Damage Assessment: A Career Soldier Military Romance

by Tawdra Kandle

I didn’t move as he strode back into the living room. I heard his voice, low and intense, talking to the others. Jake protested, and Shaw said something sharp, but eventually, they all shuffled out until I finally heard the sound of my front door slamming shut behind them.

  Once they were gone, though, the contrary part of me was hurt that they’d left me. But I knew I was better off alone. I wasn’t good for anyone, not anymore. And the sooner my friends accepted that I was never going to be the same old Derek McTavis they used to know, the easier it would be for all of us.

  Hell, I didn’t know if that Derek existed anymore. Even if he did, I wasn’t sure I could find him. I was beginning to accept that he’d disappeared while dangling on a rope from a helicopter over the green fields of Kentucky.

  Chapter One

  Tasha

  “Yoo hoo! Good morning! Are you up, sweetheart?”

  From inside my bathroom, where I stood in front of the mirror finishing my makeup, I closed my eyes and sighed. This was the last straw. She was going to have to give up the key to my house. This time, I was going to insist.

  “I’m in here, Mom. In the bathroom.” I leaned out into the short hallway, my mascara wand still in my hand. “I’m on my way to work though, and I’m running late. What are you doing here?” I knew it sounded a little harsh, but sometimes that was the only language my mother understood.

  “Oh, I was just passing by and thought I’d stop in and see how you are this morning.” She rounded the corner, her blinding smile in place, even though it didn’t completely disguise the worry in her eyes.

  I returned to the mirror and finished coating my lashes, staying silent as I did. Once I’d screwed the tube closed and dropped the mascara into my makeup tray, I stepped out of the bathroom, clicking off the light, and leaned against the doorjamb.

  “Mom, we’ve talked about this. You can’t just drop over whenever you want.” I struggled to organize my thoughts so that I could say what I needed my mother to understand. In the back of my head, my therapist’s voice was a calm reminder.

  Communicate your needs in a way that is clear without being hurtful.

  “I need you to respect my privacy, and when you not only stop by without calling ahead, but also use your key to come in without asking me first, it makes me feel as though you’re not doing that. You’re not respecting my privacy.”

  Her face fell, that smooth forehead crinkling in a frown. “Tasha, that’s not true. I do respect your privacy. I just worry—”

  I knew that was coming, and it was all I could do to keep from rolling my eyes like I did when I was fifteen. Those words—I just worry—were the chorus and stanza to the background music for my growing up years.

  We want you to be happy, Tasha, but we just worry about those friends.

  We want you to be who you are, Tasha, but we just worry you’re making some bad choices.

  He seems like a nice boy, Tasha, but we just worry that you’re moving too fast.

  Again, I pulled out some ammunition from the arsenal that Amy, my therapist, had given me. “I know, Mom. And I appreciate that, and I know it’s because you love me. But I’m not a teenager anymore, and I have to make my own decisions and mistakes, even if they’re not what you and Daddy might want for me.” I paused, letting that settle in before I went on, carefully following the route Amy and I had planned for this sort of occasion.

  Remind her of their agreements with you and what you’ve discussed previously. But do it in a calm, loving way.

  “Remember when I decided to move here, to live near you and Daddy, you agreed that you’d give me the space I need? You and Daddy promised that you’d let me—” No, that was wrong. They didn’t ‘let’ me do anything, because I was an adult. “That you’d understand that we all have boundaries, and you’d respect mine.”

  My mother brushed her silky blonde hair, so different from my own short red curls, out of her face, tucking the strands behind one ear. “I absolutely do, honey. It’s not like I’m here all the time.”

  “Mom.” I cocked my head and fastened her with a pseudo-patient stare. “Come on. If you’re not stopping by, you’re calling me three times a day. I’m twenty-six years old. That’s excessive. It would be too much even if I were only twenty-one.” I gave a long and heavy sigh and held out one hand, palm up. “I need you to give me your key.”

  The look of horror on her face was almost comical, as though I’d asked her to cut out a kidney and hand it over. “What? No, Tasha. Come on. You’re being . . .” She trailed off, and I suspected it was because she’d considered what she was going to say and realized it was too much. My mom was normally a reasonable woman. The only exception was when it came to me.

