Damage Assessment: A Career Soldier Military Romance

by Tawdra Kandle

  “Thank God.” Derek rolled to his side, pushed up to his knees and rose to his feet. I noted that he did it with considerably more speed and less visible distress than he had a week before. He paused by the edge of the mat and used the hem of his T-shirt to wipe off his face. I couldn’t help staring at the expanse of skin exposed. Despite the way he carried on about being out of shape and weak, there was no pudge or flab on him. I’d touched him there, as I’d guided him through exercises. But seeing him . . .

  I gave my head a little shake. Gah, I had to pull myself together. Getting emotionally involved with a patient was a serious no-no—and then there was the fact that I had no desire to get involved with anyone. I didn’t trust my own ability to judge—not yet. That part of my self-confidence hadn’t recovered from Wes.

  “Are you okay?” Derek was in front of my desk, watching me curiously. “You looked like you were thinking of something that pissed you off.”

  “Really?” I’d been afraid that he was going to say I’d looked sad. This was progress. “Uh, no, sorry. I just had an idea about your homework. Do you have a stability ball?”

  “No, I’m pretty sure I’ve just got regular balls.” When I cast him a reproving glare, he lifted his hands in feigned innocence. “Footballs. Baseballs. Volleyballs. Geez, Tasha, what were you thinking?”

  Ignoring the innuendo, I went on. “You’re doing much better. At this point, our goal is to strengthen your core to take any strain from your back. Using the stability ball will help that, and the nice part is that it doesn’t have to add to your regular exercise regimen. You can sit on it when you’re working at your desk, watching television or even eating.”

  “Okay.” Derek slid his hands into his front pockets. “I can do that.”

  “You should be able to buy one at any sports goods store, or anywhere they carry basic exercise equipment.” I tapped a few buttons on my tablet, noting the additional instructions I’d given him today, and then clicking it off. “Other than that, I’d like you to at least try some of the yard work we discussed earlier. If the lawn is too much, start with weeding or trimming bushes. Don’t overdo, but do push yourself a little.”

  “I’ll give it a shot.” He paused. “You could come by to check up on me, make sure I’m following through. It’s supposed to be a nice weekend to be outside.”

  I gripped the edge of the desk. This was harder than it should have been. It wasn’t unusual for a patient to make overtures to his therapist. We often became close, and frequently, our clients looked at us as the only ones who truly understood what they were going through. In Derek’s case, he was slowly recovering both physically and emotionally, and he was finally beginning to accept the possibility that he could have his life back. As he considered making connections again, it was only natural that he’d turned to the person who was the most convenient—me.

  “Hey. Tasha.” He leaned forward, until I had no choice but to look at him. “I see you over there struggling with the moral and ethical implications of this decision. Don’t. I don’t have a crush on you, and I don’t have ulterior motives here. I just . . .” He trailed off. “I need the accountability. If I know there’s a chance you might stop by, I’ll be more likely to actually do this. If not, I know I’ll come up with ten different reasons I shouldn’t do it.”

  Embarrassment washed over me. What had I been thinking? Of course, Captain Derek McTavis wasn’t making overtures to me, the scrawny little redhead physical therapist. I wasn’t his type at all, and I’d just made a fool of myself by even thinking anything else. He was trying. He was making a real attempt to move forward, and I needed to encourage that.

  “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try.” I put one hand on my hip. “And if I show up, and you’re not working in your yard, I’ll come up with something worse. Got it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He grinned, and I realized this was the first time he’d really smiled, with no sardonic undertones to the expression. He looked years younger. “Should I give you my address?”

  “I can pull it from your file.” I eased my hip onto the edge of my desk. “Now get out of here. I do have other patients, you know.”

  “Yeah.” He began to leave, stopping in the doorway to turn back for a moment. “Thanks, Tasha. I know I’m not easy, but when I’m here, somehow you make me believe I can get back to who I was. I haven’t had that hope for a long time.”

  A lump rose in my throat, but I forced a smile. “That’s my job. And it’s your hard work that’s making the difference.”

