Reckless Endangerment (9 page)

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Byron said.  “Once a Marine, always a Marine.”

He gritted his teeth. If one more person used that stupid phrase within earshot...well, he would show them exactly what he was capable of and it wouldn’t be pretty. 

“Restraining order, right?” He sneered at Callie and her men in suits.  “Then why are you here?  Aren’t you violating it yourself right now?  You can all go to hell.”

He thought a vein would explode in his head.  First, he started the day being accused of going on a murderous rampage, now Callie of all people looked at him as if he were some charity case.  Restraining order?  He never wanted to see this woman again.  He didn’t need a damn restraining order to keep him at bay.  Screw them all.

With arms shaking from the day’s exertion, he turned the chair and aimed away from them.   He had been a decorated war hero, but what had that gotten him?  A custody fight for a son he barely knew anymore, that’s what.  Everyone looking at him like he was a lunatic, that’s what. Loss of the only identity he had ever known, that’s what.

He didn’t hear what Becky said.  Too many thoughts screamed simultaneously in his brain.  He covered his ears with his hands and closed his eyes.  Pain engulfed him. Pain and helplessness.   

This couldn’t be happening.  He’d lost his legs, career, his wife, and the respect from the people closest to him.  Now he would lose his son.  No, this could not be happening.

Once inside his suite, Becky grabbed his shoulders and looked him in the eye.  “I don’t know why you got in here above more deserving candidates on the wait list, Colonel.  I don’t know why you decided today was the day you were going to work yourself harder than you have in months and disappear on a little adventure.  Do you want to be a father to your son?”

“Yes.”  He flinched away from the accusation in her eyes.  “I love Dalton.”

“Then you need to fight.  Stop wallowing and fight, damn it.  You’re a Marine.”

“Was a Marine”

“You’re a father.  Fight.”  She stood, looking more like Hope than he had thought previously.  “My husband is a damn good lawyer, but you’ve got to get a grip. Give me this.” She grabbed the envelope.  “I swear, I don’t know why I’m losing all professional code of conduct with you.”

“Professional conduct?  Is that what you call telling me that I don’t deserve to be here?” Snap.  He tossed a lamp onto the floor.  “Is that what you call accusing me of going after my ex to murder her this morning?  Is that what you think I’m capable of?”  He moved forward as she backed up.  “I would give anything to walk out of here and never see you again.  I would give anything to have my life back.”  He pushed over an end table as he cornered Becky against the wall.  “This is you being professional?  Accusing me of not fighting? What the hell do you know about me?  Nothing.  Not one damn thing. You met me yesterday.”

“What’s going on?” Hope opened the door from the hallway before quickly closing it.  “What’s happening in here?  I can hear the yelling down the hallway.  I think they’re getting security.”

“Get out of here,” Becky said to her.  “I’m handling this.”

“Looks like you’re handing it really well,” Hope said.

He reached for anything else he could throw.  A cushion from the sofa.  The television remote.  He couldn’t stop. 

“If you want your son, then you’ll fight, Colonel, but it’s not me you need to be fighting.”  Becky held the arms of his chair and fought to immobilize him.  “If you fight, you could have limited mobility.  You could have your life back, but you’re too much of a coward to fight.”
Hope pushed her sister away from him.  “Never call him a coward.  Never.  Is this your therapy method?  Bullying heroes? Never call him that again.  I mean it.”

“What are you even doing here?”  Becky asked.  “What business is it of yours how I handle the Colonel?”


“His name is Michael.”  Hope stood between them, and pointed a shaking finger at Becky.  “Is this how you aid in his recovery?  By screaming at him?  What is wrong with you?”

The top of his head felt like it had blown off, like some pressure gauge in his body had finally exceeded the limit.  He needed release.  Blood whooshed through his veins.  He pressed his hands over his ears.  He was going to hurt someone.

Chapter Five

“It’s okay, Michael.”  Hope’s hands covered his, her lips brushed against his cheek when she spoke.  Her hands stroked his hair.  “Shh…please…stop this.  I’m here.  Look at me.”