  “If I can’t trust that you’re not going to keep letting yourself in, I have to take it.” I was standing firm on this. It was past time.

  “But what if you need me to do something here while you’re at work? Or what if you go away, and you need me to . . .” Her eyes darted around. “Water your plants?”

  I laughed. “I don’t have any plants or pets, and you know it. If I did, I’d give you a key on a temporary basis. And I don’t have any plans to travel just now, either.” I wiggled my fingers. “Come on, now. Don’t make me call Daddy. You know he’ll be on my side.”

  With an exaggerated exhale, she dug the key out of her jacket pocket and smacked it into my hand. “Fine. But you just remember when you slip in the shower, and you don’t want the firemen to find you naked on the bathroom floor, that if I still had a key, I could come in and cover you up.”

  “Ooooh, are the firemen naked, too?” I waggled my eyebrows.

  “Tasha Marie!” Mom shook her head, but I saw her lips twitch. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “True.” I linked my arm through hers. “Come on. I need to leave for work, so I’ll walk out with you.”

  She cast me a side-eyed glance. “Is this your way of making sure I don’t stay behind and snoop around your apartment? Read your diary? Check your mail and the expiration date on your milk?”

  Again, I chuckled. “Oh, Mama. I do love you.”

  At my use of her favorite of my many names for her, Mom’s expression softened. “I know you do, and I love you, too. You know that, right? I don’t think you’re weak or incompetent or incapable of taking care of yourself. But you’re my daughter. My baby. That’s why I . . . well, as your dad says, I do the crazy when it comes to you. When I think—” Her voice broke off. “When you have kids, you’ll understand.”

  I picked up my purse, my sweater and a worn brown briefcase. “Is this your way of saying you hope I’m cursed with kids just like me?”

  “Not at all.” She shook her head. “You were never a curse, Tasha. You’ve been a blessing to Daddy and me from the minute we knew you were on your way.” She paused as I opened the front door and let her go out ahead of me onto the miniscule front stoop. “But when I think about . . . before . . . and how helpless I felt, something just grips me inside, and I feel like I have to see you. I have to make sure you’re okay now.”

  “And I am.” I hugged her tight. “I really am, Mom. I love my life. And most days, I’m glad that I decided to do my clinical here, even when you show up unexpectedly without calling. I want to believe that you can see me as a responsible, strong adult now.”

  “Of course, I do.” She sighed and closed her eyes for a minute and then stepped back. “Okay. So no more coming by without checking. But I’m afraid I can’t go cold turkey yet on the texting you first thing in the morning and last thing at night. And maybe once or twice in the middle of the day.”

  “And that’s perfectly all right.” It was, because I could handle texts at my convenience. “Just don’t freak out if I don’t respond the minute you hit send. I might be busy or asleep or something.”

  “Understood.” She gave me a mock salute, and this time I did roll my eyes. “Off you go. Oh, by the way, the Crandalls are going to be in town this weekend. We have official dinners on Friday
and Saturday night, but would you like to join us for lunch on Sunday after church?”

  I bit my lip, considering. While there wasn’t any doubt that maintaining my boundaries in a firm yet loving way was very important, I had to be careful that I didn’t go too far in the opposite direction. Inviting me for a weekend lunch was actually normal parental behavior, especially since old friends were going to be visiting. This was a time when I could say yes, knowing I was compromising, not surrendering.

  The fact that the mention of church might have been a not-so-subtle reminder to attend Mass was another story, but then, Rome wasn’t built in a day. Baby steps, I told myself.

  “Sure.” I answered her with a smile. “Need me to bring anything?”

  “Just your pretty face.” She grinned at me over her shoulder. “Have a good day, honey. Talk to you later.”

  “You, too, Mom. Love to Daddy.” I watched her climb into the dark gray sedan and back out of her spot before I opened my own car door and headed to work. I felt good about our conversation; it wasn’t easy for me to stand up to my parents, even after years of counseling, both separately and together. But today, I’d made some headway.

