On the Sand [A Jarheads Novel]

by Sean Michael

  They set the chair beside the bed and Deb and Frank got him standing, Frank more or less lifting him up onto the bed from there.

  "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

  "Right.” They got his catheter and drain and IV situated. “When do the tubes come out?"

  Deb chuckled as Frank grabbed the wheelchair and headed out. “You're not anywhere near ready to go home yet, Dr. Roberts."

  Rig rolled his eyes, closed them as a pang of nausea and pain hit him. He was ready.

  He was real ready.

  She tutted, pulling the covers up and closing the drapes. A glass with ice chips was set on the table and she made sure he could reach the nurses’ button. “You just ring if you need anything, okay?"

  "I'll be okay. Thanks, honey.” He closed his eyes, heart pounding in his chest, world just spinning.

  He'd be okay. He would. It wasn't cancer. Oh, fuck. He hurt. She couldn't have been gone very long when he heard Rock's voice, the low growls carrying. “I left you my cell number—you should have called when it was time to move him."

  "He managed just fine. He's sore, but he's a big ... well, compared to all of you he's tiny, but..."

  "I asked to be called when it was time to move him. I knew we shouldn't have left."

  Rock's voice got louder as the door opened all the way, his Pretty coming in, wry smile on his face. “Hey, Rig. How're you doing?"

  "Hey. I want to go home."

  "Yeah, I don't think that's going to happen.” Dick sat on the edge of his bed, looking around. “It's not home, but it beats the ICU."

  "There are two big chairs for y'all.” Although he'd been trying to get them both to get a hotel room...

  "Yeah, and a TV. We can watch the game."

  Rock strode in. “Are you okay?"

  "No.” His mouth snapped shut and he blinked. Jesus. “I mean, yeah. Yeah, I'm surviving."

  Rock glared. “No, you don't get to do that anymore. No more pretending you're fine when you're not. Do you need more pain medication? To see the doctor?"

  "I don't want anymore pain meds.” But he hurt.

  Dick squeezed his hand and then moved down to the end of the bed so Rock could sit next to him. “You sure? You look paler than you were."

  "I.” Come on, asshole. Buck up. Buck. Up. “It was just rough, getting from the chair to the bed."

  "They should have called me."

  "They know how to do their jobs, Rock.” Dick pushed the covers off his feet, and started to rub them.

  "Oh, fuck.” He moaned, toes curling as his feet threatened to cramp. Dick worked the sole, fingers digging in. Rock grunted and turned his hand over, started massaging it.

  "Oh. More. God.” He just melted, those fingers easing him. Hell, just being touched easing him.

  Rock looked just as happy to be touching him, Dick, too. They worked his hand and feet, and up his arm, along his calves.

  "Is the scar gonna be bad?” He hadn't seen it yet, really. It seemed to run along his rib, just long enough to tug.

  Rock shook his head. “No. It'll fade."

  "It'll be sexy,” Dick suggested, fingers sliding up along his thigh.

  "I don't know if I can do sexy. I feel fucking old.” Skinny. Ugly. Tired.

  "You're not old.” Rock growled at him, those blue eyes watching him.

  Dick bent and kissed his ankle. “You'll see. When you're not hurting and sick. We'll remind you how sexy you are."

  "Like Rock's not going to kill me.” He tried to find a smile. “This didn't turn out like I'd expected."

  "You're damn right I'm going to kill you.” Rock grunted, found a grin for him. “But if I fuck you to death then we could do the sexy thing at the same time."

  He started laughing, then groaned, grabbing his chest. “Oh. Oh, ow. Ow. Push the button on the pain meds, Blue."

  Rock leaned over and pushed it for him, before sliding those big strong fingers over his cheek. “I fucking hate that you're hurting."

  "Me too. It's better, though. I mean, I can tell. The burn is gone."

  That tearing, screaming pain was gone.

  Rock's leaned their foreheads together. “You should have told us."

  "I couldn't. I needed to know what it was before I scared you."

  Rock shook his head. “That won't fly, Rig. They said you were fucking throwing up blood for nine months. Nine, Rig."

  He nodded. He had. He'd been scared. “I went to the doctors, Jim. We've been running tests for weeks."

