13. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The day before my surgery, we leave for Aurora around midday. It’s a suburb of Denver, and the closer we get, the heavier the afternoon traffic becomes. Still, we’re able to check into our hotel room around four.
“Out or in for dinner?” Charlie asks me after we get to the room.
She’s leaning over to take toiletries out of her travel bag, and my eyes zero in on her perfect peach of an ass. “In. Definitely in.”
She looks back over her shoulder and catches me staring, then grins. She slowly walks to where I’m perched on the edge of the bed before pushing me back. I lean up on my elbows, watching as she crawls up my body, sitting astride my hips. Her full lips hover just above mine. I watch as she bites her lower lip, her eyes wide and innocent. “In is definitely better,” she murmurs against my lips before grinding against my already-hard cock. “I definitely like it in.”
Sex. Goddess.
I take her hard and fast. She’s on her back, her right leg against my chest, her ankle over my shoulder. I claim her mouth as my hands roam her body. It’s fucking hot. No – she’s fucking hot. She’s so wet, her body beautiful and glistening, and the harder I thrust, the more she cries out, her breasts bouncing as I pound into her again and again, skin slapping skin. I’m like a man possessed, unable to get enough of her. “Mine,” I growl as I bottom out inside her. “Mine.”
“Yours,” she moans. “Always yours.”
When she climaxes, she screams my name. The spasms deep inside her pull me over the edge, and I empty into her with one final growl. “Mine.”
I lay there afterwards, our fingers threaded together, spooned against her luscious curves, marveling at the way this siren beside me was convinced a mere two months ago that she was unable to feel desire or become aroused.
Sex. Goddess.
We spend most of the evening and night in bed, tangled in each other’s arms. Being in this hotel room and knowing I’m going to be incapacitated after surgery compels me to take her while I can. Somewhere around seven, we order Chinese food and eat takeout on one of the two queen-sized beds while watching a movie on her laptop. Later, we shower together, and thankfully, this hotel has a sturdy shower bench, because we make excellent use of it. She climaxes in the shower, but I hold back. I’m not done with her yet. We return to the bed, where I feast on Charlie – her delectable mouth, her lush breasts, and her sweet pussy. I taste and lick and suckle her tender flesh until she detonates against my face with her hands fisted in my hair. Only when she’s feeling the aftershocks of her orgasm do I stretch out above her and slide my ready cock inside her tight depths. She digs her heels into my ass, clutching my sides, begging me not to stop. Her body rises to meet me with each thrust, pulling me in deeper. When she tightens around me a third time, I bury myself deep, my cock pulsing within her.
We hold each other till dawn, speaking very little. My mind keeps drifting to all the things I’m going to do once I’m normal again, and at the very top of my list is telling Charlie how I feel. She’s my past, my present, my future, my everything, and I want her to be mine forever.
I’m lost in thought when she speaks quietly, her head nestled into my shoulder. “I’m scared.”
I tilt her face up to mine, startled by the anxiety in her eyes. “Why?”
She swallows hard. “Every time I wait while you're in surgery, my mind always goes to ‘what if’.” She pauses. “Do you remember in Afghanistan when we talked about what we would want if one of us was badly injured?”
I remember.
The four of us were talking after several of our guys had been critically wounded in an IED blast. One ended up with a brain injury so severe, the doctors said he’d be a vegetable if he survived. Tucker posed a question to each of us: if we were too badly injured to be what we were before, would we want to survive? Charlie’s answer had been slow and deliberate. She said if she couldn’t survive without machines, or if she was completely oblivious to everyone and everything, an empty vessel, she wouldn’t want to be forced to go on that way. I’d promised her I’d make sure she didn’t have to, and she promised me the same. I still recall my words to her. There’s a difference between existing and living. If I’m merely existing, I’d rather die.
I don’t say the words aloud now, but I nod, watching her face.
“The flight to Texas when you’d first been hurt was hell,” she admits. “All I could think about was that conversation, wondering how I’d find the strength to keep my promise if that’s how things turned out. I’d do it, because I’d said I would, but I was terrified. And now there’s another surgery, another chance for things to go wrong, and it scares me, because I can’t do this without you, Mark. I can’t.” Tears fill her eyes and she bites her lip, trying to blink them away.
I roll to my side, taking her with me, looking into emerald eyes so deep I could drown in them. I lift one hand to stroke her face, rubbing my thumb over her cheekbone. “Everything’s going to be fine, Baby Girl. You aren’t going to lose me. I made you a promise too, remember? You won’t lose me, not ever. You’ve been the best part of my life for as long as I can remember, and I’m not going to let anything ruin that.”