  * * *

  Making the decision to do my clinical here in Petersburg hadn’t been an easy choice. One of the appealing factors had been that the practice where I’d applied and been chosen was a holistic clinic, with a strong emphasis on treating the entire person, not just one physical aspect that was causing pain or distress. My own experience had taught me that nothing happens in a vacuum, particularly within the human body. I loved that here, at the Probert Clinic for Wholeness and Health, I was not only allowed but encouraged to look for solutions that went beyond alleviating one symptom.

  “Hey, Tasha.” Lidia, one of my co-workers and fellow residents stepped out of the massage room, rubbing lotion on her hands as she smiled at me. “Did you just get here?”

  I nodded, scanning the tablet I was holding. “Yeah, and it actually looks like I could’ve taken my time. I thought I had a ten o’clock patient.”

  Lidia frowned. “But you don’t?”

  I set the tablet on the counter that separated the hallway from the reception area. “Technically, I do. But this guy’s a perpetual no-show. I always end up sitting here, twiddling my thumbs, waiting to see if he’ll actually come here.” I shrugged. “I shouldn’t complain. It’s like having a little unexpected break in the middle of the day. Or in this case, at the start.”

  “I wouldn’t get used to it.” Corinne, the head of the PT department here at the clinic, came around the corner in time to hear my last words. “You’re talking about Captain McTavis, right? I had a call from his battalion commander this morning. Her patience with this situation is running out, and if he misses today, the Army is going to begin the process of a medical discharge.”

  “Oh. Huh.” Even though I didn’t know this guy at all, and even though all evidence pointed to the fact that he was avoiding his PT, I felt a pang of regret. I knew what it was like for a soldier to face losing the only career, the only life, he’d ever known. I’d heard my father talk about men and women whose unplanned departures he’d overseen. He had a reputation for giving second and even third chances if he could, but sometimes, discharge was the only option. It always made him sad, though. Growing up as an Army brat, the daughter of first a colonel and then a general, I was well-acquainted with the repercussions of difficult decisions.

  “Colonel Debbings did say she had one more trick up her sleeve, though. Apparently, the company commanders over there are a tight-knit group. She let a few of them know that it’s basically do or die time for McTavis, and she’s hoping that they can persuade him to keep his appointment. So let’s keep our fingers crossed.”

  “I will.” I twisted my mouth, thinking, and tapped the tip of my finger on the counter. “I’ve had plenty of time to go over Captain McTavis’s files and history while I’ve waited for him during all these weeks of missed appointments. The frustrating thing is, he’s in pretty good shape, physically speaking. I know the notes say he continues to complain of chronic pain and the inability to function as he did before the accident, but given everything he’s gone through, his condition now is frankly amazing.”

  “Could he be dealing with some complications from PTSD?’ Lidia tilted her head, her brows drawing together.

  “I doubt it. The incident that caused his injury wasn’t during any danger or conflict. It was just . . . bad luck. The D-clip malfunctioned when he was making his final rappel in Air Assault school. He wasn’t being shot at or dealing with explosions.”

  Corinne shook her head. “You know better than that, Tasha. War isn’t the only setting where post-traumatic stress can develop. Not only that, if I’m not mistaken, didn’t Captain McTavis complete several tours of duty in Afghanistan? If he was already coping with some level of anxiety after that, it’s possible that this event brought it back to the forefront again.”

  “Hmmm.” I hadn’t considered that. “So, we might have to dig a little to find the source of his stress before we can really alleviate the pain.”

  “It’s possible,” my boss agreed. “And trying some alternative remedies isn’t a bad idea, either.”

  “Of course, all of this is a moot point if he won’t show up.” I ran my fingers over my short hair. “You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink . . . but unless someone gets the mule-headed horse here, I can’t even figure out if I’m offering him the right kind of water.”

  “Maybe you should work on your making-him-drink skills.” Corinne’s eyes were focused out the window behind me. “Because unless I’m mistaken, the guy who just got out of that Jeep is Captain McTavis.” She squinted. “There’s another man who’s basically hauling him toward the door, and neither of them look too happy.”

