I'll Be Home For Christmas (A Coming Home Novella) (12 page)

Might lose the whole arm if we don’t.

He swallowed. All of that was a blur. He remembered making a crack about his balls but maybe he hadn’t because the doctors hadn’t laughed.

Maybe his sense of humor had been in his right hand and that had been amputated, too.

That was a shitty feeling. Holy crap, Nicole was going to be pissed. Had he called her? He couldn’t remember if he’d called her.

What if she freaked out about it? What if she took one look at the missing appendage and executed an about-face and walked out of his life forever and went and found someone who was still a whole person? Someone who hadn’t left her alone for years on end while he was off fighting some stupid-ass war.

A man with both his hands to hold her with.

Holy hell, he didn’t want to call her. He wasn’t ready for that. She was going to be so pissed at him for getting hurt. Damn it, how the hell had he gotten himself blown all to hell in the first place? He frowned and glanced down at the bandage.
Residual limb.
Was that what it was called? Where had he heard that?

The silence was closing in on him. He wondered if the nurses would be irritated if he got out of bed. He didn’t do well with sitting still. Never had. Hell, he’d driven his teachers nuts when he’d been a kid. The ginger kid with the smart mouth. He’d made everyone laugh. Except his teachers. They had never been amused.

He had a sudden, terrified thought that maybe he was missing more than just a hand. He froze.

Took a deep breath and lifted the blanket.

His legs were intact. A white bandage spread across his hip. Oh fuck. He lifted the gown.

Relief was something cold and wet that slapped across his skin. Everything was still there. His arm buzzed like a low jolt of electricity that hummed over his skin. He lifted it back onto the pillow where it had been resting before he’d started fidgeting.

He had to piss. He could do that by himself, right? He pushed the blanket off his legs. Hospital gowns were so sexy. He cradled his bandaged arm against his chest and gently eased his legs over the edge of his bed.

His head spun and the world tilted. He gripped the edge of the bed for a moment, waiting for the spinning to stop.

There was a quiet knock on the door. His stomach pitched, imagining Nurse Ratched coming in to give him hell for getting out of bed.

The door to his room swung open.

And a thousand emotions crashed into him.

His wife stood in the doorway, a small bag over her shoulder. She looked rumpled and tired and so goddamned wonderful. His heart did a funny flip in his chest. Right above the bandaged limb he’d cradled against his hospital gown.

* * *

Nicole stood there, rooted to the spot. He hadn’t shaved. There was at least three days of stubble on his face. A light dusting of red hair. His cheeks were thinner. He hadn’t been eating well.

But his hair had grown back.

Tears burned behind her eyes. She felt like she hadn’t stopped crying since she’d left the States.

She stood there—her husband a dozen feet away—and she couldn’t move. He looked so good. So tired. So strained.

Her gaze drifted down his body, stopping on the bandages wrapped around his right arm. And reminded herself to breathe.

* * *

His first urge was to hide his arm. To keep her from seeing what had happened to him.

To run and hide from the fear of her reaction. The worst fear in the world seized him: that she would turn around and walk out that door. Asking her to wait for him had been nothing compared to this: asking her to love him when he was missing a piece of himself.

A thousand options raced through his head. Fear burned through him. He’d be damned if he was going to cry about it. So he sat a little straighter, despite the dizziness that threatened to pitch him face first onto the floor. And wouldn’t that be a disaster?

“Hey, babe.” His voice sounded strange to his ears. “Don’t be mad. I got a little blown up.”

She bit her lips together. Her eyes filled. Fear stabbed him in the heart. She was going to leave. She was going to leave. Oh fuck, she was going to leave.

She dropped her bag and rushed to the bed. It was all he could do to move his bandaged arm out of the way.

And then she was there, her face pressed to his neck, her arms tight around him. A shudder rocketed through her. Grief, happiness, sorrow. A thousand emotions ripped through him, tearing at his heart and blocking his throat.

He froze for a moment, not really believing that she was there, in his arms. For the first time in months, he was holding his wife.

And at that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the missing hand. Not the months he’d spent away.

