A Fighting Man

by Sandrine Gasq-Dion

  “They won’t tell me what happened, Casper. They won’t give me a mirror and no one wants to tell me what happened!” Slater yelled.

  “Son, do not yell at Casper. He’s been here from the moment we got back from Germany.”

  “Germany?” Slater asked. God, his memory was like a sieve.

  “Yes. Casper had to wait since he didn’t have a passport. As soon as you got here, he came and he’s been here ever since.”

  “I’m going to stay here and help you recuperate,” I said, touching his arm softly.

  “You should be at work. You have a job and a life —”

  “You are my life, Slater,” I said quietly. “Don’t you know that?”

  “I’ll give you two some time alone,” Quinlan said, standing up.

  I waited for him to leave the room before sitting on the edge of the bed. I couldn’t believe Slater was awake and I could talk to him. I had missed his voice, his touch, his everything. I palmed his face and Slater looked away.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “You shouldn’t have to take care of me. God knows when I’ll be fully functional again.”

  I searched Slater’s face carefully. He was slurring his words again, which was a sure sign he was tired. I took his hand and kissed it.

  “I know you’ve been sleeping a long time, so this is going to sound funny—but get some rest, okay?” I kissed his temple.

  “Not tired,” Slater yawned.

  “Uh huh, okay.”

  I waited until Slater had fallen out again before heading down to the physical therapy room. I entered and sat off to the side. Ramos was working on his upper body strength and trying to strengthen his left leg. He was sweating profusely. The man had drive and was stubborn as all hell. As I sat there, I couldn’t help but look at all the water bottles and energy drinks on the tables.

  I walked over to one of the tables and picked up one of the energy drinks. I couldn’t believe the amount of sugar in it.

  “Don’t drink that. It will give you anal leakage.”

  I glanced over my shoulder to see Ramos grinning. I waved the can at him. “Do you drink this stuff?”

  “No, have you seen the crap in that?”

  “I just did.” I narrowed my eyes at the can, and then looked back over at Ramos. Even sweaty, he was gorgeous. Right at that moment, a light bulb went off in my head.

  “Hey, Ramos? What would you think about modeling?”

  “Underwear?”

  “No, just like Slater did for the energy drink, except I want to go in a new direction with it.”

  “I tasted that stuff. It’s pretty good and it’s all natural.”

  “Would you mind if I took a picture of you?”

  Ramos cocked his head to the side and gave me a grin. “Click away. What are you thinking?”

  “I’ve just got this idea running through my head about using wounded warriors for this drink. A hot guy is nice and all, but to have it truly stand for something would be better. And I’d still have a hot guy,” I smiled.

  “What a rush man.” Ramos struck a pose.

  I laughed and took a picture of him with my cell phone. I hoped Pritchard hadn’t gone too far with the ads yet. I hoped there was still time to make a change—if he even liked my idea.

  * * * *

  Not only did Pritchard love my idea, he wanted to run with it. I asked Blaine first before I sent anything and he was all on board. I’d slept for a few hours while Slater slept, and then sat up with him while they made him get up and walk around the room. He was still having a hard time with his equilibrium and now and then, he’d slur a word or two. We were told it was normal (whatever) and Slater would soon be able to speak and walk properly again.

  He had to relearn a lot.

  This morning I was helping him try and wrap his fingers around his drinking cup. Slater was fighting me the whole way.

  There was a soft knock on the door and then a man walked in. He was sporting a heck of a lot of rank. I stood up and moved aside.

  “Sergeant.” The man nodded at Slater and then looked at me. “Could I have a few moments with my soldier, please?”

  “Certainly.” I nodded, taking Slater’s hand. “I’ll be right outside.”

  I left the room and stood by the nurses’ station. The one who usually took care of Slater gave me a small smile. It was odd to be standing in the hospital in a good mood.

  When Mason died, I wasn’t allowed anywhere near him. I sighed and leaned against the counter. I was just so damn happy Slater was alive. I could hear shouts and grunts and eyed Slater’s door. I didn’t know how long the guy with rank would be in there. I tapped on the desk and the nurse looked up at me.