  “Still.” He rapped his knuckles against the door jamb. “Okay, then . . . see you this weekend. Maybe.”

  “Maybe,” I echoed as he disappeared down the hallway. I sank into my desk chair and covered my face with my hands.

  Who the hell was I kidding? There was no maybe about it. Whether or not it was a good idea or crossing any professional lines, I was definitely going to be paying a visit to the home of Derek McTavis.

  Chapter Four

  Derek

  I woke up early on Sunday morning, which was unusual these days. Since I’d come home from the hospital following my last surgery, I’d given myself tacit permission to throw out the schedule on which I’d lived for the decade before—no more early wake-up calls for PT, no more regimented, timed-to-the minute itinerary. How easily all of that had fallen by the wayside had been a little unsettling to a guy like me, who’d assumed I’d be in the Army until I died or was forced to retire.

  But when there was no reason to get out of bed before dawn, it wasn’t difficult to justify lazing around. Sleeping until ten or even later had become a matter of defiance for me, a way of flipping the bird at . . . who? The Army? Past me? I wasn’t sure how to direct the anger that I still felt. I didn’t blame the military for my injury; it had been a randomly-timed, unpredictable wind gust coupled by a faulty D-clip. Maybe I was mad at myself for not bouncing back faster, or at my body for what I saw as its betrayal.

  Today, though, I had a reason to pull my bones out of bed. I had promised Tasha that I’d attempt yard work, and there was a chance that she might show up to check on me. Why that idea motivated me, I couldn’t explain—or maybe I just didn’t want to think about it too closely.

  Initially, I’d scoffed at the idea of this tiny woman being able to do anything to help me, but the truth was that Tasha O’Hare was a hell of a lot stronger than she appeared to be. She didn’t take any nonsense from me, and she didn’t coo over me when I started in on my poor-me bullshit. She had a way of looking at me that made me aware of just how thoroughly she saw through my crap.

  But she was also encouraging. She didn’t lie to me, but she did give me hope. That itself was a freaking miracle. When she’d said on Friday that she wanted me to try working on my lawn, something in my brain had clicked, because Tasha believed I could do this. I could take back something that had made me who I was, once upon a time. I could recover a little piece of the me who used to be, and if that was possible, then . . . other things might follow.

  I showered, even though I knew that I was going to be getting dirty and sweaty. I didn’t shave, though; I didn’t want Tasha to think I’d done anything special just because she was coming over. If she came over. Because she might, but then again, she might not. I’d seen on her face that she was worried about what showing up at my house might mean. For all her stern glares at me, this girl had a face that I could read like a book. And I’d seen it clearly on Friday: she was concerned that I was developing feelings for her beyond that a patient should have for his doctor.

  Well, duh.

  Of course, I wasn’t going to confirm that. But the more time I spent with Tasha, the more I liked her. And beyond that, I was attracted to her in a way I hadn’t been to any woman since before the accident, maybe even longer. I found that I loved her laugh, I appreciated her spunk, and I was having trouble hiding how hard I got whenever she touched me.

  She was always professional, of course. Tasha knew what she was do
ing, and there was a quiet assuredness in her when we worked together. Her hands on me were only meant to guide or correct, but unfortunately, no one had let my dick in on that little tidbit of knowledge. He had a mind of his own, and more than once, I’d had to turn to my side abruptly to hide the tent in my shorts. Luckily, Tasha always assumed I moved in response to pain, not embarrassment.

  All morning, as I ate breakfast and then made the pilgrimage to the garage to gather the tools I’d need, I kept up a steady mantra in my head. She might not come. And that’s okay. I steeled myself against the disappointment I knew I’d feel when she didn’t show up today, remembering that if she didn’t, it was only because she didn’t want to cross boundaries. It had nothing to do with me.

  I pictured how I’d play it off on Monday, at my regular appointment, if she didn’t come today. I’d pretend that I’d never really expected her to come by. If she apologized or tried to explain, I’d act like it hadn’t mattered to me, anyway. But all during those rehearsed conversations, another set of could-bes crept in: what would I say if she did show up? How was I going to play this? If I made a move to show her what I was feeling, would she get skittish and turn tail?

