The Army Doc's Secret Wife

by Charlotte Hawkes

  ‘Ben...?’ she whispered, almost expectantly.

  Was she waiting for him to say something? For a split second he wished he was good with words—wished he could tell her how he felt right now. Instead he froze, and reality hit him.

  This was exactly why he’d needed to stay away from her. He would always be shutting her out, and she would always be fighting for him to let her in. He would never be able to give her what she needed. He was useless.

  It was only when he raised himself up to look at her that he saw the tears spilling from her eyes. Horrified, he slipped out of her, rolling onto his side to pull her into his arms.

  Thea resisted.

  This was what he’d been afraid of.

  ‘This was one of the three most horrific days of my life...’ She stumbled over her words.

  ‘I know.’ What more could he say?

  ‘I just thought it would make it better. Us. Together. Just this once.’

  ‘And it didn’t?’ He felt sick. Of course it hadn’t. Hadn’t he told himself this would happen?

  She shook her head, the tears coming faster now.

  ‘If anything, it’s made it worse.’

  Moving quickly off her bed, he searched for his boxers. Found them. Slid them on as quickly as he could.

  He had known she wasn’t thinking straight. But he should have known better—saved her from herself. Instead he had taken shameless advantage of her. All because his own lust for her had let him believe her when she’d said it was what she wanted.

  His brain searched for something to say—anything which would express how very sorry he was. Nothing came. How could it?

  The past—their past—his emotional distance...it was all bound to catch up with them sooner or later. Perhaps it was best that it was sooner. Before anything more happened between them. He needed to get away—put some space between them before he hurt her any more than he already had.

  ‘You’re leaving?’ she asked flatly.

  ‘I think it’s for the best.’ So why did the words stick in his throat?

  ‘What now?’ Her sad, wary eyes sought his.

  He hesitated by the door. ‘My compassionate leave is almost over. I’ll be shipping out soon anyway.’

  ‘So we go back to the original marriage agreement?’ she asked urgently, as if seeking that security at the very least.

  He wanted to say no, to tell her that he couldn’t go back to anything after what had just happened between them. He wanted to tell her that he wanted more from her, from their marriage. But what had happened between them had only cemented his fear that she was already under his skin and he’d never want to let her go. He owed her more than that. He was no more able to be the kind of man she needed now than he had been six weeks ago. On top of which, his guilt at not being someone she could trust weighed heavily on him. Until he was able to make amends for that he could never ask more of her. So he owed her what he’d originally promised.

  ‘Yes,’ he confirmed at length. ‘We go back to the original deal.’

  She nodded once—a sad bob of her head.

  Before he could say anything more—wreck things any further—Ben yanked the door open and escaped into the hallway. Forget a few more days. There was no way he could stay in this house with Thea for even one more night. He needed to get out of here. Now.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Present day

  BEN WATCHED THE interns shuffle out of his side room. The habitual idolising smiles they gave whenever they saw him set Ben’s teeth on edge.

  ‘They annoy you, don’t they?’ Thea asked, suddenly appearing at his door.

  He ruthlessly ignored the kick of pleasure at her presence. She shouldn’t have to be here. He wasn’t her problem.

  ‘They treat me like some kind of...’

  ‘Hero?’ Thea smiled.

  ‘I’m not a hero.’ Ben ground out the words.

  ‘Two weeks ago you were caught by two IEDs. The first one severed your left arm, yet you still managed to drag your men to safety before getting caught by a second IED. Geez, Ben, you were pinned under a Land Rover with a suspected crushed spine—it could have left you in a wheelchair for the rest of your life.’

  ‘It could have but it didn’t,’ Ben growled. ‘They couldn’t tell because of the swelling so they suspected the worst. They were wrong,’ Ben refuted flatly. ‘It turned out I’m fine. I just need to get out of here.’

  ‘You’re hardly fine,’ Thea scoffed. ‘You still suffered contusions of the spinal cord. You were lucky not to sever it. Not to mention you’ve dislocated and shattered a whole raft of vertebrae which have had to be pinned and bolted. Oh, and did I mention the replantation of your arm?’

  ‘Really?’ Ben arched an eyebrow at her. ‘I hadn’t noticed—other than the fact that my left arm is now two centimetres shorter than my right arm.’

  If he’d thought to intimidate her then he’d thought wrong. If anything, she looked almost amused.

  ‘Then you’re damned lucky. I saw a girl last year whose right arm was not only severed, but crushed. By the time they cut away the damaged tissue and bone her arm ended up twelve centimetres shorter than the other. This year she underwent bone-lengthening surgery and she’ll be over the moon if she reduces that to a two-centimetre difference. And did I say that she’s right-handed, like you, but unlike you she’s now had to learn to be left-handed?’

  ‘Then, like I said before,’ he pointed out, ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘You’re lucky, Ben, but you’re not fine. And pretending you are is only making you push yourself far, far harder than anyone else is comfortable with.’

  Before he could respond Thea advanced into the room, ticking off her fingers as she counted the days.

