She chanced a peek at her dad. “You know it’s just a dream, right?” he asked.
“Yes, but it still hurts when it happens. Especially since I haven’t heard from him.”
“Do you want me to make some calls? Track him down?”
She shook her head. “No. I can’t go chasing after him like a love-sick school girl.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“The kind of man I think Jordan Grant is wouldn’t ditch you without a reason.”
“I’ll try again to email him again, but it has to be his decision.”
“All right. Get some rest, you’ve got a long drive tomorrow.” He kissed her forehead and left her room, closing the door behind him.
Emme threw back the covers and grabbed her laptop from the dresser. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she checked to see if Jordan was logged onto the video chat side. No luck. He didn’t believe in social media, so she couldn’t even see if he had updated his status lately.
Her last option was email. Clicking on the compose button, she poured out her heart. She’d sent one every day, but this would be the last. At some point she had to admit defeat and stop running after him. She read through the email one last time and hit send.
Jordan blinked in the dim light, trying to gain his bearings.
A hospital room. How did he get there? The back of the bed was up enough so his torso reclined a little. Glancing from one side of the room to the other, he could see he was in a single room. Judging by the low lights, it was night.
He looked around for the call button and found the control hanging from the bed rail on his right. Pain shot up his chest when he twisted. Stifling a groan, he pushed the button that looked like a stick-figure nurse. The door clicked open less than a minute later and a black man in light blue scrubs entered.
“Welcome back, Major Grant.” He put some disinfectant on his hands from the wall dispenser. “I’m Captain Flores. How’re you feeling?”
“Like I got hit by a truck.” Jordan’s tongue felt thick and dry. And fuzzy. He moved it around in his mouth trying to work up some moisture. “Where am I?”
“Fort Bragg. Womack Army Hospital. Do you remember what happened?” He logged onto the computer by the bed and began clicking away with the mouse.
Jordan struggled to remember anything that would have landed him here. The last thing he recalled was video chatting with Emme. She’d been upset about something. What was…? His promotion. She’d found out he’d been offered incentives. “I turned down a promotion.”
Captain Flores’s eyebrows rose and he chuckled. “Was that before or after you got hit by a truck?”
“Before, I think.” He raised his head. “I really got hit by a truck?”
“From what I hear. Attempted suicide bomber tried to ram into your patrol. He got shot, but you zigged when you should have zagged.”
Jordan furrowed his brows. They’d been on a mission… “I don’t remember. How long ago did it happen?”
“Almost three weeks ago.” He pulled a stethoscope from his pocket and put the earpieces in his ear.
“Three weeks ago?”
Captain Flores winced and pulled the stethoscope from his ear. “Not so loud, please.”
Jordan dropped his head to the pillow. “Fuck. Why was I out for so long?”
“Deep breath.” He listed to the lower part of Jordan’s chest where he had felt the pain before removing the earpieces again. “Swelling on the brain. You were put into a medically induced coma to help you heal. I paged the doctor. She’ll go over the extent of your injuries more in depth.”
“Have I been here the entire time?”
“No. You spent most of the time at Landstuhl. You were flown here four days ago.”
“What’s up with my leg?” Jordan lifted the thin white blanket to see his leg wrapped in an ace bandage from his thigh down to mid-calf.
“The impact shattered your knee.”
“Jesus.” The captain went into the bathroom and returned with a large cup. “My family?”
“They’re here.” He handed Jordan the cup. “Well, they’re in the area. They’re not here right now.”
“Emme?”
“Who?”
“My girlfriend. Emme France. Is she here?” He sipped the water.
The captain shook his head. “I don’t recognize the name. It’s only been your parents, as far as I know.”
Where was Emme? Shit…did she even know? “Is there a phone I can use?”
“There is, but let’s wait until you talk to the doc. Also, it’s three a.m. It can probably wait a few hours.”
Jordan rubbed his eyes. Maybe, but he had a bad feeling. Emme would have been here if she knew. “What time do my parents usually show up?”
“I’m not sure. My shift starts right around the time they’re leaving in the evening.”
Two quick knocks preceded the door opening and an older woman in a white lab coat stepped in. She looked like she should be at home in a rocking chair, knitting rather than making rounds at an Army hospital. “Good morning, Major. I’m Doctor Kelly. How are you feeling?”
“Sore.” No need to repeat feeling like he got hit by a truck. “Should I still feel like this after three weeks?”
“It’s not unexpected. There was extensive damage to the left side of your body.” She pulled a pen light out of the breast pocket of her coat and flashed it in each of his eyes. “Pupil response is normal.”
Her small fingers probed his ribs. He sucked in a breath and jerked away when she hit one spot in particular.
“Sorry.” She stopped poking his side. “You fractured three of your ribs and had a collapsed lung.”
He blinked. “What happened exactly?”
“You don’t remember?” She moved the sheet and blanket away from his foot and pinched his toes.
“No.”
Covering his feet up, she got some hand sanitizer. “Let me pull up your record.” She went to the computer, clicking the mouse a few times. “The report is rather basic. You may need to talk to someone in your unit about the specifics, but it says you were hit by a small pickup truck and pinned between the front of the truck and a wall. A portion of the wall collapsed on you and caused the traumatic brain injury.”
