Chapter 7 #2
Eden found clothes for Bea that she thought would fit, based on the height and weight recorded in the hospital records, but maybe she didn’t think of buying bras. Or maybe the ones she got didn’t fit.
Now that I’m thinking about it, I can’t seem to make myself stop.
What color are Bea’s nipples? Pale pink? A deep rose? Are they small, like the rest of her? Or—
No.
This is not okay.
I’m here to check on Bea. Not to fantasize about her naked body.
Silently commanding my body to heel, I duck around the island and start unloading the bags. “If you need anything, just tell me. An app. A different charger. One of those remote speakers. I know you’re not working out yet, but maybe one of those special clips—”
“Indy.” Bea hops onto the stool and leans across the counter. Her eyebrows arch up. “Were you researching cochlear implants?”
My face warms. “Some. I wanted to make sure you have everything you need. Since we couldn’t exactly go back to your apartment.”
She stares at me. Her gaze softens. “That was really nice of you.”
“I guess.” Her gratitude makes me feel all itchy inside. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Okay…” Bea throws me a puzzled look. Then she scans the assortment of food I’m setting out on the island. “What’s all this for?”
“For you to cook with. Well. Not for you to cook with yet. You’re still supposed to be resting.”
“It’s been three—no, nearly four—days. I think I could manage to cook.”
“Maybe, but it would be safer if you didn’t.”
Bea grabs one of the tomatoes and turns it around in her hand, inspecting it. “I guess I’m confused, then. Why buy all this food? It looks great, and I could definitely make some recipes with it, but if I’m not supposed to be cooking…”
I pull out my phone and open the browser app, showing her a spaghetti Bolognese recipe I found earlier.
“In another couple days, you can cook yourself. But I was thinking in the meantime, maybe I could help you. I’m not good at cooking, obviously, but if you just sit there and tell me what to do, I think I can muddle through. ”
She looks at the recipe for a few seconds. “You want to cook with me?”
I take the phone back and shove it quickly into my pocket. Warmth creeps up the back of my neck. “If you’d rather I didn’t, that’s okay.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” She places her hand over my prosthetic before I can hide it behind the counter. “I was just surprised. But… if you’re up for cooking…” A tentative smile lifts her lips. “That would be nice.”
I can’t tear my eyes away from the sight of her hand over mine.
When was the last time someone touched my prosthetic willingly? Someone who wasn’t required to as part of their job?
When was the last time I gave someone the opportunity?
It feels strange. Not physically, because I can’t feel Bea’s hand at all. But in my gut. My chest. My heart.
It feels…
Right.
“So…” Bea releases my hand and slides off her stool, coming around to my side of the counter. She starts moving the groceries around, setting aside the tomatoes, the olive oil, several containers of spices, a box of spaghetti and a package of ground beef. “We can start with this.”
She starts gathering up the rest of the food. “The rest I can put away for later.”
“Wait.” I take the food from her hands and set it back on the counter. “What part of resting did you miss? You sit.” Lightly grasping her shoulders, I guide her back over to her stool. “And I’ll put what we don’t need away.”
In the minutes that follow, Bea watches me with a contemplative look in her eyes. Finally, she says, “It’s really okay, Indy. If you’d rather not cook. I don’t want you to feel… obligated.”
I set the milk carton on the shelf and close the fridge door, then turn around to face her. “I don’t feel obligated. Why would you think that?”
“Because I know it’s not your thing. And you probably have ten other things you’d rather be doing.” Her chin takes a defiant jut. “I know I haven’t been acting like my normal self lately, but I can handle being alone. You don’t have to keep visiting me if you don’t want to.”
All the air squeezes from my lungs.
Is that what she thinks? That I don’t want to see her?
I’m about to deny it when another unwelcome thought intrudes.
Of course, she thinks I don’t want to be here. After how I acted at the hospital… How could she not?
Sinking onto the stool beside her, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
I don’t like talking about the past. Or how I felt back then.
But of all people, Bea deserves to know. Deserves the long-overdue apology I never got up the courage to give.
“I do want to see you,” I say. “Yes, I come by to make sure you’re okay. But it’s not just that. I like talking to you. Spending time with you. I know that’s hard to believe, given my behavior when you knew me before—”
Her brows screw up. “Your behavior?”
“Yeah. I was an asshole, Bea. I know I was. Always complaining, grouching, never saying thanks…”
“You didn’t have to thank me. That was never a part of it.”
“But I should have. All the things you did… the food you’d bring in, the graduation cap…”
Bea’s face jolts. “You remember that?”
“Of course. I even kept—”
Shit. Too much. Way too much.
Her gaze pins mine. “You kept what?”
“The cap,” I admit. “I still have it. And I should have thanked you. You didn’t have to do that. Especially not when I was such—”
“Indy.” It’s soft. Thick with emotion. “You weren’t an asshole. You were hurting. Everything was different. I didn’t expect you to be all smiles all the time.”
