by M. S. Parker
“Seventy-two-hour leave, Philly.” Zed slapped me on the shoulder, then made a face at the sweat on his hand. “Damn, X. You seriously need to take a shower or we're never gonna get you laid.”
I rolled my eyes. “You don't want me to get laid, Zed. You just want me to be your wingman so you can get laid.”
He shrugged as his grin widened. I'd been told I was good looking. Decent features. Azure eyes. Chicks usually dug the tattoos too.
But Zed was one of those model-types who turned heads everywhere he went, no matter who he was with. I didn't mind. I was fine with my soldiers looking to me for direction, but outside of the army, I didn't like eyes on me. Yet another product of my upbringing. Besides, the wingman got laid most of the time too.
“Are you guys going out?” Woodley looked from Zed to me. The eagerness on his face was clear.
“How old are you, kid?” I asked with a sideways glance at Zed.
“Nineteen, sir,” he answered.
“You know I can't condone under-age drinking.”
The kid's face fell. Then Zed leaned over and said something in Woodley's ear that brought the smile back. The expression on Zed's face told me that I didn't want to know what it was. There was a reason Zed wasn't usually put in charge. He was a good guy, fierce as hell and loyal to a fault. He was the sort of guy who'd always have his buddy's back.
But he never took shit seriously.
Case in point...
“Come on, X, we gotta get you in a shower.” Zed punched my shoulder. “Our leave started the minute you finished that exercise and I don't want to waste any of it.”
I rolled my eyes again, but didn't argue as we started to walk away. I wasn't quite as demonstrative in my enthusiasm, but Zed was right about two things. One, I stunk. Two, I didn't want to waste any time either.
I just didn't think it was for the same reason. Unlike most of my buddies, I rarely looked forward to leave.
“First thing I'm going to do when I get home is eat some fucking real food.”
One of the soldiers behind me was talking with a couple others. His accent told me he was from around here.
“Mom's meatloaf with mashed potatoes. Homemade gravy. Grandmama's collard greens.”
I was guessing Grandmama was from down south. For a moment, I wondered if any of my grandparents were from the south. I'd never met any of them, and my parents sure as hell hadn't talked about them. I didn't even know if any of them were alive or dead. Odds said that at least one probably was still alive, but I'd always figured that if they hadn't found me by now, I doubted I really wanted to know them.
“Hey, Sarge, you got a home-cooked meal waiting for you?” the soldier called up to me.
“Naw, Philly here's an East Coast boy.” Zed tried to rub the top of my head, but I swatted his hand away. “We're going to spend our time getting shit-faced.”
“Speak for yourself,” I said. “I'll take one night out drinking, but I'm not going to spend Tuesday morning puking my guts out and wishing myself dead.”
Zed shrugged. “Your loss.”
“Do you have a girl in the area, Sergeant?” Another of the soldiers asked. “You don't talk much about life outside. Family back home. A girl.” He grinned. “Or a guy. You know, since that's no longer an issue.”
“That's it.” Zed threw his arm around my neck and planted a loud kiss on my cheek. “You've found us out. Xavier Hammond and I are lovers.”
“Shut up, you ass.” I shoved him away from me, hard enough to make him nearly stumble.
I couldn't help but join in as we all laughed. By nature – and by nurture – I was usually a serious guy, but if anyone could make me laugh, it was Zed.
“Come to think of it, sir,” the local boy said. “I've never seen you with a woman.”
“He's got you there,” Zed said as he fell in step beside me again.
“Just because I don't brag doesn't mean I don't get any,” I retorted. “Zed, on the other hand, shoots off his mouth so much that I'm starting to think he's all talk and nothing else.”
“You're just jealous that you always get the ugly friend,” he said with a grin.
“How come you're not going home?” The soldier turned his question to Zed. “Aren't you from somewhere around here?”
“New Mexico,” he answered easily. “But who else would keep Sarge here company if I took off. Besides.” He flashed that infuriating smile. “My mom doesn't cook so good.”