The words “I love you” are on the tip of my tongue, but I manage to swallow them back. God forbid, if something does go wrong, I don’t want her crushed by thoughts of what could have been, and if things go as planned, I want to tell her when I’m normal again. When I’m whole.
“I need you to keep that promise,” she says, her hand caressing my face.
“Always, Baby Girl. Always.”
We make love once more as the sun peeks over the mountains. It’s slow, tender, full of deep yet unspoken emotions. Charlie’s my drug, my addiction, and I have to have her.
She’s mine.
Always.
I shower again, and it’s far less fun because I shower alone with surgical soap that doesn’t lather. Charlie’s dressed when I emerge, her eyes tight with worry. She refuses food or coffee, saying she’s too nauseous, promising to grab something later.
The hotel is literally almost across the street from the hospital, so finding a parking place takes longer than the actual drive. Charlie slings her backpack and my overnight bag over her shoulder before we go inside.
It’s like déjà vu – an unpleasantly familiar blend of bright lights, strange smells, and incessant pokes and prods. The cacophony of overhead announcements and ringing phones never ceases. I put on a gown that exposes my ass, and Charlie smiles as she tells me the view has added a definite perk to her morning. I wait on an uncomfortable stretcher as a nurse starts two IVs, one in each arm, and administers something to “relax me” that turns the white fluorescent lights pink. Charlie’s in a chair beside my stretcher, her head on my shoulder and her hand gripping mine. I catch myself dozing and startle awake repeatedly, but Charlie keeps telling me to relax and rest, that she’s with me.
I need her with me.
I wake again when another nurse says my name as an orderly unlocks the brakes on my stretcher. “We’re taking you down to surgery now, Mr. Chandler.” My eyes flit to Charlie’s. She leans over, smiling and cupping my cheek as she kisses me. She’s trying to appear calm, but I can almost smell her fear.
“I’ll be waiting for you.”
“I’ll be back soon, Baby Girl. I have a promise to keep.” I squeeze her hand tightly before she’s forced to step away. The blur of lights as I roll beneath them makes me dizzy, and I close my eyes as the stretcher travels down the hall. I picture Charlie, her green eyes smiling up at me as I stand before her whole. Normal.
It’s the last image in my mind before I drift into unconsciousness.
Sitting in a cramped waiting room brings back stomach-clenching memories of Mark’s injuries earlier this year. My fear and anxiety mushroom, threatening to overwhelm me. After all we’ve been through to find happiness together, what if I lose him now?
My chest grows tight as the familiar iron bands wrap around my ribs and it gets hard to breathe. Fuck. I haven’t had a panic attack in months.
I need to get away.
Desperate to be alone, I find a quiet spot in a chapel just off the waiting room. I close my eyes, striving for calm, listening to Mark’s voice in my head from years ago at Walter Reed.
Breathe.
Slow and easy.
I’m right here with you, Baby Girl. I’ve got you.
Just breathe.
My deep breathing combined with the memories of his soothing voice calm me enough to stop my trembling. I return to the waiting room and drink terrible hospital coffee that sits like an anchor in my stomach as I wait for news.
Dr. Walters emerges several hours later, pulling off his surgical cap and running a hand through his thinning hair. I jump to my feet, my heart in my throat until he smiles. “Everything went beautifully,” he says. “The implant seated well, and the plastic surgeon refined his limb to accommodate the external abutment. There was a significant amount of scar tissue that had entangled a bundle of nerves. The neurosurgeon was able to excise a good deal of it, so I’m optimistic his phantom sensations will improve.”
“How is he?”
“Stable but groggy. We’ve just moved him to the recovery area. He’ll rest today. Tomorrow we’ll start his PT and load-bearing exercises. He should be able to go home in a few days.”
“When can I see him?”
“As soon as he’s a little more awake, they’ll take you back.”
I call the clinic to update Lila, but Tom answers the clinic phone. “Lila’s in a massage,” he says apologetically. “Do you need me to get her?”
“No. Just tell her Mark’s surgery went well, and I’ll call her back after I see him.”
“Will do. If you guys need anything, call me, okay?”
“I will. Thanks, Tom.”
Now that I know Mark’s okay, I’m restless. I won’t feel better until I see him with my own eyes. I drink another cup of coffee that tastes like motor oil, pacing like a caged cat and counting the minutes.