  "You've been hurting all by yourself for months. Fuck, you were hurting while we were at Vegas—no wonder the busy streets seemed to take it out of you.” Rock growled. “You fucking shut us out."

  Dick just kept stroking his legs, but he could feel his Pretty's eyes watching.

  "What was I supposed to say, Rock? Y'all couldn't do anything. I couldn't do anything. Shit, I was trying everything they suggested.” He'd thought he was dying.

  "I don't know what we could have done, but at least we'd have known."

  "Support,” murmured Dick. “We could have been there for you."

  "Yeah. What Dick said."

  "If it was ... I mean, if I had...” He met Rock's eyes, dead-on. “If it'd been cancer, I didn't want y'all to have only bad memories."

  "If you thought it was cancer nine months ago, why were you only having tests now?” Rock sure could growl.

  "We had to go through all the options.” Jesus, he was tired. “Ulcers. Stress. Food allergies. Gall stones. Hiatal hernia."

  "And Dick and I deserved to know!” Rock stood and stalked around the small room,

  "I'm sorry.” What else was he supposed to say? Rig just closed his eyes, the pain meds making him dizzy, making it easier to just float away.

  Rock came back to the chair next to his bed, sitting in it hard. “Just don't do it again."

  He nodded, fingers opening and closing. No. Never again.

  Rock's hand slipped back into his, Dick's petting slowing, and stopping, hands warm against his shins.

  He held on, not knowing what else to do.

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Dick knew Rig was starting to feel better because he was bitching and demanding to go home.

  And wanting food.

  Today they were introducing a liquid diet. He hoped it was more appetizing than the crap they served in the cafeteria. Breakfast was somehow the hardest meal to get just right.

  "You think with the emphasis on protein they'll do you a steak, Rig?"

  Rock shuddered. “Liquid steak would suck."

  Rig turned green, started gagging. Oh, no. Not again. Every morning for the past three days, Rig's mornings were all about nausea.

  "Breathe through your nose,” he said quietly. “Deep, calm breaths."

  "I. Want. To. Go. Home."

  "Yeah, I know.” He didn't bother repeating that Rig couldn't, that Rig needed to heal. Rig knew. He sighed and rubbed his eyes, feeling tired and out of sorts.

  "I'm sorry. Shit.” Rig closed his eyes. “Rock, why don't y'all go have breakfast? Get a hotel room. Fuck."

  Rock grunted. “Promised you we weren't leaving you here."

  "It's okay, Rig. Hospitals are shitty places to be stuck. You want me to read to you or something?"

  "No. I'm good.” Rig looked green around the gills, stressed, worried.

  "Are you? Is the pain okay?"

  "I'm gonna make it.” Uh-huh. Right.

  "Rig..."

  Rock came over and put his hands over his hips. “Take the fucking painkillers, Rig."

  "If I keep taking them, they won't let me come home with y'all."

  "If you're hurting badly enough that you need them, Rig, then you need to take them."

  Dick stroked Rig's forehead. “Why don't I ask about getting you transferred to the hospital near us? We can afford to pay for the ambulance, can't we, Rock?"

  Rock grunted. “Maybe. Take the fucking painkillers."

  Rig shook his head. “Let me eat s
omething first, y'all. It'll help the nausea."

  Dick managed not to grimace. Some of the liquid crap they had Rig eating looked pretty foul.

  "All right.” He rang the bell for the nurse.

  Man, Rock had to stop hovering. Or at least do it without looking quite so ... grim.

  Rig closed his eyes, just leaned back into the pillows.

  The little tinny voice sounded. “Can I help you?'

  "Can we get some food in here for Mr. Roberts, please? He's on a special diet."

  "He'll get breakfast with everyone else, sir. They're coming."

  Rock growled. “Man needs his food in order to take his pain meds. I'm going to go hurry them up."

  Dick sighed and stroked Rig's hair back. “Won't be long."

  "Y'all don't have to flutter. I'll be fine. You heard the surgeon."

  "I'm not fluttering. I'm ... caring for you.” Not that there was much to do, which was why Rock was so damned growly and glowery—he wanted to make it all better, but couldn't.

  "Yeah. Yeah, Pretty. I hear you.” Rig nodded, sighed.