  “I’m just going to take a walk down the hall. Could you call me when—”

  “Sure, no problem, Casper.” She smiled at me.

  I grinned back and strolled down the hall. Rooms lined each side and I knew most of them held a soldier with injuries. I sighed as I came to the end of the hall. The physical therapy room was full this morning. Soldiers in black shorts were working out, some of them running on a treadmill.

  My eyes went wide as I noticed one of them had two prosthetic legs. Another loud shout came and I inched closer to the window. I caught sight of Ramos alongside the back wall. He was trying to walk while holding on to parallel bars. Sweat dripped down his forehead and chest as his arms shook with the effort to keep the weight off his leg.

  One of the physical therapists said something to him and he nodded, loosening his grip a bit. I cringed as another shout of pain left his lips and he fell. The physical therapist extended his hand and Ramos batted it away, pulling himself back up. I smiled. Ramos caught sight of me and gave me a thumbs up. I gave him two back. The guy was a fighter.

  I turned and went back toward the nurses’ desk and realized Raquel and Quinlan were back. She smiled and held a hand out to me.

  “Did you get some food, Casper?” she asked.

  “I managed to eat earlier. What’s going on?”

  Raquel’s smile faded. “They are debriefing Slater and telling him what happened.”

  “Oh.” I swallowed hard.

  I took a seat and reclined in the chair. Ramos had told me a little bit of what he’d heard in his own debriefing. Not about their mission, but of the men they’d lost. He was lucky to be alive and he credited Slater for a lot of it. Slater had thrown his body over him when an explosion went off. The men Slater had worked with, eaten with, joked with, were now dead. It would hurt him.

  I closed my eyes. My body was tired and sore from the amount of time I’d been in the chair waiting for Slater to wake up. While he’d been in Germany, before they could safely move him to the States, Raquel had called me faithfully once a day with reports. It was so different from my experience with Mason, and I realized how lucky I was to have Slater’s parents on my side.

  Something broke in Slater’s room and then all hell broke loose. Medical alarms went off and the nursing staff rushed into his room. Raquel and I stood up at the same time. Slater was screaming and removing the leads to all his monitors. The man with all the rank walked out and glanced our way.

  “What the hell did you tell him?” Raquel snapped.

  “What he needed to know,” he said and walked away.

  “Son of a bitch!” Quinlan raced into the room just as a nurse was injecting a maniacal Slater.

  “Get off of me!” Slater shouted.

  “Hold him down!” the nurse shouted. “Dammit, Sergeant Cassidy, you’re opening up your wound!”

  “Fuck you! Fuck all of you!” Slater bellowed.

  I stood in the corner of the room while Slater went into a complete and utter breakdown. I wiped at my eyes as Slater’s met mine.

  “Don’t let them do this to me, Casper!”

  “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

  The doctor rushed in just as Slater collapsed from the sedative they’d injected. He lifted Slater’s arm and frowned.
r />   “Dammit, we need to re-stitch him. Get him to an OR so I can get a better look at him.”

  I stood against the wall and covered my face with my hands as they removed Slater from the room. Raquel’s arm came around me and I relaxed into her embrace.

  “He’ll be all right, Casper,” she soothed me.

  God, I hoped so.

  * * * *

  Over the next two weeks, Slater became despondent. He barely ate and he hardly said two words. When it was time for his physical therapy, he shut down. He had a hard time lifting his right hand and sometimes his words got jumbled. The doctor assured me that his brain would start to remember how to function, but walking was proving hard for Slater. His legs didn’t want to hear what his brain was saying.

  I had been assured he wouldn’t have any lasting brain damage; Slater just needed to get with the program. I took him outside every day in the wheelchair so he could get fresh air. I didn’t know what to say or what to do, but I kept talking to him about mundane shit just to see if I’d get some kind of response from him. Once in a great while, he’d answer me.