I’m still woozy when Dr. Walters comes to talk to me in the recovery room. “You did great, Mark,” he says. “The surgery was a success. The fixture is in place, and tomorrow, we’ll start you working with a rubber footie in physical therapy.”
“Footie?” I mumble.
He nods. “It’s the first stage, before your prosthetic. It only lasts a few weeks.”
He leaves, swishing the curtain closed behind him, and I’m alone in the cubicle.
Curiosity overwhelms me, and I tug back the sheet to stare at my leg.
What the fuck?
No, seriously, what the fuck?
The tip of my – I might as well call it what it is – my stump – is swathed in white gauze, though I can see some bloody drainage around one end. It's what's beyond the gauze that captures my attention. A silver rod protrudes about two and a half inches from the end of the stump. It’s round, then square, with a specialized screw tip.
Screwed.
Like me.
Like my life.
It looks like a too-short, goddamned pirate’s peg leg. All I need is a fucking eye patch and a parrot for my shoulder. I thought I was going to be normal. Whole. How the fuck is this normal?
I stare in disgust at the metal rod extending from my leg. I’m even more of a freak now than I was before, and that’s saying something.
Normal isn’t an option for me. It never will be. Now, unbelievably, I’m even more abnormal than I was before.
Every hope I’d had for a forever with Charlie melts away, leaving a bitter residue in its place.
Fuck.
It takes forever for a nurse to come out to take me to see Mark. “Mrs. Chandler?”
Something unfamiliar spirals through my body at her words, and my heart skitters like a jackrabbit. Images flash rapid-fire through my mind. Mark and I laughing. Kissing. Him tenderly brushing the hair from my face. Lying in his arms. Making love. Standing before him in a wedding dress while he leans down and lifts my veil.
It’s my dream, the one I didn’t even know I had until that night in Tom’s kitchen with Maya. My dream of a husband who loves me and a house full of big dogs and cats and chaos – well, everything but the kids.
And the man who fulfills my dream of a happily-ever-after?
It’s Mark.
My chest is suddenly tight, but not like earlier. I freeze for a split second before remembering the nurse is staring at me, waiting. I slowly shake my head. “Just Charlie. We aren’t married.”
“If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you to see him.” I follow the woman in green scrubs through a maze of halls and whooshing double doors before she stops and parts a curtain for me. The lights are dim, but my eyes go immediately to him. I can’t see much of his face. One muscled arm is draped over his eyes, as though blocking out what little light there is; the other lies atop the sheet, fluids dripping into the IV in his hand. His breathing is even. I glance at the bedside monitor out of habit. His blood pressure and heart rate are good, as is his oxygen level, and his cardiac rhythm is perfect.
My eyes linger on the lower part of his face, the only portion visible, and the heavy sensation in my chest grows stronger.
Oh my God. I’ve fallen in love with him.
The realization hits me out of the blue, and for a second, I can’t breathe.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be just sex. We agreed – no romantic entanglements.
Then Mark takes a deep, shuddering breath, and all my attention shifts to him.
I step close and lean over, kissing his cheek. “Hey, Big Guy. How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been better,” he says, his voice hoarse. I slide my hand into his and squeeze his fingers, but he doesn’t squeeze back, and he doesn’t move his arm away from his eyes.
“Are you hurting?”
He laughs darkly. “You could say that.”
“I’ll get the nurse. She can give you something for pain.”
He shakes his head. “Medication won’t touch this pain.”
Something’s wrong, and I don’t know what. Fear shivers up my spine. I reach for the arm over his face, lightly touching him. “Please look at me, Mark.”
“Why?”
Panic rises inside me. “Because you’re scaring me.”
He moves his arm away then, looking directly at me, and I almost wish he hadn’t. Pale blue eyes study my face with a flat, emotionless look.
This isn’t the Mark who held me so tenderly just hours ago. My chest tightens again, the iron bands squeezing, and my breathing picks up speed. What’s going on? What’s happened?
His eyes travel over my face before softening slightly. “I’m just tired and hurting. You don’t need to be afraid, Charlie.”
I squeeze his hand, but his fingers remain motionless within mine. He draws a deep breath and moves his arm back up over his eyes again.
Tears burn my eyes. Something’s terribly wrong. He’s pulling away, and I have no idea what changed between this morning and now. I press the button for the nurse, and she injects his IV with something for pain. His breathing becomes more even.
He’s just tired and hurting.
Pain meds and rest. That’s all he needs. Pain meds and rest.
Everything’s fine.