  Brooding on all of this, I loaded my rake, shovel, hoe and clippers into the wheelbarrow and lifting the handles, began wheeling it down the driveway. The morning air was soft, and from the nearby trees, birds chirped happily. A couple of squirrels raced past me, and in the middle of the lawn, a small rabbit lifted his head to gaze at me in surprise.

  “That’s right,” I said, unable to hide the smile in my voice. “I’m back. So, you all are going to have to stop eating my flowers and digging up the beds, got it? You’ve had a long vacation from me, a long time to get used to doing whatever the hell you want out here, but it’s over now.”

  “Who are you talking to, dude?”

  I turned around, startled, to see Owen standing behind me, his hands buried in his pockets and an expression of amusement on his face. I hadn’t heard him pull up alongside the curb. Damn stupid electric car. That thing was like the spy mobile, it was so silent.

  “I was talking to the squirrels and the rabbits, giving them notice that their reign of terror here is over now. What the hell are you doing here?”

  He grinned at me and shrugged. “I just happened to be driving by, and I saw you standing out in your front yard. I thought I’d see what you were up to.”

  “Uh huh.” I narrowed my eyes. “Did Tasha put you up to this? Is this her way of checking in on me?”

  “Who’s Tasha?” Owen began rolling up his sleeves, reaching for the rake.

  “Oh. Um, Ms. O’Hare. My physical therapist.” Damn, now I had to explain. “See, this was my assignment from her today—to get back out here and work on the yard, like I used to. And I thought maybe she’d called Shaw to get you guys to make sure I was doing what she said.”

  He shook his head. “Nah. Seriously, I was just passing by. I was going to grab a burger and a beer, watch the game this afternoon . . . nothing big. But I’d rather stay here and give you a hand.”

  Now I was stuck. I couldn’t chase Owen away, not without coming off like an asshole and not without him getting suspicious. Swallowing a sigh, I picked up the clippers. “Okay, sure, if that’s what you want. You can get started on raking out the beds. We’ll put the leaves into the bins in the garage—you can drag them out here—and I’ll compost them later.”

  For the next thirty minutes, we worked together in companionable silence. Owen wasn’t a loud guy; he wasn’t a talker, and when we all hung out, he was the one most likely to sit and listen to the rest of us. I’d gotten to know him pretty well in the months leading up to my accident, because along with Jake and me, he’d been the only single man left in our group. Even before Shaw had officially begun dating his Delia, he’d been so hung up on her that he hadn’t wanted to go out with us.

  And now with Jake getting hot and heavy with Samantha’s former roommate, Harper, it looked like Owen and I were truly the last men standing. I wasn’t sure how that made me feel. Were we the ones too wily to be caught, or were we being left behind by the rest of our friends?

  I thought of Tasha, and I considered what it would be like to do more than just bang her. What would happen if I asked her on a date? Was she one of these chicks who wanted monogamy, security and a commitment? Or wasn’t she ready to settle down?

  “You okay, man?” Owen frowned at me, resting his hands on the top of the rake handle. “You’re just kind of standing there.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I was just thinking—”

  A car horn sounded nearby, and my heart leaped at the same time that my brain went into overdrive. Tasha! But when I turned around to look, it wasn’t her. Instead, Shaw’s Jeep had slowed to a stop behind Owen’s car, and as I watched, four men spilled out.

  “Hey! Heard there was a party going on here, and no one invited the fun guys.” Jake jogged over to where I stood and elbowed me in the ribs as he came to a halt. “Get it? The fun guys? Like fungi? Because we’re working in your yard?”

  “Yeah, I get it. But it’s not funny, so I’m not laughing. What are you doing here?”

  Shaw lumbered over. “Clearly crashing a private deal between you and Hughes, here. What the fuck, Mac? How come you snubbed the rest of us?”

  “I didn’t snub you. I didn’t invite Owen, either. He just happened to see me and offered to help.”

  “Cool.” Max hefted a huge burlap bag out of the back of the Jeep. “We stopped at the garden center and got some lawn food. It’s organic, because I promised Samantha I wouldn’t put chemical crap on your grass.” He grimaced. “Her words, not mine.”