The guys laughed again, but the local boy's attention was on me again.
“What about your family, Sarge? Seventy-two hours could be enough time to fly out to Philly and back again.”
I saw Zed out of the corner of my eye, shaking his head at the soldier. I didn't mind answering though. It wasn't like it was some secret or anything. I just didn't talk about myself or my past. Zed only knew because we'd been friends for a while.
I kept the answer simple, my eyes straight ahead. I had no problem with the truth, but that didn't mean I liked what I had to say. “I don't have any family.”
Chapter Two
Nori
I splashed some water on my face, then looked in the mirror. I'd pulled my nutmeg-brown hair into a ponytail before I'd left my little San Antonio one-bedroom apartment, but that had been twelve hours ago.
Twelve hours in RN hours, to be specific.
That equaled a hell of a lot more than real-life hours.
Hence the reason I needed to fix my hair again. After all, I had another four hours to go. Sixteen-hour shifts weren't overly common at the San Antonio Military Medical Center, but my friend Claire's son had some sort of sporting event last night she'd wanted to go to, and I'd offered to cover her shift. It wasn't like I had a husband and kids to worry about.
My boyfriend, Tanner, had an understanding when it came to each other's time and space. We'd been together since my senior year of college and still didn't live together. We had keys to each other's places, but generally called to let the other know we were coming. Even if we left clothes in one place or the other, it was clear that, no matter how comfortable we felt, the apartment was mine, the townhouse was his. And we both liked it that way.
Tanner Boswell was the sort of boyfriend any woman would've loved. Dark brown hair, bright green eyes. Tall, athletic. He was charming, gorgeous. Rich.
I still sometimes had a hard time believing he'd picked me over all the other women he could've had. I was pretty enough, I supposed. Heart-shaped face, teal eyes, nice curves. But a man like Tanner wasn't only interested in looks. He was the sort of man who liked a particular type of woman, and when he'd met me four years ago, he'd shown me that I was that kind of woman. I supposed it didn't hurt that I wasn't after his money and wasn't pressuring him to marry me.
And he was amazing. Generous. Strong. Supportive of my career, but still the sort of man who wanted to protect what was his. He never made me feel like being an RN was somehow inferior, like I should've gone further in school, tried to be a doctor. While I knew my parents were proud of me, there were times they acted as if becoming a nurse was just one stop on the path to becoming a doctor. Tanner knew I loved what I did, and he never acted like it wasn't enough.
It wasn't easy, especially working the burn unit. The people here were in a lot of pain, and the wounds were ugly. Debriding, cleaning, changing bandages...all of it was unpleasant at the very best, and it was rarely at the best. Then there was the psychological component. These injuries were often disfiguring, debilitating. I'd minored in psychology, so I tried to help as much as I could. That was the whole reason I'd gone into the medical field.
To help people.
Like I hadn't been able to help...
I pushed the thought away before it could finish. It was never good to start down that path, especially not at work. I needed to be on my game. The slightest mistake could cost someone their life. Pneumonia, infection, lung failure, sepsis – all of them could be minor complications with fairly easy treatments. Unless they wer
en't caught early enough.
I took a slow breath and then let it out even slower. When I was done, I intended to go home and sleep for ten hours, but right now, I was going to get another cup of coffee, then head to see my least favorite patient.
I tried not to think of my patients that way, as best and worst, favorite and least favorite, but it was hard sometimes.
I understood people being angry about what happened to them. I understood depression. Hell, I even understood taking all of that, plus the pain they were in, and taking it all out on someone else, even people who were trying to help them.
I didn't get people who were simply mean.
Leta Coffee was forty-two years old and one of the meanest people I'd ever met. She'd been in my ward for the past three weeks, and she'd been a pain in my ass every single minute of it.
Of all my patients, she wasn't the best off physically, but she was far from the worst. The second wife of a retired general, she expected us to defer to her every wish, and even went so far as to bark out orders regarding her treatment. When she didn't get her way, she cursed at us, pouted, and generally behaved like a spoiled toddler.