He wrapped his arm around her and held her tight. Breathed in the scent of her hair. Savored the feel of her body against his. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

And when she crawled into the bed with him, he didn’t argue. He held her as best he could and tried not to embarrass himself by crying.

* * *

Nicole came awake slowly, the steady beat of her husband’s heart warm beneath her cheek. She lay there for a long moment, just feeling him breathe, reassuring herself that yes, this was real.

It was morning. She’d fallen asleep after the doctor had come in and brought her up to speed on Vic’s injuries and where he stood. Vic’s expression when the doctor had said
no sex
would have been almost comical if the warning hadn’t been so serious. She’d spent the rest of the evening lying with her husband, reading through the pamphlets the doctor had left. She remembered lying there quietly when the nurse came in to take his vital signs.

Her fingers curled over his heart as the tears threatened again. She wasn’t normally this much of a crier. At least she hadn’t been before this deployment. It was just fatigue. She’d get some more rest and then she’d be fine.

Vic was alive. She sniffed quietly, trying not to wake him, but his arm tightened around her shoulders.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Sorry.” She swiped at her eyes. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He pressed his lips to her forehead and she closed her eyes as the sensation of him touching her warmed her terrified heart. “You didn’t,” he said.

She swallowed and wiped her eyes, not wanting to move from the cocoon of warmth in his bed. She vaguely remembered the nurse asking her to sleep in the chair. She wasn’t sure if Vic had threatened the woman but she knew she’d been allowed to stay.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“They already brought breakfast.”

She turned her head, and saw the tray sitting off to one side. She brushed her hair out of her face and looked down at him. He looked tired. But he’d never looked better to her. “What time is it?”

“After eight in the morning.” He reached up and brushed his fingers over her cheek. “You slept a long time.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

His lips were curled in a funny half smile. “Don’t be.”

Her stomach rumbled and he smiled. “Eat, if you’re hungry.”

She looked at him and tipped her chin. “Did you eat?”

Vic shrugged. “Haven’t had much of an appetite.”

“They’re not worried about you not eating?” She sat up, crossing her legs and sitting on the edge of her bed. She felt fuzzy, like she needed a shower. But she didn’t want to leave him. It was a stupid fear but she was terrified to let him out of her sight.

“I’ll eat if I get hungry.” He reached for the tray and pulled it closer. “You eat. I’m good.”

She lifted the pale plastic lid of the domed tray. “Wow.” Three pieces of French toast, two slices of bacon, and two hard-boiled eggs. She frowned, then immediately changed the direction of her thoughts.

Vic caught her. “What?” he asked.

She hesitated, hating herself for being so unsure around the man who’d always made her laugh. “I was just thinking the hard-boiled eggs were kind of messed up to give to a guy with only one hand.”

Vic blinked for a long moment then busted out laughing. He reached for her, pulling her close as he laughed. She smiled and wiped at her eyes.

“You scared me,” she said softly. She swallowed. “The next time, can you give me a little more information than
Hey babe, I got blown up
?”

“Well, I… wasn’t really sure what to say. I’m usually not at a loss for words and… well, yeah.” He held up his bandaged arm.

Her expression softened. “Does it hurt?”

Carponti snorted. “No. They’ve got me on so much morphine right now they could probably cut off my other hand and I wouldn’t feel anything.” He held up his good hand. “Not that I want to test that theory or anything.”

Nicole smiled. And his wife, his beautiful wife, cupped his face in her hands and kissed him.

* * *

With one kiss, she banished any awkwardness he’d imagined between them. He didn’t want it to be awkward. He wanted his wife to curl into bed with him and… Well, the doc had said he wasn’t authorized to have sex yet but that didn’t stop his imagination.

She ran her fingers over his cheeks. Something so simple. He closed his eyes and let the tingling sensation run through him.

She cupped his face and he was conscious of the fact that his jaw was covered with bushy red stubble. “But you’re okay. And that’s what matters.”

