Breaking Free

by Teresa J. Reasor

  ****

  Hawk dragged air into his lungs. Sucker punched. That’s what it felt like to see Brett like this.

  The man lay still on the bed, his skin nearly as pale as the sheets. The slow even rise and fall of his chest was the only sign he was alive. Hawk struggled to draw some reassurance from the fact his buddy seemed to be breathing on his own without difficulty. Wires ran beneath the pale blue hospital gown that only partially covered his chest. Electrodes were attached to his chest and a machine monitored his heart rate and blood pressure, another, his oxygen level.

  Hawk cleared his throat before he could speak. “Let’s go talk to him. Hey, Cutter, don’t you think you’ve goldbricked enough?” he asked loudly as he approached the bed. “It‘s time to rise and shine, sailor.”

  Zoe brushed a kiss across Brett’s forehead, and drew the sheet up over his bare chest.

  It seemed surreal seeing the man so unresponsive when he had always been so active. Because he ran every day and lifted weights, as did most of the other team members, he was in prime condition. The slow rise and fall of his chest made it appear as though he’d just nodded off for a brief power nap, not a two weeklong excursion into a dark nether world.

  Hawk lowered his tall frame into a chair next to the bed and propped his foot on the bottom railing of the bed. He kept up the one sided conversation with Brett, while Zoe exercised her brother’s arms and legs so the muscles wouldn’t atrophy.

  Not being much of a talker, he found it difficult to keep the unreciprocated flow going. He talked about the team, about the barbeque, and about the remodeling project he worked on at his house.

  “I could really use your help, Cutter. It’s hard as hell hanging sheetrock by myself.”

  “Why do you call him that?” she asked.

  “Most of the men have nicknames. Cutter got his during his first mission after graduating SEAL training.”

  Zoe looked so young, with her hair pulled back and the sun kissed blush upon her cheeks and nose. Reluctant to tell her anything that might put her brother, or his profession, in an adverse light he wracked his brain for an innocuous comment to explain. She beat him to it.

  “Brett was always toying with sharp instruments. Knives. Screwdrivers. Axes. I imagine that comes in handy when you’re in dangerous situations.”

  “Yeah, it does.” Damn, she was tough. She faced off the hard things without flinching.

  “Brett used to practice at targets in the back yard with a bow and arrow. He was on the archery team in high school. He won several competitions.”

  “And what were you like in high school?”

  “Very shy and self-conscious.”

  “You outgrew it.”

  She bent Brett’s knee, pushed his foot all the way up to his buttocks, then straightened the limb again. “I know my limitations and accept them.”

  His gaze dropped to the pant leg that covered her injury and he frowned.

  A cursory knock sounded on the door and it opened. A nurse entered the room. Her thick dark brown hair, though pinned up according to regulations, still managed to look attractive. The green scrubs she wore didn’t entirely hide the curves beneath.

  Cutter was going to love waking up to her. She was just his type.

  She nodded in acknowledgement of Hawk’s presence. As he started to shove himself to a standing position, with the use of the chair arms, she waved him back down. “At ease, sir.”

  Her gaze swung to Zoe. “Hello, Zoe. Captain Connelly will be by in about half an hour.”

  Zoe nodded. “How have Brett’s vitals been today, Angela?”

  Angela checked the chart she carried. “Steady and strong.”

  She came forward to unwind the hose of a blood pressure cuff and wrap it around Brett’s arm. She pumped the bulb and took the reading, then recorded it in the chart. She went through a routine of checking his pulse then looked over the reading on each machine, each time entering the data into the chart.

  Zoe resumed the exercises.

  “You might check into the hospital administration office. We subcontract some of our PT,” Angela said as she watched.

  “Thanks for the tip, but I’m not going to be here long enough to settle into a job. As soon as Brett’s on his feet again, I’ll have to return home to Kentucky.”

  Angela looked down at the chart for a moment. “It’s early days yet. He may wake up tomorrow.”