  ‘Let me break this down for you, Ben. Days one, two and three you were operated on, flown here, and put into traction until the swelling could go down and they could better assess the damage to your spine. That happened on day six. By day seven they were able to operate. By day eight you already had sensation in your lower limbs and were able to move your left big toe on command. Day nine your left toes and your right big toe. By day ten you could move both feet. By day eleven you could lift your left leg above the bed, and day twelve your right leg—’

  ‘Is there any point to this?’ Ben interrupted.

  He shifted irritably in the wingback chair. He hated being in this thing almost as much as he hated being in the damned wheelchair. The sooner Thea left, the better.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, unflustered. ‘It’s now day eighteen. By rights you should be up and about in a wheelchair, and you might be able to take a few steps around your room with the aid of a frame. Instead of which you’re pushing yourself around in gruelling laps of the hospital like you think you’re some kind of superhero.’

  ‘I do not think I’m some kind of superhero.’

  ‘Really? Then let me check your chart.’

  She was right about one thing, though. He was desperate to get out of the room, away from Thea, and push his broken body to try another circuit of the floor. Even the pain was a welcome distraction from the nightmares which haunted his darkest thoughts. Nightmares of explosions and of IEDs, of flying debris and vehicles. The old nightmares too, of Daniel screaming out to him. And now, this last fortnight, inexplicable new nightmares—of Thea, looking on as he lay helpless and weak. In his nightmares he could never work out whether her expression was one of satisfaction or sympathy. Vindication that he’d finally got his comeuppance? Or pity?

  No, the pain was good—it meant that he was alive.

  So he forced himself to stay still, trapped as he was in the too-soft seat, and tried to the let Thea’s words wash over him. He studiously averted his gaze from the detestable hospital bed—in which he tried to spend the very least time he poss
ibly could—and attempted to conceal his frustration.

  ‘Aha, nothing to indicate a problem on your read-outs. However...’ She glanced up at him before reading the notes. ‘“Visual assessment suggests breathing seems shallow, cheeks flushed and feverish—query possibility of infection.”’

  ‘It’s wrong,’ Ben dismissed it.

  ‘Of course it is,’ Thea snapped. ‘Since you know, and I know, and fortunately even Dr Fields knows enough to note that any potentially concerning visual indicators are nothing more than a result of the fact that you got up at around five a.m., and then spent the last couple of hours pushing beyond your body’s limits in completing circuits of the hospital before hobbling here—probably in considerable pain—to beat Dr Fields and his interns back on to the ward before they started their rounds.’

  ‘It’s called recovery.’ He gritted his teeth. ‘I need to push my body to help it heal.’

  ‘You need to rest!’ Thea cried out. ‘Ben, in all seriousness, you have done incredibly well—in no small part due to your grit and determination. It usually takes five weeks to get where you are now, and you’ve done it in under three. But you need to take things easy.’

  ‘The sooner I recover, the sooner I can get out of here.’

  ‘Ben, you have to know that’s not going to happen. Not whilst you still refuse to come home with me. You need someone to take care of you during your recuperation.’

  ‘I don’t need anyone,’ Ben snarled. ‘Least of all you.’

  He didn’t want to hurt her, but it was the only way he could think of to chase her away. She shouldn’t be here—he wasn’t her responsibility. Not when he’d treated her the way he had. But, really, what choice had he had?

  There’s always a choice. The thought crept into his head before he could stop it. You just made the wrong one.

  ‘That’s why I need to push my body. Recover. Then I won’t need to be discharged into anyone’s care,’ he spat out.

  ‘That isn’t going to happen, Major.’ Dr Fields strode into the room, one of his interns by his side.

  Dammit, that blasted smile of adulation again.

  ‘Ben, this isn’t just about your physical recovery. Even if your rehabilitation continues on this fast track you’ve put yourself on—and I highly doubt that it will, since I think you’re pushing yourself far too hard and will end up doing your body more harm than good—I would still need to know you had someone to stay with during the last part of your recuperation. Someone to support you, talk to you, observe you and make sure they’re on hand if there happen to be any unforeseen complications.’

  ‘If you’re talking PTSD, Doc, just come out and say it.’ Ben shook his head. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘You might not want to admit it...’ the doctor spoke gently ‘...but the nightmares which wake you in the night, have you screaming out in a cold sweat, are a symptom of PTSD. It’s still relatively mild at this stage, and only natural after all you’ve been through, but the longer you refuse to deal with it, the worse it will get.’

  ‘There are men out there who have suffered a lot worse than me,’ Ben growled, not wanting to be having this conversation. ‘Buddies of mine who lost limbs or didn’t even make it. I’m already back on my feet. I’ve nothing to complain about.’

  ‘Which is the problem.’ Dr Fields sighed. ‘Still, we’ll save that for another day.’

  No, they wouldn’t. Ben gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. He was fine, even if he didn’t deserve to be. But he needed to get out of here.

  His eyes slid to Thea. For all her bravado now, he could still remember her standing by his bedside in those first few days, her face white with fear and concern for a man she hadn’t seen in five years. He clenched his fists; she’d been dragged into this out of some misplaced sense of obligation but it had nothing to do with her. There was no way he was about to let her take responsibility for his care. Her unfailing loyalty was her downfall.

