CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Layla
The air between us has shifted when I come down the hall after getting dressed to see Sean opening a duffel bag at my front door.
First, we ate semi-warm pancakes, both of us still covered in blood like the true savages we are, then we had to clean ourselves up in the shower, where he took me again until the hot water ran out.
I’m sure the gash on Sean’s stomach needs a stitch or two, which he promised to punish me for later.
He also said it wasn’t my fault and that now he needs to teach me how to handle a knife properly.
The kitchen is clean and you’d never know what went on in here not long ago. I watch with curiosity as he pulls a soft, plain black leather jacket out of the bag and makes his way over to me. I stare up at him as he slides it onto each of my shoulders.
Sean scrubs his face with the palm of his hand.
“Fuuuck, you look good in that. The way your hair looks over that leather? Christ, woman, you’re stunning,” he murmurs into my neck, wrapping his arms around me.
“Soon, it’ll have my name on it, so everyone will know you belong to me, but I wanted you to have it for this ride.
If you’re gonna be on the back of my bike, you need your own leather. ”
Sean slides his hands under the jacket and his thumbs graze my nipples through my shirt. They instantly harden. I have no idea how, but I’m already on fire for him again with one simple touch.
“We need to leave now,” he says gruffly. “We have a long ride ahead of us. One that doesn’t allow for me to fuck you again for at least an hour.” His eyes roam over me hungrily. “And if I have to look at how fucking hot you are like this for one more second, the choice will be made for me.”
My stomach flutters in anticipation as I grab my bag and toss on my shoes with a laugh, trying to behave as un-sexily as possible.
I have no idea where he’s taking me today, but I’ll admit I want to know.
The more I find out about Sean, the more I realize the true complexity of him.
His layers run deep. And with every new layer revealed, I fall a little more.
The sun is hot on my leather-clad back as we ride down the open highway into Savannah. The flat terrain of the Georgia countryside is broken up by rows of billboards and advertisements as we close in on the city. I lean my head on Sean’s strong back and breathe him in. He smells so damn good.
As we make our way through Savannah, stately homes turn to modern buildings then back to homes again.
Spanish moss clings to the trees that form canopies over the streets, and day lilies perfume the air with their sweet scent.
Summer is in full bloom here. Tourists and locals alike line the streets, shopping and lunching.
It’s when we’re almost through to the other side of the city that we turn off onto a side road and drive for a few minutes, before the trees open up and a large compound of redbrick buildings fills my sightline.
It looks like a hospital but there’s no emergency entrance that I can see, and as we pass the gates I note the large sign with directions to the different outbuildings.
John R. Mackie VA Hospital and Rehabilitation Center.
I don’t know what to think as we pull up and Sean parks his bike in a spot within a row of reserved ones. His is labeled just for him: Sergeant Sean Hunter.
He has his own parking spot?
“What is this place?” I ask as I pull my helmet off and take in my surroundings.
The main building we’re in front of has floor-to-ceiling glass doors, and just outside the entrance is a courtyard of sorts with a large gazebo structure.
Medical staff are pushing patients in wheelchairs around on a trail.
Two men are playing chess at a table. On the other side of the glass doors are tables, one full of what looks to be a family—a woman patient in hospital clothing, a man, and two children running around chasing bubbles the woman is blowing.
Sean hangs our helmets off his grips and pulls his black bandana down from his face.
“This is my job, the brick-and-mortar part, for Veterans Affairs.”
My jaw falls slack as I look around. “What do you do here?”
He grins. “I keep the government liaison for these programs on his fucking toes. I’ve been here since the plans were drawn six years ago, and I’m the single-largest private donor.
On paper I oversee the treatment of every Vet that comes through the door.
I do my best to make sure they aren’t left behind. ”
I blow out a breath. “Holy shit” is all I can offer.
Sean runs his hand down my arm and laces his fingers through mine. “Come on, we’re late.”
For what?
I let Sean lead the way as we enter through the glass doors, the older woman at the front desk offering him a large smile as he enters.
“Sergeant,” she greets him. “Beautiful day out there.”
“Connie,” Sean answers. “This is Layla, she’s going to be with me today for my visit. Can we get her a pass?”
“Of course,” she answers, looking me over in a friendly way.
“And is there a cafeteria delivery for me?” he asks.
Connie gets me a badge, and passes Sean a brown paper bag. I listen curiously as she tells him about some of the patients as he inquires about their progress. She tells him about a new therapy program happening in the construction shop.
“How big is this place?” I ask as Sean hangs the badge around my neck and pulls his own out of his pocket. I eye the photo on it, and note his freshly shaven face and Marine uniform. Goddamn. I’ll be saving that image for a rainy day.
“Massive.” He chuckles. Obvious pride fills his tone.