“What was the extent of my injuries?”
“The TBI, tension pneumothorax and fractured ribs, and your kneecap was shattered.” She read down the list like she was reading what groceries she needed to make dinner.
“What do you mean shattered?”
“Your knee-cap and tibia were fractured and you underwent reconstructive surgery. Luckily we have a great physical therapy department. Now that you’re awake, I’ll put in the referral and you can begin seeing them in the next day or two.”
That explained the bandage and the throb. He struggled to remember the attack, but there was a gaping hole in his memory. Not even flashes. It was as if she’d recounted something that had happened to someone else. “Is it normal to not remember?”
Her smile was gentle. “The brain is a wondrous and mysterious organ. Patients who have been through a traumatic experience will sometimes have no memory of the event. It’s the brain’s way of protecting itself from further harm. It could also be that the anesthesia you were given for the medically-induced coma has caused short term memory loss and you’ll get it all back eventually. It’s different for every person.”
He pressed his lips together in a thin line and nodded. As long as he remembered Emme, it probably didn’t matter that he didn’t remember the attack.
“Now, I can see you wincing and trying to hide your pain, so I’m going to order some pain killers for you. They’ll help you sleep as well.”
“I need to make a phone call.”
“And I need you to rest right now. You can call whoever it is in the morning. I’ll check on you again during normal rounds.” Captain Flores followed the doctor out.
Jordan blew out a breath. Damn it, he wanted
to hear Emme’s voice. Needed to hear it and know they were okay.
The nurse returned with a syringe on a small silver tray. He set the tray on the table next to the bed, pulled off the cap, and inserted the needle into the I.V. line. “You should begin to feel that soon.”
He stared down at his arm, as if he could see the wave of warmth that was creeping up his arm. All of a sudden, his body felt weighted down, but more relaxed than he’d ever felt before. He struggled to keep his eyes open.
“Don’t fight it.”
“Need to call…Emme.”
“You will. In the morning.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jordan stared at the email Emme had sent four days ago. The day after he was flown out of Germany.
I’m sorry for doubting you. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll know it’s over.
The reply he’d sent had bounced back as undeliverable and he’d gotten a wrong number when he’d called her cell and he had no idea why it was wrong.
Panic made him restless. He wanted to punch a wall and yell. He wanted to chuck the damn tablet across the room, but then he wouldn’t be able to obsess over her email. His mom, the one person who knew how to get ahold of Emme’s mom, had dropped her damn phone in the toilet.
Who the fuck had he pissed off? It was like the world was conspiring against him.
Speak of the devil. The door opened and his parents entered. “Did you find it?”
“Honey, I told you I would have to look in my address book when we got home,” his mom said.
“Fuck.” He said in a normal voice, but he wanted to shout it at the top of his lungs.
“Language,” his father said.
His mother stood by his bed. “Why do you need to get a hold of the France’s so bad?”
He shook his head, having no idea how to explain to them everything that had happened. They didn’t even know he’d gone to Mali as part of Emme’s rescue mission.
The door opened again and a medical technician backed through with a wheel chair. “Afternoon, Major Grant. I’m Specialist Doyle and I’m here to take you to your physical therapy session.”
“So soon?” his mom asked. “He woke up two days ago.” She clutched at her hands, twisting her rings.
“Yes ma’am,” SPC Doyle said. “The doctor cleared him this morning and the physical therapist had an opening.”
Jordan threw back the covers and swung his good leg over the side of the bed. “Mom, I’ll be fine. The doc wouldn’t have cleared me if there was an issue.”
“But—”
“Mom, please stop hovering.”
Tears pooled in her eyes and his father wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Jordan, you almost died. It’s not unreasonable for your mother to worry.”
He sighed and dropped his head. “I’m sorry, Mom. I know you mean well.”
She nodded, still wringing her hands. “I don’t want you to over do it and have a relapse.”
Jordan took his mother’s hands in his. “The doc has said I can start limited exercise. I promise not to over do it. If there’s any pain or anything doesn’t feel right, I’ll stop. Okay?”
“All right.”
He kissed her cheek. “Why don’t you guys go back to the hotel. The appointment will probably be a while and I’m sure you need to pack to drive home. You can come back for dinner.” He smiled. “Maybe bring me something good to eat instead of hospital food.”
She gave him a small, knowing smile. “Is there anything special you want?”
Yes, he was trying to get rid of them for a while. He loved his parents, but they’d been driving him nuts for the last two days . “Nothing mashed. Or white.”
“No red meat,” SPC Doyle said. “I know the doc won’t go for that.”
His mother nodded and stepped back from the bed. His dad took her place and helped him stand. Less than a minute later, SPC Doyle wheeled him down the hall away from his parents, waiting by the elevator.
“Is it normal to be seeing the physical therapist this soon after waking up?” he asked.
“Normally you’d have started PT two or three days after surgery, but, you know.”
“Coma.”
“Coma.”