Her burn was deep and painful, and it'd leave a nasty scar, but it was on her upper thigh, near her hip, and could easily be covered most of the time. She, however, acted like what happened was something everyone would stare at every time she walked into a room. Like she could compare it to all the soldiers I'd seen over the past few years. The ones coming in with limbs burnt off, their faces unrecognizable.
The thing that bothered me the most was, it was her own fault. The burn had been the result of Leta passing out drunk while smoking a cigarette and drinking a cocktail. The alcohol had spilled on her clothes and the flammable material caught quickly. I actually thought she was lucky she hadn't been hurt more.
I pushed my personal feelings aside as I reached the door to her room. I had to be professional, and that meant I couldn't let my opinions regarding the patient influence my care. I put as genuine a smile on my face as I could manage before heading inside.
“You have my meds?” Leta snapped as soon as I stepped over the threshold. “I've been buzzing this fucking button for ten fucking minutes.”
A part of me wondered if she spoke like this at any of the functions her husband attended, or if this side of her personality was reserved solely for people like me. I'd met her husband a couple times, but hadn't been able to get a clear image of him. He smiled, was polite enough, but I always felt like he was playing to a crowd.
“Let me check your chart,” I said. I was pretty sure I knew the answer, but it never hurt to be certain. Leta continued to curse about the incompetence of her care here while I confirmed what I'd already known. “No, Mrs. Coffee, you still have four hours before you can get another dose.”
“Fuck you,” she muttered. “It hurts now.”
I didn't bother telling her that she should have started the process of being weaned off her meds three days ago, but her husband's influence kept her doctor pushing the limit. None of us were particularly fond of Dr. Maine, but this made us like him even less. He was a new guy, just hired a few months ago, but his attitude was shit.
I let Leta's words wash over me as I did my thing, making my notes. When she'd first come in, I tried to start conversations, tried to draw her away from the pain and toward things she loved. That was what I tried to do with all of my patients. Take their minds away from the pain, remind them what they had to live for.
She hadn't wanted to hear it. All she wanted to do was focus on everything that was wrong, everything she was missing. She was a truly unpleasant woman.
“Someone will be by a bit later,” I said. I'd interrupted her, and she gave me a dirty look, but I knew that if I'd waited for a break in her tirade before speaking, I'd never leave.
Usually, I'd tell someone to press the call button if they needed anything, but I didn't with her. Leta already knew how to use the call button, and she had no problem considering everything an emergency. As much as we tried to keep ourselves professional, there were times that woman earned herself a few choice nicknames.
I walked out before she could start again. The next room brought a true smile to my face. I wasn't supposed to play favorites, but if I had to choose one, it would've been Ivar Durward.
Twenty-two, with jet-black curls and startling cornflower blue eyes, his coloring was his best feature. He was only a few inches taller than me, overweight, and had an unfortunate combination of features that made him look perpetually surprised. He was a comic book nerd, a self-proclaimed techie geek, but didn't have any of the stereotypical awkwardness that one would've associated with a guy like him. He loved to talk to all of us.
The one thing he didn't talk about, however, was which part of the military he was involved with. Not that any of us asked. All of us knew what we needed to know about our patients. If they didn't volunteer extra information, we didn't ask. We respected what each and every one of these men and women did, no matter where or how they played their role.
Ivar's personality just made it easier than some.
“Hey, if it isn't my favorite nurse.” He grinned at me, or at least as much of a grin as he could manage with the amount of scar tissue he had on his face. “Miss Nori Prinz, when are you going to give all this up and marry me?”
I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help but return the smile. “Why would I want to give up this?” I asked as I reached for his chart. “I'm sure you don't have anything even half as exciting as what I get to do here.”
“I don't know,” he teased, his eyes sparkling. “If you like bedpans that much, I'm sure I could buy some.”
