SPC Jon Bolten
Injured? Oh, Jesus, Jon doesn’t say how badly Ethan was hurt! Jumping up quickly, I paced the floor, chest heaving, trying to think of what to do. Dragging my hand through my hair, tearing at the pins holding it in the ridiculous bridesmaid hairdo, I continued to stalk about the room, my heart pounding.
Think…think! What can I do? Making up my mind, I grabbed my laptop again and began searching.
Chapter 9
(May – Ethan)
The ceiling was boring. Utterly, fucking, boring.
And I should know—I’ve been staring at it on and off for two weeks. Between the hospital in Germany where they saved my leg to Walter Reed Medical Center, where more surgery pinned me all together, I’d seen a lot of the ceilings. Flat on my back, unable to move.
My left leg was still in traction for part of each day. Scars ran from my ankle up to my thigh…but at least I still have a leg. As I have looked around the ward, there are many here who don’t.
I scrubbed my hand over my face, feeling the need for a shave but, then, it hardly mattered. No one here to impress. That thought brought Brooke to the forefront of my mind—not that she was ever far from it. I was so close to having it all. My discharge this month, finally going to meet her, finding a new job…one that was going to keep me close to her, and taking our relationship to the next level. Hell, I was going to claim her as my own. That next level was going to be staying together forever. Sighing, I stared at the ceiling some more. What else was there to do?
“Good morning, Ethan,” the nurse greeted as she came in to check my vitals.
Forcing a tight-lipped smile to my face, I nodded. “So what’s on the agenda today? More ceiling staring?”
Chuckling, she shook her head. “Actually, no. Today, the doctor has ordered for you to get up and get moving.”
With a lifted eyebrow, I shot a sardonic look toward her. “Yep, I’m ready for the dance floor right now.”
“You can fuss all you want, but at least you won’t be staring at the ceiling,” she quipped.
It took all my control to not tell her to get the hell out of my room. As much as I wanted to move around more, I knew movement was going to hurt like a fucker and hated the idea of more pain. Yeah, I’m a wuss, but not everyone wants to jump into the no pain, no gain part of their rehab. Blowing out a long breath, I knew I had no choice. I had to get my mobility back if I was ever going to accomplish any of the things I wanted to do when I was discharged.
The thought of Brooke once more floated through my mind. I wonder what she’s thinking? For the first week after I was injured, I was drugged and out of my mind, barely registering the stay in Germany or the medical transport back to the States. Then another week passed as I dealt with more surgery and pain management. And now another week later? I miss her…want her…but refuse to pull her into this mess of mine. I refuse to burden her with what has happened to me.
Just as I was ready to fall down the rabbit-hole of feeling sorry for myself once more, the physical therapist came in.
“Good news, my man,” Terrance called out, his wide smile showing off his gleaming white teeth against his dark skin. He clapped his hands then rubbed them together in eager anticipation of my torture.
“You are too fuckin’ glad to see me in agony,” I groused.
“Aw, come on, Miller. We gotta get you up and about, so you can get your dancin’ feet going.”
The idea of dancing—or rather not dancing—with Brooke shot my already bad mood to hell. I had wanted to come home and sweep her off her feet. Now looking down at my scarred, pinned leg, I knew my dancing days were over. I knew it was selfish, but right now, any enthusiasm was gone.
“Got no plans on dancing,” I retorted, knowing I was being an asshole but seemingly unable to help myself.
“I’ve seen that picture taped to the side of your bed. Bro, that’s one beautiful woman. You can’t tell me that she doesn’t want you back on your feet.”
Not wanting to talk about Brooke, my mouth had a mind of its own when I heard myself say, “She’s got no idea anything happened to me.”
No words came back at me and I attempted to not look at Terrance until finally I could not stand it. My gaze lifted and observed his hard face—no pity coming from him at all.
“I know what you’re going to say,” I bit out. Seeing his head tilt to the side, I plunged on. “You’re going to tell me that I’m lucky…I was getting out anyway…I’ve still got my leg…all of those things I already know.”