  I missed the life Slater had been filled with, the joy he had. Today, I was working with his physical therapist. Slater was pouting in his wheelchair. I massaged his bicep as the physical therapist moved his legs again. I was trying to help any way I could. I held up a cup and eyed Slater.

  “Put your fingers around it.”

  Slater shook his head no.

  “Slater, I know you can,” I said, leaning in closer. “You can do this.”

  “Why are you here?” Slater fixed me with a look.

  “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I be here?”

  “Look at me—I’m a shell of who I used to be.”

  “Don’t say that; you’re still the Slater I know.”

  “I should have died out there with them,” he mumbled.

  I jerked back and narrowed my eyes. “What did you just say?”

  “I should have died that day. Instead, I ended up like this!”

  “How dare you,” I whispered, enraged. “How could you even think of saying anything like that after what I’ve been through—what you’ve been through!”

  I jerked the wheelchair and pushed it out of the room. Slater was trying to stop his forward movement with his left hand as I pushed him down the hall.

  “Take me back to my room!” he slurred.

  “No, and fuck you!” I pushed the wheelchair all the way to the physical therapy room. I pointed at the men inside. “You see them? They lost so much more than you did and yet there they are, fighting to come back from it! That’s bravery. You are a fucking coward!”

  “Fuck you!” Slater shouted at me.

  “No, fuck you! You really think the guys who died wanted to? Here you sit with your life in front of you wishing you had died instead? Because you have to work a little harder to move your arm? To walk on the TWO legs you still have? You’re an asshole!”

  “Fuck you, Casper—get the fuck away from me!”

  “I’m not leaving you, you asshole!”

  “Why? I don’t fucking love you and I never will. You were a good fuck. Now get the fuck out of my face!”

  All right, that hurt.

  “You’re lying,” I said.

  “Get away from me Casper. Just because I fucked you doesn’t mean I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Mason got off easy.”

  My throat closed up and I stepped back a bit. I put a hand to my chest as though he’d actually stabbed me in my heart. Words couldn’t seem to leave my mouth and I ran. I think I faintly heard Slater say something to me as I ran as fast as my legs could take me.

  As I rounded the corner, I ran head-on into a woman carrying a stack of folders. She absorbed the blow like a champ and steadied me. I mumbled an apology and tried to move around her.

  “You’re Casper, Sergeant Cassidy’s boyfriend.”

  “That’s debatable,” I sniffed, swiping at my eyes.

  “I’m Doctor Lamar, a psychologist assigned to several of the patients here.” She smiled gently and moved us into an empty room. “I heard the shouting and I’m headed that way to help. May I say something that I hope will help?”

  I nodded briefly, just wanting to escape hospital hell.

  “I don’t expect this to wipe away your hurt, but I see this all the time. We’re so happy to have loved ones back alive, we expect them just to pick up their lives. These men and women…so many of them have survivor’s guilt on top of the physical and psychological pain they have. They lash out. They say things they don’t mean because they’re angry—at the pain, at the situation, at the loss of lives and abilities.” She rubbed my upper arm sympathetically. “I’m sorry for your pain, as well.”

  With a small smile she hurried down the hallway and I ran for the exit.

  And then I kept running.

  * * * *

  I heaved a sigh and stared out over the waters of the Hudson. Drakon was watching the boats bobbing up and down in the water as the sun sank behind Manhattan’s skyscrapers. We’d made a date—so to speak—with Ryan and Wanda to meet up at the Boat Basin Café and now we waited.

  I’d been going back and forth, over and over in my mind, what I wanted. Over the course of a month, I talked to Raquel every day. As much as Slater had hurt me, God help me I still cared about him. He’d sent me flowers every day with apology cards on them. And I got a nice striptease at my apartment.

  Some things never changed.

  Drakon pushed me to go be with Slater, but I knew he was progressing faster without me there. Somehow, he was pushing himself even harder to get better to get back to me. I didn’t know how I felt about everything. Slater needed to concentrate on fixing himself.

  And to be honest? I wasn’t sure I was ready to completely forgive him. Yeah, he was pissed. I get it. But how dare he cavalierly say he’d rather be dead? Not just because it hurt me, hurt his parents. But because there were families whose sons WERE dead. How dare he diminish that because he was struggling to recover?

