Always Mine (Wounded Heroes: The Redemption #1)

Chapter 2

For a second time, Annie tried to blank her mind as she walked into the hospital on Sunday morning. But a wayward thought crept in.

You lied to Seth. You don’t have a headache.

So be it.

When she reached Diego’s room, he was sitting up straighter and totally awake. He wore knit shorts and a shirt instead of the hospital gown from yesterday. His arm was kept in place by a sling and a white bandage peeked out of a button-down jersey shirt. She couldn’t help but notice how the blue top made his shoulders look a mile wide. Even sick, he made her shiver.

A slow, sexy smile spread across his face. “ Querida .”

“Good morning.” She held up a white bakery sack. “Are you on solid food yet?”

“Yep. Just today.”

He took the bag and peeked in. The pastries smelled sweet and doughy. “Bear claws.”

“Are they still your favorite?”

“Uh-huh.” He pulled one out and took a big bite. “ Dios Mio .” He wolfed it down. “Want some?”

“No thanks.”

He patted the mattress as he had when he was still out of it. “Come sit.”

“Here’s fine.” She dropped into a chair, smoothing down the plain khaki pants she wore with a peach T-shirt. She hadn’t dressed for him. “We have to talk.”

“Nothing good ever followed that statement.”

She held up her left hand where a diamond sparked in the overhead lights. “Diego, I’m engaged.”

He shrugged his good shoulder. “I know.”

“I’m going to marry Seth.”

He cocked his head and watched her. In the past, he could almost read her mind. “Then why are you here?”

“To clear that up. And I wanted to see how you’re doing but don’t misinterpret this visit as more than a friend checking up on a friend. And don’t call me querida .”

A smug expression. “Resurrects too many memories?”

“Maybe.”

“All right. But stay for a little while.”

“Why?”

His bravado faded. She’d seen vulnerability on his face before. When they broke up. When his dad died. When his close friend Will Kirkland had been hospitalized for an infection while they were in college. It was back.

“I…I’m trying not to think about that night.” It was a huge confession from him. Diego played things close to the vest.

“Stuffing your emotions isn’t a good idea.”

“So I’ve heard. Still, stay and distract me.”

“All right. For a bit.”

He lay back into the pillows. “You came back to town and were teaching at Remington Prep, right?”

“I did. But I left the school. I’m teaching at Pathways, now.”

His brows rose. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“I know I don’t look like I’m suited to deal with troubled boys who would have gone to juvie if they hadn’t come to us.”

“You must drive them nuts.”

She couldn’t hold back a half-smile. “You always did this. To you, I was the prettiest girl in the room.”

“You were. You are.”

She tried not to react to that. Seth had told her a million times she was beautiful. Coming from Diego shouldn’t thrill her so much. “In any case, I’ve been successful for three years.”

“You teach English?”

“Pathways calls it Humanities, but it includes language arts and social studies. Sometimes we use art and music.”

“Ah.”

“Remember Maisy Shepherd? She was in my high school class. She teaches Social Studies and is my partner. We coordinate our units.”

“Huh. She was a looker too.”

“Diego, we’re both highly skilled teachers. Show some respect.”

“ Lo lamento .” He didn’t sound like he was sorry, though. “I revert to a macho sometimes. You like it there?”

“It’s very satisfying. More so than teaching privileged kids.”

“Is Pathways state funded?”

“No, it’s supported by a conglomerate. Kane Enterprises. The CEO is a billionaire who was in trouble as a youth. He’s giving back to people who helped him get out of that life.” She sighed. “There are so many good people in the world.”

“You always were a Pollyanna.”

She ignored his teasing. “Now, tell me about you. You’re still a cop, obviously. You must like it.”

His face fell. “I did.” He shuddered. “Not sure I can do it again because of my shoulder.” He glanced away. “Or if I want to.”

Sympathy welled inside her. “Because of what happened that night?”

“Yeah.” He moved restlessly. “Change the subject, please.”