“So tell me something I don’t know,” he said, his calm voice soothing my ruffled edges.
Sucking in a deep breath, I shook my head for a moment, not knowing how to explain the random thoughts shooting through my head. Finally, realizing he wasn’t going to move until I spoke, I said, “We’ve never actually met in person. Just letters, emails, Skype. But I fell…Jesus, Christ…I fell hard.” Another shudder ran through me as I drew a ragged breath. “But I had a plan. Get out this month…go to see her…sweep her off her feet…and ride off into the fuckin’ sunset, I guess.”
“From where I’m standing, that plan doesn’t seem too impossible.”
Shooting him a glare, I retorted, “Yeah, well, you’re standing.”
“And you will be too,” he shot back.
“She and I…we haven’t had a chance to actually build anything real…not yet. How the fuck am I supposed to dump this on her? I can’t walk, not for a while. I sure as hell can’t get a job in an airport until I’m fully well. So I’ve got nothing to offer.”
Shrugging as he moved over to release the traction, he said, “Well, if you don’t think she’s worth the effort, I guess you know best.”
A curse was on my lips but fell away as a flash of pain shot through me as Terrance moved my leg. Jesus, I’m fucked.
Three hours later I wondered if death would not have been preferable. The torturous pain from being moved up and down, in and out of a wheelchair, attempting to stand without putting any pressure on my leg…this made basic training seem like a proverbial walk in the park. Sweating, cussing, and if I’m honest…even crying.
A week later, my world had devolved into eating, sleep, and rehab. Painful, fuckin’ rehab. I had the physical therapy room memorized…each area of torture. I started out on the low, padded wooden table where Terrance moved and bent my leg in what should be normal positions but felt like he was re-breaking the bones. Then I moved to the parallel bars where I practiced pulling myself out of the wheelchair and moving without putting any pressure on my leg. Yeah, right.
I had to do arm workouts to make sure my arms were strong enough to maneuver the wheelchair and leg workouts for the good leg to make sure it didn’t atrophy along with the injured one. All this while staring at the mess of pins and bolts in my leg.
Sometimes I’d stare at the ones who had no leg and know I was an asshole for being pissed about my mangled one, but fuckin’ hell…this was not how I wanted my Army career to end.
And right now, the minutes just before dawn, are when my thoughts turned inward and ugly. I know I’m making progress. I hear the words of encouragement from the doctors, nurses, physical therapists. Hell, even from the other patients. And sometimes I feel it too…and other times, like just now as the sun rises, I think of her and grit my teeth in frustration.
It’s been weeks since the explosion…add the weeks before that when I was at the temporary assignment, and I feel each of the fifty days since I last had communication with Brooke. There’s a computer right down the hall…so close…so easy. So what the fuck is holding me back? Everything. Everything I wanted to be for her and everything I’m not.
I’m so afraid to pull up my email. I know she would have written at first—emails full of what the kids were doing, what they were learning, and probably more pictures. It fuckin’ hurt knowing their school year would be over in a few weeks and I would not get to see them in person. Brooke and I had it all planned. When I got discharged, I
’d go to Chesapeake and just walk into the classroom and watch the kids’ excitement. Now, just like everything else, that’s all gone down the fuckin’ drain.
And what about when she starts wondering why I haven’t emailed back? Did she get pissed? Give up? Rubbing the back of my neck where a tension headache was building, I considered finally manning up and checking my email. God, when did I become such a pussy?
I looked at the clock and realized it was time for breakfast. Maybe food will fortify me enough to gain my courage. I rolled myself down the hall toward the cafeteria. That was one thing I learned quickly here—they start working towards independence as soon as possible. So my special wheelchair that has my left leg sticking straight out was no reason for not getting around. But then, they’ve never bumped a pinned leg on the side of an elevator or into someone and felt the pain explode from the toes up. Nope…that would just be me.