  I turned around to stare outside, too. Corinne was right. A black Jeep idled at the curb in front of the office, and two men were walking up our front sidewalk. One was in the fatigues and boots that I was used to seeing on soldiers. He had his hand wrapped around the arm of the second man, who was in sweatpants, a T-shirt and sneakers. The first thing I noticed was the way he moved. His shoulders were rounded and slumped, in sharp contrast to the posture of his friend. He was definitely favoring his left side, almost dragging that leg.

  But even so, I saw . . . more. I couldn’t miss the way his light gray T-shirt clung to his impossibly broad chest. I couldn’t ignore the way his sweatpants, loose as they were, revealed a really fine ass. And when he turned his head, I caught sight of a pair of full lips, the line of a strong jaw and . . . damn me, was that a dimple in his chin?

  “Wow.” Next to me, Lidia breathed out the single word into several syllables. “Uh, Tash, if you don’t think you can manage him, I’d be happy to take him in my hands. I mean, take him off your hands.”

  “No, I think I got this.” I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

  “Nice professionalism, ladies.” Corinne’s voice was dry. “Let’s remember when we call ourselves holistic providers, caring for the whole body, that doesn’t extend to, uh . . . all areas. And Lidia, I think you might need to wipe your chin, dear. You’re drooling.”

  “Am not. I’m totally a professional.” Still, I noticed that she swiped at her face. “But I’m happy to consult if you need me, Tasha. You might consider some massage therapy.”

  “Sure. I’ll keep that in mind.” Taking a deep breath, I picked up the tablet again and clicked it off before I tucked it under my arm. “I think I’ll go ahead and get the good captain back here right away, before he changes his mind and bolts.”

  “Probably a good idea.” Corinne patted my shoulder. “You’re more than up to this, Tasha. Let me know if you need any back-up, though. I’m around.”

  “Thanks.” I pasted on what I hoped was a warm and professional smile and made my way to the waiting room. Both men were still standing by the check-in window. The one in BDUs was leaning in to speak with our reception
ist, while Captain McTavis was braced against the wall with his arms crossed over that massive chest.

  I stood in the doorway and cleared my throat. “Captain McTavis? You can come right back here.”

  He didn’t move at first. He glanced at me, his eyes narrowed. A tic jumped in his cheek.

  “Derek, bro. Don’t be a dick. Go with the nice . . .” The other soldier’s voice paused as he examined me, and I knew he was trying to decide whether I was a nurse or a doctor. “Uh, the woman who’s calling you back. And if you try to play games, don’t think for one second that I won’t toss you over my shoulder like a piece of meat and carry you there.”

  Captain McTavis’s glare transferred from me to his friend. “Yeah, you fucking try it, Shaw. I’d like to see the day you could lift me up.”

  The older lady sitting a few seats over was watching them with wide eyes, and I stepped forward, hoping to intervene before things got out of hand. Well, more out of hand.

  “Boys.” I kept my tone mild. “Let’s mind our manners, shall we? Captain McTavis, I’m Tasha O’Hare. I’ll be your physical therapist. If you’ll follow me, we can get started right away.” I let my smile get a little bigger. “As I tell my younger patients, the sooner we start, the sooner we’re finished.”

  His upper lip curled. “I’m not a fucking kid, and I don’t appreciate being patronized. I don’t fucking like being treated like I’m a child, and I don’t fucking need you, lady.”

  “If you don’t like being treated like a child, stop acting like one.” I was done. This guy might look like sweet spun sex, but he was pissing me off, sparking my Irish temper. With my hands on my hips, I let it fly. “And I beg to differ. You do, in fact, need me. You need the hell out of me, mister, because I’m the only thing standing between you and a quick boot out of the Army. So march your ass down that hall to the first open door on your left before I direct your much-smarter buddy here to haul you there.”

  For a solid ten seconds, I wasn’t sure what Captain McTavis was going to do. In my deepest heart, I knew there was a good chance he’d obey me, simply because as a soldier, he’d been conditioned to respond to direct orders, especially those delivered with a little extra kick. There was also an equally good chance that he’d turn around and drag his sorry self back to his friend’s Jeep and refuse to ever return to the clinic.