“Tell me about your shoulder then.”

“You know they did surgery to get the shrapnel. I’m here for a few days to prevent infection and for wound treatment. I’m going home soon, I hope.”

“Will a nurse come to your house?”

“Twice a day for a while to clean and dress it.”

“How long is recuperation?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll need sponge baths for several days. Not taking a shower will kill me.”

“Aw…”

“Unless you want to give me the baths.”

“Diego,” she said, trying to sound stern. “I’ll leave if you keep talking like that.”

“Okay. My stitches will dissolve on their own. I’ll need ice frequently.”

“How long before you’ll have use of your arm?”

“I have no idea. A PT is coming in today to talk to me about that. Now, can we change the subject from me?”

“Tell me about the girls. I met them here a few days ago, but we didn’t have a chance to talk.”

“Would you hand me that glass first so I can have a sip of water.”

“Sure.” Though she didn’t want to be that close to him. But she moved in. She heard the background noise of a hospital: phones ringing, PA announcements, people hurrying past, but Diego’s closeness encompassed her.

When he finished, he said, “Thanks.” Their hands brushed and Annie felt it in her toes. But she got out, “The girls?”

“Sofia left the classroom and became an administrator. Now, she’s a principal at our old high school.”

“I heard that.”

“Sara’s a stay-at-home mom. She loves it but they worry about money. And Elena’s started a daycare. She’s perfect for it.”

“All very successful. I’m glad.”

“Now tell me about yours.”

Annie filled him in on her big family—her dad’s retirement, her three brothers and two sisters.

“I always loved your big family.” A cute smile broached his face. “All boisterous and messy. It was great.”

“They loved you, too.” He held her gaze. “ I always loved you.”

She stood. “Okay, if you can’t refrain from romantic stuff, I’m leaving.”

Managing to grab her hand, he said, “Please. Don’t leave me alone now. Like I told you, you’re keeping the nightmares away.”

She sat and sighed. “You’re incorrigible.”

“So you always said.”

Annie stayed until he fell asleep. She’d just gotten to the door when she heard behind her, “No, no, it can’t be. Stop, stop.” She turned. His head jerked wildly, and his features contorted. He kicked his legs.

Rushing back to the bed, she leaned over. “Diego, wake up.”

He mumbled in Spanish but didn’t come to.

She shook him this time. Nothing. She tried putting her head on his chest. “It’s me, Annie. I’m here. Please wake up.”

That did the trick. He roused. She drew back. His eyes were wide and fearful.

She straightened.

He asked, “What happened?”

“You had a dream. Or a flashback. I assume it was about that night.”

His head sank to the pillows.

“Could you tell me about it?”

Dark eyes widened. With the same fear. “No.”

She crossed to the sink in his room, got a cloth and wet it. She went back to him. He was sweaty and his hair was damp. He still looked scared. She bathed his face.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. But talk to me.”

Accepting that—she didn’t know much about PTSD—she sat again and held his hand for a while. The gesture was so familiar it hurt. After a while, she stood. “I have to leave. Your family is coming soon, and I don’t want to give them the wrong message about the two of us.”

He seemed too drained to object. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and walked out the door.

* * *

Diego was shaken by the dream. It was so real. All his men…the cries… Nope! He wouldn’t go back there. He buzzed for the nurse. When she came in, he said, “I need to use the john. You ordered me not to get out of bed alone.”

“I’m here. Let’s see what you can do by yourself.”

Sliding his legs to the floor, he stood, pushed away the dizziness and settled himself. She held his arm to the bathroom then afterward helped situate him in the big recliner. His mother had brought him some clothes, so he was decent.

Someone knocked on the door and opened it. Maybe Annie came back. But the police chief walked inside. “Hey, Rodriguez.”

“Hello, Chief. I’d get up but—”

“No need.” Mick Thomas had been the police chief for ten years. He was dressed in his uniform of black pants and a white shirt—with several epaulets. For as long as Diego remembered, he himself wanted those epaulets. The chief pulled over a straight chair and sat.