I managed to make it through the food line, getting my chow without spilling anything, setting my tray on my lap so I could roll over to a table. I looked around and saw the walking and rolling wounded. I’m so much better off than many of these guys, and yet, I feel so pissed. I had found out that the only two people injured in the attack were the pilot and me and, while I’m grateful Jon escaped, I never got to say goodbye to my squad.
I watched as the Marine next to me struggled with his milk carton. His right hand was missing a few fingers, along with the missing right leg. I reached over and quietly opened the carton, sticking a straw in before handing it back.
I avoided eye contact but heard the “appreciate it, man,” from him. With a nod, we ate while beginning to talk haltingly with the others at the table. Seems like I’m not the only one pissed about the outcome of the war. Rolling away from the cafeteria, I felt strangely encouraged to make my way to the computer room. I wondered if it would last.
There was no way my straight-legged wheelchair was going to make it under the desk, but I managed to wheel sideways and lean over to punch in my email ID. After wrestling with it, I looked over and realized there were laptops on a table by the window. Well, fuck, that would have been easier. Before I decide to try them out, my email pinged up. I had over two hundred new emails.
Not taking the time to delete the ones not needed, I saw Brooke Thompson’s name on at least twenty of them. My finger hovered over the key and it did not escape my notice that it was shaking. Breaking out in a sweat, I placed my hand back in my lap. What am I doing? I can’t walk on my own right now…I can’t work. This was not how I wanted her to remember me. And I sure as hell didn’t want a pity send-off.
Shutting the computer down, I rolled back to my room.
Chapter 10
(May – Brooke)
What a maze! Can this building be any more confusing?
I finally made it inside the section of the Walter Reed Medical Center where I was told Ethan would be. As soon as I had read the email from Jon, I began planning. The WRMC website had been helpful, but not being related to Ethan did not make things easy. He had not listed any restrictions on his visitor list, which worked for me since he had not been able to respond to any of my emails.
Now it was Monday afternoon and after driving for a few hours, I was finally here. Licking my lips nervously, I waited for a visitor’s badge and directions to the commons garden.
Walking out into the spring sunshine again, I blinked at the bright light as I viewed the beautiful gardens. Patients walked or wheeled around and I observed many with children running around their parents. Sucking in a fortifying breath, I let it out slowly. My eyes roved over the numerous recuperating servicemen and women, and the idea that I might not recognize him—or be a welcome guest—struck me.
Slowly walking along the sidewalk, I smiled and nodded as I made my way around the gardens. Looking to the left, I saw a man sitting in a wheelchair in the shade underneath a large tree. He was wearing a dark green t-shirt and gym shorts. His hair was longer on top, but still fairly closely cut on the sides. His left leg was supported straight out in front of him. He was looking down at his lap and, as I approached, I noticed him holding a book. There was no doubt—it was Ethan. I’d know him anywhere. Heart pounding, I stepped closer, fear and longing warring inside as all the greetings I had practiced now failed me.
(Ethan)
I had been reading for almost an hour and the warm sun was lulling me to sleep. The sound of children laughing and families enjoying the spring day was nice to see, even if it made me feel more alone. Sighing loudly, I closed my book, deciding it was time to go back inside. A slight noise to my right sent my gaze looking over.
A blonde woman was standing in the shade staring at me, but it took a few seconds for my vision to focus on her face. Blinking several times, I shook my head as though the image in front of me was concocted by my imagination.
My chest heaved as my heart pounded. Brooke? The woman stepped closer as she nodded and I realized I had spoken her name aloud.
My eyes never left hers as she approached my chair and knelt next to me. She laid her hand on mine and my breath left my body in a whoosh. “How…?”
“I got an email from Jon. He had problems finding me until he remembered Eastville Elementary.” Brooke sucked her lips in as her eyes were pinned on our joined hands. I gently rubbed my thumb over her palm.
Lifting my eyes, I drank her in. She was more beautiful in person than her photos or image had exposed. I had spent so many months thinking of what I would say to her when I first met her, but now the words choked. I watched her bite her lip and recognized her nervous habit. Before thinking, I reached out and rubbed my thumb over her bottom lip, soothing it.