He parked Jordan in the waiting room and grabbed a clipboard and form from the clerk at the desk. “Fill this out, best you can. I’ll be back in about an hour to get you.”
“Thank you.”
He only got through his name and social security number before his name was called. Setting the clipboard and pen on his lap, he tried to wheel himself to the door leading back to the examination area, but knocked his extended leg into the side of the chair. The tech who had called his name wheeled him into the exam room and helped him up onto the table.
Physical therapy had better get me walking soon. He felt fucking helpless. Physically and emotionally. Damn it, he wanted to call Emme.
The door opened and Bree Marks walked in. She was wearing scrubs and her hair was wrapped in a bun on top of her head, a hospital badge clipped to the pocket of her shirt.
“Uh. What are you doing here?”
“Well.” She stepped into the room and closed the door. “I’m your physical therapist.” She sat on the stool and rolled close to the exam table.
“Oh. I didn’t realize you worked here.”
“A few years, now. If it makes you uncomfortable for me to be your PT, I’ll get someone else to take your case,” she said. “Your choice.”
His brow pinched together. “Why would it make me uncomfortable?”
“Well, the last time we ran into each other you were a little upset.”
Fuck. “The last time we ran into each other I was a head case and drunk.”
“I wouldn’t say ‘head case’.” Her stare was level and assessing. “You sure you’re okay with this?”
“Yeah, Bree. I’m good with it. Shit, should I call you Doctor Marks?”
She wheeled over to the computer and logged on. “Bree is fine. Let’s pull up your file and see if they put the images of your knee in. Otherwise I’m going to have to send you down to x-ray.” She clicked through the different pages until she opened up a black and white picture. “Oh yeah, that had to hurt like hell.”
He tried to peer over her to see what she’d pulled up. “I don’t remember it.”
She looked over her shoulder. “Really?”
“Nothing.”
Her head bobbled a little. “Might not be a bad thing considering the pain you would’ve been in.” The monitor was mounted to the back wall of the desk on an extendable arm and she moved it closer to him. She pulled a pen out of her pocket and used it as a pointer on the screen. “Here. This is your patella. Looks like it split almost exactly in half. You can see where your proximal tibia fractured.” She circled a portion of the x-ray.
She minimized the picture and pulled up another one, showing bright white lines and screws. “And this is how they fixed it. There’s a plate down the outside of the tibia with…six screws holding it in place and two screws in the patella.”
“Fuck.” He rubbed his hand back and forth across his head. “How soon until I can walk?”
“That’s going to depend on how quickly you respond to treatment. Have you seen the orthopedist yet?”
“I think he’s supposed to come by later today.”
She walked to the door and stuck her head out, calling for someone. “Thanks. Can you page Ortho and ask them to send a consult for Major Grant? Thank you.”
Closing the door, she turned to the exam table. “First things first, we need to get your muscles working again.” She unwrapped thin cords from the small device she held. The cords had small alligator clips on the ends and she clipped them to large, square, foam pads. “Let’s get your leg unwrapped.”
He tried to help by lifting his leg, but he couldn’t get the muscles to respond. It was as if his leg wasn’t even attached to his body anymore.
“Relax,” she said. “This is normal after knee su
rgery. For the next few days, the focus will be on getting your quads to respond again.”
She unwound the ace bandage, revealing his swollen, discolored knee. “Is the yellow normal?”
“It’s from the iodine the surgeons use to disinfect the skin.” She threw the bandage in the trash. “We’ll get you a new one. You’ve never had surgery before?” She pulled off the white gauze pads covering the incision.
Fascinated, he stared at the three-inch long line in the center of his knee. “Wisdom teeth, that’s all.”
“Looks good. The swelling is normal and there’s no outward signs of infection. The orthopedist will give you more detailed instructions on care, but if you notice any redness or swelling around the incision or if you start running a fever, you need to let someone know.”
He nodded. “What’s up with the doohickey?”
She smiled and picked up the device. “This has the very original name of Electronic Muscle Stimulator, or EMS. Wanna guess what it does?”
He grinned. “Bakes a turkey?”
“Close, but no.” She unpeeled the pads from the clear sheet and stuck them to his leg, two on each side, one pair close to his knee and the other farther up on his thigh. “These are going to make your quads work by sending an electrical current into your leg.”
“You’re going to shock me.”
Laughing, she turned on the EMS. “Not enough to hurt. That’s not our goal.” She pushed buttons, watching his face. He stared down at his leg, feeling the brief tingling in his muscles. She pushed the button two more times and the tingle increased.
He winced and tried to pull back from the bed when pain shot down into his knee cap the next time she increased the voltage.
“Okay, back it off a couple,” she said. “How’s that?”
His muscle clenched, but it didn’t send any pain shooting into his knee. “Good. Slightly uncomfortable.”
“That’s where we want it. It shouldn’t hurt, but you should feel it.” She set the device next to his leg. “What I need you to do is try to engage your quad when you feel the tingle. You’re going to have to concentrate on contracting the muscle and it’s going to feel foreign to you.”
Rescued Heart (Titan World) Page 15