“How’s it going?”

“Slow. My shoulder hurts like hell without pain meds. It’s okay right now because I took some. I’m meeting with PT this afternoon. Do you know that I had surgery?”

“Yeah, of course. I was out in the waiting room.”

“You were?”

“One of my best gets shot on a call? Of course I was there.”

He realized then that the man had to be suffering the same loss he was.

“Thanks then.”

His craggy face turned sad. “I’m sorry about our guys. You know it wasn’t your fault.”

“I know that here.” He touched his head. “But not here.” His heart.

“Survivor’s guilt.”

“I suppose.”

Thomas got a faraway expression in his eyes. “I had it once. Because of a call that went bad. I lost people, too. You can heal from that, Diego.”

He let out a heavy breath. His hand fisted. “I don’t think I ever will.”

The chief gave him a questioning look. “What are you saying?”

“I’m not sure I want to come back to the department.”

“That’s understandable. You have to deal with what happened to you first.”

Diego just stared at him.

“Well, you can’t make any decisions now. You’ve got too much ahead of you. And remember, you’re under the law enforcement insurance. You’ll need it for your physical healing. And we have mental health coverage too.”

Just then the nurse came back. “Sorry, lieutenant, it’s time for your vitals.”

The chief stood. “Hang in there, son. I’ll visit you at home.” And he left.

Diego sighed deeply. The chief should have listened. He wasn’t sure he could ever be a cop again.

* * *

“Hello, ladies.”

Both Maisy and Annie looked over to the door of Annie’s classroom.

Annie said, “Hello, Jackson.”

“Hi, Mr. Kane.”

He focused on Maisy. “It’s Jackson, Maisy. I asked the whole staff to use my first name since day one.”

“That’s right.”

He glanced around. “All set for today?”

“I think so.”

“Me, too.”

Annie motioned him to a chair. He joined them.

The man was spectacular looking, with his dark hair and blue eyes, big build and easy manner. Moreso, she respected him for what he’d done in his life and of course, for the creation of Pathways.

“So, what’s going on in your classes today?”

“We’re starting lessons on war.” Annie rolled her eyes. “Usually the guys love it.”

“What will you do in class?”

“Since it’s the first day of the unit,” Annie volunteered, “I’m going to start with a questionnaire about war, then in my class we’ll begin reading Rifles for Watie out loud.”

“I don’t know that book. You have an extra copy of it?”

“Sure.” Annie got up and walked to the storage closet. Jackson always took an interest in class content. And sometimes, when a teacher was sick, he taught the class himself.

“What about you, Maisy?”

“I’ll start with a discussion, too. We’re going to be studying the Civil War.” Maisy inclined her head. She seemed tense, now.

“Here for your monthly visit?”

“Yes. I enjoy seeing what’s going on in my organizations.”

“It’s nice that you take an interest.”

“Would you mind if I sat in on your class?”

Her brows skyrocketed.

“Don’t worry. I’m not evaluating you. I’m trying to get around to all the departments. And history is one of the classes I liked in high school.”

“Of course you can.”

Annie returned with the book and both he and Maisy stood. “Thanks. I’m taking in Maisy’s class today.”

“Enjoy watching the expert teach.” Maisy had been at Pathways since it started six years ago.

The warning chimes rang. No shrill bells at Pathways. Maisy said, “Let’s go through that door. Bye, Annie.”

“Bye you two.”

As they crossed to the door connecting the two rooms, Jackson said, “I think it’s best if I sit in the back. I met with the guys this morning and I don’t want to intrude on the lesson.”

“Sure.”

As he took a seat, Jackson chided himself for choosing to observe Maisy Shepherd today. But last night he’d had horrible dreams about his days with the Tarantulas. Damn! It was twenty years ago. He awoke in a cold sweat. Because of that he was treating himself to time with this woman.