  Damn, I missed him like crazy.

  “Why don’t you go see him?” Drakon asked.

  I sighed in exasperation.

  “For the last time, he’s recuperating ten times better without me.”

  “So he has a goal?”

  “Yes. Me, apparently. Raquel keeps me in the loop with everything.”

  “Don’t you feel bad not being there by his side?”

  I narrowed my eyes at Drakon.

  “Don’t you think I ask myself that every day? Of course I want to be there! I wanted to be there the second I left. God, you weren’t there, Drakon—the things he said to me.”

  I shook my head.

  “But even you admit he said those things out of frustration.”

  “Doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. When he said Mason was better off, I…I don’t know, I think that hurt worse than anything. Anyway, as I’ve said, Raquel seems to think he’s working much harder because he has a goal and if that works for him, then I’m staying away.”

  “Oh, Casper.” Drakon smiled sadly at me.

  “What?”

  “You love him.”

  I blinked.

  Did I? I knew that when I’d thought I’d lost him, the ground seemed to open up beneath me. I wanted it to swallow me whole. As much as Mason’s death had left me in a state of despair, learning of Slater’s injuries had thrown me into a tailspin. Had I fallen in love with the snarky, inappropriate Slater Cassidy?

  I knew I was smiling from ear to ear.

  “Yeah, I do love him. God, I never thought I’d feel love again but here it is. I love that handsome, annoying man.”

  “He is hot.” Drakon nodded.

  “God, I’m so sorry. I haven’t been much of a friend to you, have I?”

  “It’s okay, Casper. You have a lot going on.”

  “Well, talk to me now. Tell me about everything.”

  “Well, first off, the night of the party was awesome. I
talked to this really nice guy.”

  “Name?”

  “I don’t know, we didn’t get to that part because then I got a text saying there was shit all over my floor,” Drakon sighed. “Story of my life.”

  “Leave it to you to have a toilet overflow on the night you meet Prince Charming.”

  “Oh yeah, and my dad and his plumber’s crack was awesome.” Drakon snorted.

  It felt good to sit with Drakon. I was glad this time around I actually had friends to sit and talk with about my life. I’d had no one when Mason died.

  “Woo hooo! Sexy mens!”

  “Wanda,” I laughed as she approached the table.

  “How are you, sweetie? How’s that fine-ass soldier of yours?”

  “Oh hell,” I sighed.

  “Uh oh, has he gotten worse?” Wanda sat down and eyed us both.

  “Casper ran.” Drakon raised a brow at me.

  “Oh my God, I keep telling you what happened, Drakon.” I threw my hands in the air. “Stop telling me what to do.”

  “Sheesh,” Drakon sighed.

  “Tell me everything.” Wanda propped her elbows on the table and stared at me.

  We drank a few beers and ate pizza. Ryan came by and sat with us for a while. I didn’t ask him about the waiter thing and he didn’t bring it up. That was his private life. I told Wanda everything and she nodded a lot. She also told me to do what I felt was right, what my heart told me was right.

  By the time I shut the door to my apartment at one in the morning, I was exhausted and ready for bed. I set the alarm and rolled to my side. The picture of Slater and me together sat on my nightstand. It was the one we’d had taken in Atlantic City. Slater was smiling and full of life.

  This was my Slater, the one who drove me bat-shit crazy.

  And I loved him.

  Slater

  I’m an asshole. I freely admit it. I stared at my reflection in the mirror and scowled at myself. My hair had grown back in and I was finally able to lift my right arm. All this self-reflection had come from me waking up and realizing I’d run off the man I loved with my stupidity. Was I angry I’d been wounded? Sure. Did it give me the right to spew hurtful things at Casper?

  Nope.

  It had been a month since my outburst and I was constantly sending him cards and more singing telegrams. My mom had gone to talk to him a week after he’d left and he asked to be kept apprised of my condition. I couldn’t blame him for staying away; God, the things I said to him.