  "We want you home just as badly as you want to be there. I think that getting you transferred thing was a good idea. We'd be that much closer and you know all the doctors and nurses there, so it would be easier, right?"

  "I think we ought to just have me go home. Helen could help me with anything I needed."

  "It's only been four days, Rig, and they were talking two weeks. Plus today's your first day on the liquid diet. You think they'll let you go?"

  It would be so nice to get home, look after Rig properly. And hell, Thanksgiving was in a few weeks, they could do the place up nice for Rig.

  "I'm not a prisoner, here. I'll give it another day, then I want to go home."

  "If you think you're up to it."

  "Up to what?” growled Rock, tray of bowls in hand. “Look what I found—food that doesn't drip into your veins."

  "My hero.” Rig's face lit up. “Tell me there's something good in them."

  "Haven't opened them yet.” Rock set the tray down on the swinging table and brought it around so Rig could reach it. He proceeded to open each little bowl.

  "Applesauce. Broth. Hey, this looks like chocolate pudding."

  "It'll have that protein powder in it, but it sure smells good.” Rig tried to sit up, moving so careful. Dick slid his arm around Rig's back, helping tug him up a little, Rock adding a pillow behind his back.

  "I think you're going to have to get used to the protein powder.” Dick grinned. “We've got some good stuff at the gym. Taste like chocolate shakes, especially if you crush ice into it."

  "Maybe I'll add it to my morning coffee.” Rig took a bite of the pudding, humming happily. “That's good."

  Dick saw Rock bite his tongue, knew the big guy was avoiding reminding Rig that he was off coffee. For life.

  Instead, Rock put a finger in the pudding and sucked it clean. “Not bad at all."

  Rig's eyes followed Rock's finger and said, “My turn."

  Rock didn't play coy—he knew what Rig wanted. Dick watched, warmth curling in his belly, as Rock dipped his finger in the pudding again and held it up to Rig's mouth, blue eyes shining.

  Rig grinned, sucked Rock's finger clean, the most satisfied, happy sound leaving their cowboy.

  Groaning, Rock leaned against the bed and dipped his finger into the pudding again. That shine in those blue eyes had taken on a whole lot of want.

  "Mmm. If you're going to feed me like this, I'm gonna be hungry a lot."

  "I'll do whatever it takes."

  Dick grinned. “That's mighty good of you, Rock. Sacrificing for Rig like that."

  "You know it.” Rock grinned back and Dick chuckled, the weight of it all suddenly lightening a bit.

  Rig's smile just lit up the little room, making it brighter than the dozens and dozens of vases with flowers that had started pouring in—from Julie to the clinic to all the guys at the club. Dick leaned against the bed and just watched, that warmth slowly growing in scope, sliding into his balls.

  Finger full by finger full, Rock fed Rig the pudding, and Dick was as hard as Rock before the bowl was half empty.

  "No more, Blue. That's all I can manage.” Still, half a bowl was more than he'd seen Rig eat in forever.

  "You sure?” Rock's voice was husky. “A few more and I just might come."

  Dick groaned at the words.

  "I...” Rig just beamed, eyes lit up like it was Christmas. “One more bite."

  "Good man.” Rock got his finger covered down to the second knuckle and held it up for Rig. “Make it count, now."

  "Uh-huh.” Rig's eyes closed, the soft, happy moans and sounds of suction just filling the air.

  "Fuck.” Rock's free hand dropped to the front of his jeans, rubbing and Dick found himself mimicking the movement. He bit his lip to keep from making any noises, held his breath even.

  Rig eased back into the pillows, relaxing, head moving nice and easy, lips swollen around Rock's finger.

  "Just like that,” muttered Rock, rubbing harder, finger pushing in and out now, fucking Rig's lips.

  For the first time in days, Rig looked peaceful. Happy. Settled. That was what sent him over. That and the sound that Rock made as he came, wet staining the front of his jeans beneath his hand.

  Rock's finger popped out of Rig's mouth and Rig gave the big guy this amazing, happy smile. Then their cowboy just fell asleep like an exhausted puppy.

  "Jesus fuck."

  Rock's whisper made him shiver and Dick stepped closer, leaning. Rock's arm came around him and they just stood there together, watching Rig sleep.