  “Clearly.” I watched, bemused, as my friends began to spread out over my yard, some of them ducking into the garage to retrieve more equipment. This was just peachy. What the hell was I going to do with them, and what if Tasha came over?

  “Derek.” Kade stopped next to me, laying a hand on my shoulder. “I know you didn’t expect all of us today. But we want to help, okay? We want to do . . . something. For the last few months, we’ve all felt so fucking helpless, and now this feels like something we can do. This isn’t us feeling sorry for you. If that was it, we’d have taken care of this sorry ass mess ages ago. We want to support you, not because we think you need us to help you.”

  I sucked in a deep breath. Kade was perceptive, because I had been getting my back up about just that very thing. “Okay. I guess I can understand that.” I swallowed hard. “It’s tough, you know? To not be like you guys anymore. To be the one who doesn’t fit. Your lives are all going on. Max is getting married. You’re already married, and you have a kid. Shaw has Delia, Jake has Harper . . . and all of you are moving ahead in your career. Meanwhile, here I sit, stagnating.”

  Instead of arguing with me like I’d expected, Kade only nodded. “I can see how you might feel that way, especially when the pain was so bad that you were having trouble functioning. But everything seems to be getting better now. I can tell just by watching you move. I was saying to the colonel yesterday that I figured you’d be back at work pretty soon.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck. “It’s been on my mind, too. I guess maybe I’ve been afraid to think about it—that I’d try and fail. That’s what I worry about the most, you know? Finding out that I’ll never be as good as I was before. Right now, I exist in a state of potential, and it feels . . . safer. What if I can’t be who I used to be, Kade?”

  His eyes were steady on me. “Then you’ll figure out what comes next. But you gotta think about it this way, Mac. We’re all getting older. We’ve been in the Army for over ten years. None of us are going to be the same. And that’s all right.”

  With a grin and punch on my shoulder, Kade headed over to where the others had gotten busy. I watched him go, his words lingering in my mind, and then I picked up my shovel and followed him.

  * * *

  “Damn, we do good work.” Shaw sank onto the porch step next to me. Be
hind us, the rest of the guys sprawled. We were all filthy, tired and smelly, but holy shit, did it feel good to be here, with all my buddies, looking out on the work that we’d done.

  And fuck if I hadn’t pulled my own weight and then some. Maybe I didn’t move quite as fast as some of them, but I’d lifted, clipped, raked, dug and mowed for three solid hours.

  “Derek, man, if you don’t win yard of the month again now, the contest is rigged for sure.” Max nudged my arm with his foot.

  “Yeah, that’s true,” agreed Jake. He cracked open a beer and took a long swig. “God, I can’t move, but I really need to get home. Harper’s done in a few hours, and I promised I’d cook for her tonight.”

  “Home?” Owen mimicked his word. “I’m assuming that you’re not talking about the barracks, dude. When you say home, you mean her house, don’t you?”

  Jake didn’t look at all fazed. “Yep. That’s exactly what I mean. Home’s where Harper is.”

  And the weirder thing was that no one made fun of him. No one called him on being whipped or complained about what he’d said. They all just let it slide.

  A small blue car turned the corner, cruising slowly down my road. Kade squinted out toward the road.

  “Hey, look, that chick’s totally scoping out your front yard, Derek. She’s slowing down and . . . huh. Why’s she stopping?”

  I already knew the answer to that question, because once I’d gotten a decent look into the car’s window, I’d spied a head of bright red curls. My heartbeat sped up a little.

  “Isn’t that . . .” Shaw’s voice trailed off. “Yeah, it’s the physical therapist. What’s she doing here?”

  I cleared my throat and fought my body’s natural instinct, which was to jump to my feet and race over, take Tasha by the hand and show her what I’d done, like a little kid eager to show off his handiwork.

  “Doing the yard work today was kind of my homework assignment from her, and she said she might stop by to make sure I followed through.” I wasn’t going to share that it was me who’d made the suggestion.