“I wasn’t nice to you. And I should have been.”
“I didn’t take it personally, Indy.” She pauses. “And you weren’t always a jerk. Sometimes you were nice. Funny. I liked you. A lot.”
My stomach flips.
“Still. I shouldn’t—”
With a solemn look in her eyes, she asks, “Don’t you think I understood? Not about the prosthetic part, but feeling different? Feeling like you lost something so important, you’ll never be the same person again?”
Then she tucks her pretty blonde hair behind her ear, exposing a glimpse of her implant.
Realization slams into me with such intensity it steals my breath.
Shit.
Of course she does.
I was just too self-absorbed to see it before.
“I lost my hearing when I was fourteen,” she says. “It was terrifying. All my plans… my hopes… I thought they were gone forever. Do you think I was pleasant back then? Trust me. I wasn’t. My poor parents… it was a rough few years.”
“I’m sorry, Bea.” This time I cover her hand with mine. “I didn’t think.”
“It’s fine. I’m just saying, I get it. And getting my implants, it wasn’t some magic fix.
There was the surgery, then months of learning how to use them.
People thought the implants would just switch on and I could hear everything.
But that’s not how it worked. I had to retrain myself to hear.
And even when I was used to them, I still felt different. I felt ashamed for a long time.”
“Bea.”
The urge to hug her is almost too hard to resist.
“I was ashamed,” I confess. “About my prosthetic. And I felt useless. I’d gone from being this badass Special Forces soldier to a civilian with only one hand. So I lashed out at people. My sister. My best friend. My old teammates.” A beat. “You.”
She looks down at my prosthetic, splayed out on the counter. “But you’re not useless, are you? You found this company. You still make a difference.”
“It took a while. But yes, I’m in a good place. I have a rewarding job. One I enjoy. I get to see my sister and my best friend all the time.”
“Rafe, right?”
“Yeah. Rafe was on my team. In the Green Berets, our teams are made up of twelve, but we’re configured to work in split teams of six, too.
Rafe was on my split team. Ace and Tyler were on different GB teams, but they were stationed at Fort Campbell with me, so I knew them from trainings and joint ops. ”
“And Webb?”
“He was stationed at Fort Campbell, too. But he was a Night Stalker. His team would help with exfils—”
“Exfils?”
“Extractions. When we needed to make a quick exit from enemy territory, the Night Stalkers would come in to get us.”
Bea spins a tomato absently on the counter. “So you knew everyone. Before joining Blade and Arrow.”
“I did. Which was a big perk of it. Knowing my future teammates. Already trusting them.”
“And they trust you.” It’s not a question, but a statement.
“They do.”
Several silent seconds pass. Then she says, “I’m glad. That things have worked out for you. I always wondered…”
Trailing off, her cheeks go pink.
Though I want to ask her exactly what she wondered, I don’t. Instead, I say, “I wasn’t sure at first. When Cole—he’s the founder of B and A—asked me to join this new team, I was worried my hand would hold me back.”
“And now?”
“It hasn’t yet. So I’m glad about that. And Yara, she’s another Green Beret, and brilliant with robotics—she added some mods to my prosthetic. It’s stronger now. Sturdier. More resistant to water. And I can fire a gun. So I can’t really complain.”
Bea looks at me, an indecipherable expression in her eyes. Then she smiles. “You know what my dad told me when I was feeling insecure about my implants? He said I had superpowers. That I had something special most other people didn’t.”
There’s a rough tug in my chest.
“You do, Bea.”
But I’m not talking about her implants. I’m talking about her. About the special gift she has to bring joy wherever she goes. About the strength she shares with her patients. About how damn strong she is for herself.
Unsettled by the tumult of emotion hitting me, I get up and start rummaging through the kitchen drawers, pulling out knives and pots and cutting boards. And I keep my gaze fixed on what I’m doing, afraid if Bea looks into my eyes, she’ll somehow read how I’m feeling.
“Indy.” Bea slides off her stool and comes around to my side. She takes the pot I’m holding and sets it down. Then she puts her hand on my arm and waits for me to meet her gaze.
“What?” I ask. It’s rougher than I intended. Softening my tone, I repeat, “What, Bea?”
“You’re special, too.” Before I can deny it, she shakes her head. “You are. I always knew it. And…”
“And?”
A tiny smile quirks her lips. “I’m not mad at you anymore.”
The last of the bands wrenched around my chest falls away. “Good.”
Her smile broadens. “Okay, then.” A beat passes. Then she reaches past me to grab the rest of the tomatoes. Silky-soft hair brushes my chin. “Now. We want to start chopping the tomatoes for the sauce.”
My heart fuller than I remember it being in years, I smile back at her. “No. We aren’t. I am. Now go sit back down. Then you can boss me around.”
She grins. “Bossing you around? I like the sound of that.”
And though I won’t say it, deep down, I know the truth.
So do I.