  “I’m counting on it,” Zoe said.

  The doctor showed up a few minutes later. Hawk rose to his feet, and with the help of his crutches, balanced on his good leg. Though she had demonstrated more than once she didn’t want his comfort or support, he stood beside Zoe while the doctor examined Brett.

  He could sense her worry in the stiff way she held herself and in the way her eyes followed the doctor’s every move.

  “He’s responsive to painful stimuli, his pupils are equally reactive, and his EEG shows normal brain activity.” Captain Connelly said as he turned to face them both. “He just hasn’t decided to join us, yet.”

  “I’ve been doing some PT with him, hoping the exertion will stimulate him and he’ll wake up,” Zoe said.

  “It certainly can’t hurt him. Talk to him as much as you can while you’re here.”

  “I wanted to talk to you about that.” Zoe squared her shoulders. Her battle-ready look slipping into place. Her jaw was set and her eyes homed in on Connelly like lasers. “I want permission to spend as much time with Brett as possible, even in between visiting hours. I’ll read to him, talk to him, do PT, whatever it takes to get his attention.”

  Dr. Connelly’s square jawed features softened in sympathy. “Miss Weaver--”

  “Zoe,” she interrupted.

  A brief smile curved his lips. “Zoe. I know you want what’s best for your brother.”

  “What’s best for Brett is for him to wake up.”

  “Yes, it is,” Dr. Connelly conceded. “But he’s also sustained a trauma to his brain. He needs time to heal. I’ve spoken to one of the best neurosurgeons in the country, and have faxed him copies of everything in your brother’s file. Let’s wait and see what he says before you launch your campaign, all right?”

  “And if he gives the go ahead?” she pressed, the determination in her expression unwavering.

  “Yes, I’ll give you a green light and you can camp out with your brother as much as you like--within reason.” He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It will ultimately be up to your brother, though. I know how frightening it is to see him lying there seemingly unresponsive. There is something going on in his brain. The readings of his electroencephalogram register brain activity. His brain pressure is normal now. His MRI shows no extensive brain damage. I don’t know why he won’t wake up.”

  “So there is hope,” Hawk said.

  Zoe frowned.

  “Yes, there is. I haven’t given up on Ensign Weaver. You shouldn’t either,” Connelly said.

  Hawk nodded, a deep sense of relief easing the taut feeling of guilt that knotted his insides. He had to hold on to the belief that Brett would wake up, just as Zoe did.

  As he looked down at his friend, his thoughts turned to other questions too hard to speak aloud. What if he woke up crippled, brain damaged, unable to care for himself? What then would Brett or his family do?

  His attention focused on Zoe’s face. The delicate curve of her cheek and jaw, the wing-like sweep of her brows, the straight narrow line of her nose, gave her features a fragile femininity that underlined her vulnerability, despite her expression of stubborn resolve. He suddenly realized that was her way of warding off the fear and uncertainty. Just as it was Brett’s.

  With the men in his command, he could give them a slap on the back, a nod, a thumbs up, a hooyah. Hawk did the only thing he could do with Zoe. He laced his fingers through hers in a show of support and comfort and immediately a thrum of electricity passed between them.

  Zoe’s attention shifted to their laced hands then refocuse
d on the neurologist.

  Doctor Connelly spoke as he crossed to the door. ”I’ll be speaking with you again tomorrow. I hope to hear something from the specialist I’ve contacted by then.”

  “We’ll both be here, Doc,” Hawk answered.

  The door thumped shut quietly behind Connelly. The silence stretched taut as the strings on a parachute.

  She stepped away, withdrawing her hand from his. She avoided his gaze as she moved back to Brett’s side. For the hundredth time, she adjusted the sheet over him.

  “I’m just trying to be a friend, Zoe.”

  “I didn’t think anything else, Lieutenant.”

  “Hawk.”

  Her gaze rose to his face. “Hawk.”

  He grinned. “Now that we’ve settled that, when do you want to move in with me?

 

  CHAPTER 3