  He could only imagine how much she must have resented being summoned here. How much she must hate him—dragging her into a marriage in order to fulfil his own need to honour his promise to her brother. Only to give in to his baser desires, his long-standing attraction to her. So what if they had both shared the attraction at one time? He’d had no right—it hadn’t been part of the plan. And, anyway, what kind of man bedded his dead best friend’s grief-stricken sister?

  ‘Ultimately, Ben, your body still has a lot of healing to do, and I am concerned that you’re driving yourself too hard. You need to back up a little, or you risk doing permanent damage.’

  ‘I hear you, Doc.’ Ben nodded flatly. No chance. He was out of here as soon as they all left him alone.

  Dr Fields turned away from Ben to the intern. ‘Dr Thompson—since Major Abrams isn’t feeling compliant, I suggest you run those tests after all. Time-consuming, yet non-costly,’ he added pointedly. ‘I may not be able to stop Major Abrams from destroying the body I worked so hard to repair, but I can slow him down. At least for a few hours.’

  ‘Really, Doc? Pointless tests?’ challenged Ben.

  ‘They aren’t pointless if they stop you from hauling your butt out of here the minute we walk out the door for another set of exhausting laps. Now, Dr Abrams—’ Ben started, and then realised that Dr Fields was addressing Thea. ‘Have you got a moment?’

  Ben resisted the uncharacteristic compulsion to get up and throw the chair out of the window. For a start, he doubted he’d have the strength. And secondly he never let his temper get the better of him. He never let any emotion get the better of him—hadn’t his father always drilled into him the need to keep a tight, unrelenting control over all his emotions as all times? He’d be ashamed of Ben if he knew how his son had used Thea five years ago. Not that his father had ever been proud of him—even when he’d followed in the Colonel’s footsteps into the army.

  Ben shut down the familiar sense of failure, but it had already got a grip, and as the intern began his nonsensical tests Ben couldn’t deny that part of him was grateful for the excuse to take a break—if only for an hour of rest. It was probably the same part of him which was finding it so damned painful to put one foot in front of the other as he shuffled along at such an interminably slow pace.

  Weakness, he thought with disgust, and his father’s words echoed in his ears. Weakness has no place here.

  * * *

  Ben grunted with effort as he executed a one-armed pull-up out of the wingback chair and into the wheelchair which would allow him off the ward without attracting attention. Ever since Thea had visited yesterday that intern had held him hostage, running unnecessary test after test. He hadn’t managed to get out once, and it had left him feeling irritable.

  Yet he couldn’t deny that his body felt stronger than ever after a full twenty hours of rest. Maybe today was the day to push himself to walk outside in the fresh air. Once he was outside, in the quieter areas of the hospital grounds, he could discard the unwanted lump of metal and force his body not to be so weak. Dr Fields was wrong. He needed to push harder, not less.

  He propelled the wheelchair along strongly with his good arm, only stopping once he’d reached the peaceful gardens outside and found a quiet spot. With a deep breath he pulled himself to an unassisted standing position. So much for a walk. He didn’t think he could even take a step. Thank goodness no one could see him like this—weak as a kitten and utterly tragic.

  ‘So now you’re trying to kill yourself trying to walk around outside the hospital, without even a wall to lean on?’

  His head jerked up. It was an effort to stay upright, but he’d be damned if he fell over in front of her. In front of anyone.

  He lashed out before he could stop himself. ‘What the hell are you doing here? Are you following me?’

  Thea blanched visibly at his hostility and he immediately felt ashamed of himse
lf. Yesterday she’d been so strong, so unintimidated, he had forgotten how easily undermined she could be. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her, yet he had to stay resolute. Thea was only here because the Army had contacted her as his next of kin—as his wife.

  His wife. The words echoed around Ben’s head, taunting him.

  For five years there had been no contact between them, and these sure as hell weren’t the circumstances in which Ben would ever have chosen to have her back in his life. When he was helpless and unable to provide for her...to protect her. A wave of self-loathing washed over him. He wasn’t even a proper man any more. Just a shell of a man who couldn’t walk without leaning heavily on a wall, a rail, a walking frame.

  Pathetic, he thought scornfully.

  He needed Thea to leave. Now. And surely she wanted to leave, deep down? She couldn’t want to be with him now. No one could. He had to convince Thea that her duty was done, that he was fine and that he didn’t need her. Then she could leave, get on with her life.

  He steeled himself. ‘Hell, Thea, can’t you see that I don’t want you here?’

  ‘I don’t understand what I’ve done to make you hate me so much.’

  As fast as the anger had arrived, it disappeared. Hate her? What on earth made her think that? If anything, it should be the other way around.

  Suddenly he felt exhausted. He didn’t want to fight with her any more. He just wanted her to feel free to go back to her own life whilst he concentrated on his recovery.

  ‘I’ve never hated you.’ Ben spoke quietly. ‘But our marriage was never meant to be anything more than on paper. You shouldn’t be here now—this isn’t your responsibility. I was just trying to make you see that.’