As the boys filed in, talking and joking, he wondered why he was so drawn to her. His feelings had built gradually. But nothing could ever happen between them. She was his employee, and it would be unethical to see her outside of the classroom. But there was something that kept him coming back.

Today she wore plain navy cropped pants and a white blouse and sandals. Simple. Easy. Her hair was a wavy auburn and fell to the middle of her back. He bet she had red hair as a child. But her eyes got to him the most. They were amber, with dark rims around the pupil.

She smiled when the kids picked up their journals from a bin off to the side and sat in the circle. “Hello, everyone. I hope your weekend was good.” Her voice was friendly and interested. “Any volunteers to tell me about yours?”

“Hey, Ms. Shepherd. My weekend was fine.”

“Why is that, Frankie?”

“I got to see my mom.”

“I know that makes you happy.” She focused her attention on him. “I’m glad.”

Pathways was a residential facility, with a large staff. The teachers, however, did not live on campus. Kids were allowed visits with their families in a secure location. Frankie was here because he beat his father to a pulp—the father that had been attacking his little brother with a belt.

Maisy surveyed the rest of the group. “Anyone else? Timmy?”

“It was okay. I played soccer with some of the guys and staff.” As a freshman, Timmy had been a starting athlete on the varsity soccer team in an upscale school in Syracuse. One night, he took a joyride with other players when their car hit somebody. Older, the other guys got away and Timmy and two others were caught. Timmy was sent here instead of juvie.

Maisy elicited one more volunteer, but the other three stayed quiet.

“Thanks for sharing. Today we’re going to start studying the Civil War.”

Some groans. Mostly for show. By now, April, these kids had adjusted to being sent here and maybe even liked some of the staff. “In Humanities, you’ll be reading Rifles for Watie , a book about a young soldier just a bit older than you who was drafted into the Civil War.”

No response.

“I’d like you to take out your journals. Since everybody has heard something about the Civil War, jot down what you already know about it. When you finish that, write about how you’d feel if you were drafted into war today.”

The kids obeyed, again, some more willingly than others. But once they got going, they all wrote steadily. Maisy was writing with them. She always did the assignments she gave to the kids.

Jackson wrote too. He listed only a few of the things he knew about the Civil War. Then on to the personal: I wouldn’t have to go at my age, of course. But when I was younger, I’d have loved a stint in the army. Maybe I could have escaped from the gang sooner…

When he finished, he scanned his surroundings. Her classroom, like Annie’s, was painted a soothing sea green. Motivational posters and those of historical figures filled the spaces over the large windows. On bulletin boards were student writings and projects. Maisy and Annie had told him once that kids didn’t read the boards unless they were filled with their own work.

The discussion was animated. She kept it on track by using an eraser. A person could only talk if he had the thing in his hands. Ten minutes before the bell rang one of the kids tossed it to him.

He was honest with the boys, as always. Though his past would keep him from getting too close to anyone, he could share it like this without commitment.

When the hour ended, the boys left their journals in the bin and filed out.

“Bye, Ms. Shepherd. Yo, Mr. Kane”

“Ciao.”

“See ya soon.”

When the boys had piled out, he turned to her. “Good class, Maisy. They’re nice to you.”

“They weren’t always. At first, they were…rebellious and grumpy, trying to adjust. By this time of year, they’re mostly thankful to be at Pathways instead of the alternative. I’m sure they’ve heard stories about juvie.”

Juvie was the Juvenile Detention Center where kids went when they committed a crime but were not old enough for adult incarceration. It was, however, a prison.

“I’ve tracked their progress so far this year.”

“I think it’s great that you do that.” She folded her arms over her chest. The action pulled the blouse tighter around her breasts. “So, you were in a gang?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“That’s why you started Pathways. Other schools in New York?”

“Yep. I’m giving back for my success, which I had help with.”

“I heard that. But a gang? Wow!”

“It wasn’t pretty.” But boy, she was. He liked how she focused on him as if nothing else was going on around them. He liked it too much.

Sighing, he forced himself to stuff his feelings for both their sakes.