bad shit, any way you shake it.” And he flipped the switch, and was instantly back to his chipper self,
chomping away at the gum. “But you’re back here sitting around staying stoned and getting fat, so what do you have to worry about?”
Brett Michaels wailed about wanting nothin’ but a good time from Carponti’s phone. Carponti glanced at it, then dropped it back into his pocket. “Hey, man, gotta run. Wife’s downstairs. Have you started physical therapy yet?”
“No. Not till this thing comes off.” Shane lifted his casted arm a few inches off the bed. The itch was getting worse.
“Oh, yeah, well. Anyway, I’m going to be in here every day at nine. So anyway, I’ll see you around, okay? Hurry up and get back to work, will ya?”
He swung open the door and Shane heard a loud, “Oh, hey, Jen.”
Jen came walking back in, wheeling a portable blood pressure machine. She barely glanced in his direction, her movements quick and efficient. Shane cleared his throat, trying to tamp down on the emotion churning inside of him. Still, his words came out more gruff than he intended. “How the hell did Carponti know I was here?”
Jen wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his arm, waiting as it inflated. “I figured if anyone could annoy you enough to get moving, it would be Vic.”
Shane stared at her, blinking slowly, unable to hide his surprise. He searched her face, stunned to silence. She’d rounded up the one soldier who could be counted on to be a pain in Shane’s ass. It was something Shane would have done to get his guys motivated.
“You did that?”
“Yeah.” She smiled faintly and finally met his gaze. The uncertainty he saw there shamed him. “I thought having Vic around might help.”
She finished taking her notes, then headed from the room before Shane could find the words he needed.
The words to thank her.
Chapter 8
Shane was being quiet. Too quiet. She didn’t think his silence could be explained by the recent infection in his abdominal wound, even though the infection and subsequent antibiotic treatment had drained him, physically and mentally. He was still getting fluids pushed through the IV that should have been stinted days ago.
Because of You: A Loveswept Contemporary Military Romance Page 9