He just sat for moment and looked at her. Savored the feel of her hands on his body, even if it was just his face. She was touching him. She was here and she hadn’t run screaming from the room at the sight of his bandaged hand. He covered her forearm with his good hand. Her skin was warm and soft and real beneath his.

He was suddenly really glad she wasn’t a drug-induced hallucination. “I can’t believe you got on a plane that quickly.”

She smiled. “It was a long flight.” Her fingers drifted over his cheek.

She was touching him. She wasn’t horrified by the missing hand. His thoughts kept repeating, over and over. Fear made him still, prevented him from reaching for her and pulling her close again. He was afraid. Afraid she was in shock. Afraid she was still adjusting to the idea of his missing appendage.

Missing body parts were a big adjustment, or so he’d been told. There weren’t any briefings that could prepare you or your spouse for this. At least, none that he’d attended before. Maybe there were now.

Nicole looked away and slipped her hands from his face. The loss of her touch physically hurt him.

But he didn’t say anything. Because he didn’t have the words to bring her back.

She started sorting through the bag of things that had apparently come in with him from Iraq. He had no idea what was in that bag, but he wasn’t entirely sure she should be going through it. He didn’t want her stumbling across a bloody uniform or worse.

She pulled a small plastic bag out and held it up. His dog tags glittered muted silver in the fluorescent light along with his missing wedding ring. She pulled out his wallet and a clump of fabric. Carponti flushed and said nothing.

Somehow his sewing project didn’t seem funny right then.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered, holding out his hand for the baggie. He took a deep breath, then dumped the contents onto his lap. His dog tags jingled against his wedding ring. He maneuvered the plain gold band onto his finger, then managed to use his thumb and pinky to get it back where it belonged.

Nicole hadn’t noticed but it was a small victory for him. It felt right having his ring on.

She turned back toward him, her lips curled faintly. “You didn’t honestly expect me to sit in Texas and wait for you, did you?”

“I don’t know. We never really talked about something like this.”

She glanced down at his bandaged arm, then pushed the tray out of the way and climbed over his legs until she straddled him. And just like that any chasm he’d imagined between them was gone and Carponti was lost in the sensation of his wife’s body against his in all the right places. Okay, maybe not
all
the right places, but close enough.

“So listen,” she said, crawling up his body until her knees rested on either side of his ribs. “This sucks but it’s not the end of the world.”

“You’re going to get in trouble with the nurses,” he said. He rubbed his hand over her hip, urging her a little closer.

“Since when do you care about following the rules?” She smiled and rocked against him even as she slid her arms around his neck. “I missed you so much, Vic.”

The block of fear around his heart melted and thawed.

“So the good news is that everything from the waist down is still intact.” He smiled wickedly up at her. “Want to take it for a test run?”

She rocked against him gently and cupped his face in her hands. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out,” she whispered against his mouth. “But no sex until after the wound is healed. I’m not violating any doctor’s orders and risking you getting sick.”

Carponti pouted. “Seriously?”

Nicole wrapped her arms around him and nestled closer, a laugh shaking through her body and into his. Laughing with him was almost as good as sex. Okay, not really, but it felt so damn
normal
. “Not until the docs give you the green light.”

Carponti angled his body and pushed the nurse’s button before Nicole could stop him.

“Can I help you?” The nurse’s voice was scratchy over the speaker.

“Yeah, I need a note from the doctor so I can have sex with my wife.”

“Vic!” She tried to snatch the handset.

“Um, I’m sorry, sir. Can you repeat that?”

“Sorry, ma’am.” Nicole grabbed the button. “Ignore him. He’s high. We’re sorry, ma’am.”

She put the button out of reach, then snuggled up to his side. “That poor nurse,” she said, laughing quietly.

“I’m serious.” He rolled toward her and cupped her face. “I missed you.” He swept his hand down her side. “All of you.”

“I missed you, too. But no sex until the doctor says so.”

Carponti sighed dramatically. “You’re no fun.”

“It’s only a little longer.”

“I have to be careful for the first few weeks so the wound can heal. Are you honestly telling me we’re going to wait
weeks
?” Carponti pouted for a second and then blurted, “Oh shit.”