I chuckled and moved up to the front of the bed to check his dressings. The burn on his face had been less severe than the ones on his arm and hand, so they were uncovered now. His hand and arm, however, were still swathed in gauze and needed new applications of the antiseptic constantly.
I tried to be as gentle as possible, but cleaning something this badly injured was never a pleasant process. Ivar tried to keep things light, joking and talking about this or that. I knew it was his way of keeping his mind off the pain, so I just nodded confirmation that I was listening, and kept my eyes on the work.
I wished I didn't have to look at it. I'd seen a lot of burns, but the ones on his arm and hand were the worst. It'd been acid of some kind rather than fire, though I knew that only from the burns themselves. It looked like someone had thrown it at him and he'd raised his hand to protect his face. The acid had eaten away most of the skin and muscle on the back of his hand and forearm, leaving it nearly bare to the bone. He'd already had two skin grafts, but if things didn't start looking better soon, I was worried they’d have to take his hand, maybe his arm all the way to the elbow.
“Almost done,” I said quietly. My eyes flicked to Ivar's face. He was pale, and I could see the sheen of sweat on his skin. “Just a little bit longer.”
“Do you think I'll ever be able to use my hand again?” Ivar asked suddenly, his expression strangely serious. “The doctors just keep telling me to wait and see.”
“I don't know,” I answered honestly. “All I can tell you is to make sure you do everything they tell you to do. Listen to your physical therapist, do your exercises, but don't overdo it.”
“One of the doctors mentioned that I should look into getting some help around the house,” he said. “Since I'm right-handed and all.”
“That might not be a bad idea,” I agreed as I fastened the last of the bandages in place before stripping off my gloves. “I can't tell you how much use you'll get back, but I can tell you it'll be a long process.”
“Thanks, Nori.” He reached over and touched my arm. “It means a lot to me that you were honest and didn't try to sugarcoat it.”
I gave him a smile that was sadder than the one I'd given him before. “I wish I could say that you'll be all okay and good as new in a few weeks, but you're a tough guy, Ivar. You'll get through it.”
<
br /> “You know,” he said. “You're right.” He tried to give me the kind of smile that he always did, but not all of the sparkle reached his eyes. “Maybe you should be the person to come help me.”
I shook my head and smiled. “I'm a nurse, Ivar. You need an assistant.”
“I have one of those,” he said. “And a gardener and a housekeeper. But you know what I don't have? A nurse.”
“You're impossible.” I laughed. “I'm not in the private sector.”
“You should be,” he said. “It'd pay a hell of a lot more than you make here. Especially if you got some higher end clients. And with the references your former patients would give, I don't think that'd be a problem.”
“I don't know about that,” I said. “I'm nothing special. All of the nurses here are excellent at their job.”
He caught my hand with his good one. “I'm serious, Nori. I don't know how I would've gotten through any of this without you.”
His fingers tightened around mine, but I knew he wasn't hitting on me. There was nothing sexual about his touch.
“If you ever decide that you want to work independently, come to me. I'll get you in touch with the right people.”
“Thanks, Ivar.” I smiled as he released my hand. “I'll keep that in mind.”
As I left his room to continue on my rounds, I pushed his offer aside. It wasn't going to happen. I loved working at the hospital, despite the occasional Leta Coffee. I'd come here because I wanted to make a difference, specifically to the military men and women who found themselves here. It was my way of serving.
I'd have to have a hell of a reason to leave it for the private sector.
Chapter Three
Xavier
It had taken Zed all of two minutes to scope out our prospects for the night. We'd gotten a bit of a later start than Zed wanted, but I'd told him it was his fault. I'd been happy with the jeans and t-shirt combination I'd picked, but Zed had vetoed it. He'd eventually come up with a black t-shirt that I'd been meaning to throw away because it'd shrunk an entire size. Zed had insisted it was fashionably tight. I'd worn it more to shut him up than anything else. At least he'd let me keep the jeans.