Her green eyes pinned me as she whispered, “Is it okay that I’m here? I…I never heard…”
She let her insecurity and doubt fall between us, tangible in her nervousness. Shame hit my gut and I winced as my hand squeezed hers tighter.
“Oh, Brooke, I’m sorry…I…I didn’t know what to do…” My voice trailed off as I broke eye contact, my gaze moving down to my leg.
She reached over, cupping my stubbled jaw with her hand. “Hey, you don’t have to explain,” she said, dropping her gaze. “I probably shouldn’t have just dropped in, but…I wanted to see you so much.” Sighing, she cried, “Oh, none of this is coming out the way I envisioned!”
“Hey, hey,” I comforted, leaning my face into her palm for an instant, allowing the warmth of her touch to sear me. “Look, this isn’t the way I wanted our meeting to be either.” Seeing her attention back on me, I continued. “I had it all planned out…the way we were going to meet and, believe me, this was not it.”
She shifted her gaze down toward my leg before holding focus on my face. “Can you tell me anything about what happened?”
“That’s a tale for another time,” I replied, not wanting our first visit to be any more awkward than it was. “Suffice it to say, I won’t be asking you to dance anytime soon.” I heard the harshness in my voice but found it hard to control. Ashamed, I dropped my gaze once more.
A chuckle escaped from her lips, as she said, “I can’t dance worth a damn anyway, so that won’t bother me!”
I looked up at her smiling face and grinned in return. Just then a slight snort escaped, which only caused her to laugh harder. God, her laughter is better than I imagined! Unable to stop, I erupted in laughter as well for the first time in a month.
As our mirth slowed, I realized she had been awkwardly kneeling the whole time. “Fuck, your legs must be killing you, squatting like that—” I said, looking around for a seat.
“Thought you two might like this!” a deep voice called out from behind.
Twisting around, I watched Terrance walk over with a folding chair in his arms. Stopping at the wheelchair, he said, “Miss, I gotta tell you, I haven’t seen this grumpy bugger laugh since he’s been here, so you, my dear, are a miracle worker!”
Smiling, Brooke took the offered seat as I introduced her to my physical therapist. As
Terrance turned to leave, he shot me a thumb’s up sign as he winked at Brooke.
Laughing again, she hid her mouth behind her hand.
“Don’t hide your beautiful smile,” I begged, pulling her hand down. “I’ve wanted to see your face for so long, I don’t want to miss anything.”
“I tend to laugh too loud and then I snort,” she admitted, blushing.
“It’s adorable,” I said, my eyes once more raking over her face before sliding over the rest of her. Wearing a light blue sundress with little flowers embroidered across the bust drew my eyes to her chest. My cock stirred for the first time in a while and it was hard to hide the relief that my parts were still working.
“Ethan?” she said, her voice caressing his ears. Biting her bottom lip again, she sucked in a deep breath. “What happens now?”
I searched her face, unsure what she was asking. “About…?” I prompted.
Ducking her head, she replied, “About you…and us.” Lifting her head to peer into my eyes, she continued, “I hated not being in contact with you and confess that I began to think that perhaps you had decided that you were no longer interested in me.” Seeing me about to protest, she squeezed my hand and quickly said, “I just got the email from Jon a week ago and spent a week trying to figure out how to get to you here. At first they wouldn’t tell me anything…I didn’t even know if you were still here. If I’d known earlier, I would have been right here by your side.”
Sighing heavily, I said, “And you’re wondering why I didn’t contact you.” Watching her nod slowly, my heart aching at her pain. “At first, I was on duty and unable to communicate with you. Then…well, after I was injured, I was unable to do anything because I was drugged out of my mind to control the pain and then…,” I dragged my free hand through my hair as I admitted, “I was just pissed at the world.”
Class of Love (Letters From Home Series Book 1) Page 7