“There’s the main hospital where we are now.
This has been here for the last sixty years but it was modernized when Veterans Affairs took over.
In the last few years we’ve added a long-term residence, and five other buildings that house outpatient and inpatient programs for Vets.
Physical and mental therapy, job training, addiction services and hobbies to keep their interest while they’re recovering.
My job is to make sure these men and women are supported from the moment they return home.
Some people can handle it, some people can’t. ”
“Why? Because they’ve seen more than others?”
We stop in front of a set of double glass doors and Sean swipes a key fob over a console on the wall to open them. The sign above says: Long Term Care Wings A he’s paralyzed from the neck down—or so I assume because a brace holds his head in place.
Sean moves to the window and greets the man with a warm smile on his face. The man uses his first finger to turn the wheelchair to face him.
“Fuck, you get uglier every time I see you,” Sean says.
“Fries, nice and fresh, from Connie.” He bends down and covers the man’s head with his hand, kissing the top of it.
The man’s first two fingers work speedily to type on a tablet.
He doesn’t even look down to see what letters he’s hitting as they fly.
He looks at me and gives a friendly smile while Sean reads.
“Like fuck, she’s mine,” Sean says to him with a chuckle before he makes his way around the back of the wheelchair and turns it fully to face me. The man is handsome. Around the same age as Sean with deep blue eyes and he wears dog tags around his neck too.
“Layla, I’d like you to meet my friend, Private First Class Christopher Buckman. Buck.”
For the last hour I’ve watched in awe while Sean sits with Buck and they talk, Sean using his words and Buck typing out his answers.
I’ve learned Buck’s C5 vertebra was shattered in the accident and that he’s had a lot of surgeries.
Twelve. I learned he had a stroke that has impeded his speech but that he can eat, drink and he has the use of three fingers on his right hand, which allows him to communicate by typing on his small tablet.
They’ve brought me into the conversation a little, with Buck asking me what Sean did to convince me to hang around such “an ugly chump.”
This side of Sean has me rethinking everything I’ve been told since my childhood.
It has me rethinking my own morals and values as I watch him help Buck eat his fries.
I think of all the times my parents and members of our church condemned the members of the Hounds of Hell.
Judging them without knowing any of them, their lives, the stories that make up their existence or the driving reasons they do the things they do.
Sometimes you have to do a little bad to do a lot of good.
I remember Sean’s words as I look around.
This place is good. It’s incredible. And so is the way Sean gives his heart and makes this place his passion.
Giving back to the veterans that weren’t as lucky as him.
It has me seeing the real him as he laughs and jokes with Buck.
And something tells me there are very few people in this world who have ever seen this side of Sean Hunter.
“I wonder if adding more massage would help you,” I offer as Sean and Buck talk about the possibility of helping Buck’s circulation and blood flow to his legs.
“That’s something we’ve been wanting to get more of on staff here. I like where your head is at,” Sean says, looking from me to Buck.
I shrug. “I’m happy to help, if you want to set it up.
” I smile at Buck and then look back at Sean.
The look he’s wearing is one of pure adoration.
I wait patiently while they chat for a little while longer, and then as Buck starts to look sleepy, Sean stands and heads toward a bookcase.
He grabs a book off the shelf and walks back over. He looks down at Buck’s tablet.
“He says it was nice to meet you,” Sean tells me. “He wants to talk to you.”
I stand and make my way over to him. I put my hand over his. “It was an honor to meet you, Buck.”
Buck grins and types out, “Keep this fucker in line and come back and visit anytime.”
I laugh. “I’ll do my best. He isn’t the easiest to keep in line though.” I lean in. “Kinda stubborn.”
Buck smiles then looks up at Sean. “Ain’t that the fuckin’ truth,” he types. “But he’s a good man. My brother.” Our eyes lock in understanding and I nod. Buck is telling me to see more in Sean. See the other side—and the funny thing is, I already do.
Sean makes his way around the back of the chair and turns Buck toward the window again.
Then he takes a seat beside him and cracks open the book.
Rosalia de Castro, Selected Poems. It’s old, but it’s an English translation.
I take my place on the sofa behind them and listen to Sean read the beautiful words with tears streaming down my face.
He reads to Buck from the weathered old book until Buck’s eyes fall closed and then Sean stands, offering him another kiss on the top of his head, and says quietly, “See you next week, bud.”
There’s something so familiar and simple in their exchange.
I can tell Sean doesn’t do this out of guilt or remorse, although I’m sure he feels some.
I’m sure he does it because underneath that tough exterior that has seen the things of my nightmares, Sean has a heart.
An amazing heart. He told me he would have me surely falling for him in two weeks, but as I sit here and watch him cover Buck with a fleece blanket, I realize I already have.