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  They rented a little SUV so Rig could lie down for the drive home. Dick’ drove the car back the day before to get the house ready. Rock'd taken it as easy as he could, but Rig was still pale as a ghost by the time he pulled in, Dick out the door and down to the drive in a flash.

  "Hey. How's he doing?"

  "'Bout how you'd expect. Get the side door, I'll carry him in."

  The dogs were barking up a storm, but Rig didn't budge, dozing in and out as he got that fucking skinny-skinny body inside. The doctor'd told him they had to make sure Rig didn't lose so much as a pound, or it was back into the hospital.

  There was a day bed in the living room, his chair pushed back behind the couch to make room for it, but he went straight on back to the bedroom. A single bed had been squeezed in between their bed and the window—one of those Posturepedics that you could raise the top or bottom third as you wanted, complete with swinging tray table. Three and a half weeks they'd kept Rig—and Rock thought if they had to fight one more infection or have one more test where they shoved something down Rig's nose, someone might die.

  And it wouldn't be Rig.

  "Good work."

  Dick shook his head. “This one's on Helen. I called her on the cell on the drive in and she moved heaven and earth to get it here today. It only arrived a couple hours ago. It's perfect though, isn't it?"

  "Yep.” He set Rig down carefully, and then he and Dick started to take off Rig's clothes.

  Rig was drugged to the gills, just barely waking for them. The incision was looking better, except for the new, raw, red place where the drain had been. The dogs had followed them in, and he let them sniff around the bed a little, but as soon as Trouble tried to get up to see, he growled, and Dick took them out, closing the door on them.

  Those grey eyes fluttered open, hands sliding over the sheets. “I ... We're home?"

  Rock caught those hands in his and gave them a squeeze. “Yeah, Rabbit, we're home."

  "'kay. Okay. Good.” Yeah. Yeah, Rig could relax here. Heal. It was getting better and better, every day. More food, more energy, fewer pain meds.

  "You ready to have something to eat?” he asked, squeezing Rig's hands.

  "I could make you a shake,” Dick suggested. “I've got all the stuff we need for ‘em."

  "Little one, yeah. I
just want a few sips."

  "Awesome.” Dick beamed and Rig and disappeared down the hall.

  "We're going to fatten you up like the Christmas turkey."

  "Jeans won't fit then.” Rig shifted, frowned a little. “This isn't our bed, Blue."

  "We'll buy you new fucking jeans. And no, it's a fancy bed with a remote to make your head or feet go up and down. You'll be more comfortable in it, easier to get in and out of, too to start.” Rock nodded toward their king-sized bed. “It's close enough it'll be just like being in our bed."

  "Maybe.” Rig blinked slow, thumb sliding over his hand.

  "It will be.” He figured playing stubborn might help keep Rig awake long enough to get that shake into him.

  "You think so? I been wanting to snuggle with y'all so bad."

  He kissed the top of Rig's head. “Sap,” he whispered.

  "'m not.” Rig chuckled softly, moving closer. “You smell good."

  "I smell like the fucking hospital. So do you. It'll be right soon, though. We'll all smell right again soon.” Rock hated it when Rig didn't taste right.

  "Chocolate shake in honor of your homecoming!” Dick came in, looking happier than he'd seen the kid in days, holding a plastic cup with a thick straw out to Rig.

  "Mmm.” Rig took it, hands trembling a little from the pain pills, and took a sip. They needed to keep him going with those shakes, keep Rig gaining weight and getting healthy.

  "You drink that whole thing and the kid and I'll snuggle you until you fall asleep.” He'd bribe Rig with anything he had to.

  "I don't know if I can. There's a lot.” Rig smiled, took another sip. “It's good, though. Better than the hospital ones."

  "That's because I made this one.” Dick climbed onto their bed and sat at the edge. “I bet you can finish that no problem."

  Rock just sat on the edge of Rig's hospital bed and let Dick work his magic.

  "Mmm. Did they say when I could go back to work? I had a couple of patients that were having babies in the spring..."

  Rock just stared.

  When could he fucking go back to work?

  He opened his mouth to growl, but Dick beat him to it. Kid wasn't growling, though. “How about we wait until you can sit up without breaking into a sweat before we worry about when you're going back to work?"