“Get away from me.”  He opened his eyes.  “I’m going to hurt you.  I don’t want to.  I don’t know what’s happening.”

“I do. I know what’s happening.” She kissed his forehead again.  “Trust me, okay?  I’m here.”

How could she know?  Breath ripped through his chest.  Heartbeat hammered inside his skeleton and reverberated through his bloodstream.  He didn’t trust himself.

“I know what you need,” she said. “It comes back to respecting the officer in the room, right?  You’re frustrated.  You need to be treated like a man instead of a patient.”  She peeled his hands away from his face.  “Look at me.  We’re all okay.  Everyone’s okay.”

He threaded his fingers through hers.  “I lost it.”

“Yeah, you did.”  She flashed him a grin that didn’t quite mask the fear in her eyes.  “Let’s not forget that you’re a Marine capable of killing someone with your bare hands.  If you wanted to get our attention, you got it.”

He shoved his hands through her hair.  God, he loved this woman. 

“Let me handle security,” Becky said from where she picked up the things he had thrown.  “They’re in the hallway. He could get kicked out of here for this.”

“We’ll be okay.” Hope stood, hands on hips, and surveyed the situation.  “We’re going to be okay. We need some time alone. It’s been a long day for all of us.  We’ll be okay.”

“Who are you to him?  Girlfriend? Is that it?” Becky narrowed her eyes and looked between the two.  “Why are you inserting yourself into something that seems to be none of your business?  This morning his parents insist on calling you and now here you are, magically appearing and calming the beast.  What’s the story?”

“The story is that you need to go and we need time alone.”  Hope shoved her hands through her hair.  “I dropped Dalton off with his parents who are still outside.  I think it’s best if you tell them to go home.  He needs time with me right now.”

“With you?  Are you giving me orders now?” Becky asked. 

“Yes, I am.” Hope looked over her shoulder at him.  “Tell her I’m right.”

He nodded, unable to find words adequate enough to say that he needed her more than he needed anyone or anything at this precise moment. 

Becky muttered something about the whole world going insane as she left them alone, firmly closing the door behind her. 

Hope sat on the arm of the sofa and smoothed her hands over her jean-clad thighs before looking at him.  “Does this happen often?  This rage?”

He looked away from her.  The rage is what he feared.  He’d heard the stories of discharged soldiers killing their spouses in moments of insanity.  Maybe it wasn’t the norm, but it happened.  He knew the statistics.  He’d always had such control, but he wasn’t sure he trusted himself anymore. 

“Michael?  Is this normal for you?” 

“No.”  He gripped the arms of his chair.  “But it’s been a long time coming.”

With a nod, she blew out a long sigh.  “What triggered this blow up then?  Why now?  Was it this morning’s major drama over you going outside on your own?  Being in Denver?  Me interfering?  What?”

He squeezed his eyes shut.  The memory of Callie looking at him like he was a piece of trash started the drumming in his skull again. 

“I’m not your problem; none of this is your problem,” he muttered.

With another long sigh, she slid onto his lap, moved her hands over his shoulders and pressed her forehead against his.  He wanted to wrap his arms around her and tell her about Callie, confess how he wanted out of here, beg her to take him home with her, admit how much he’d missed talking to her.  He gripped the arms of his chair until he thought he would rip them off.  

“I understand losing control, trust me,” she said.

“You have no idea.  None.  You should leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“Hmm...You always used the work thing when you wanted me to leave you alone, when you had a lot on your mind.  See?  You’re not as changed as you think.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to stand seeing the knowledge in her eyes.  “I lost it, doesn’t that scare you?  I could hurt you by accident, you know.”

“I love you.  For better or worse, remember?”  She kissed him tenderly on the lips.  “Come home to me.  Please.  Come home to me.”  She kissed him again.  “Please. Stop all of this so you can come home to me.” 

Anger morphed into passion.  Hands moved to her back. He ground his mouth against hers.  When she sank against him, he moaned deep in his throat.  Her hands wrapped around his neck.  Mouth opened to him as he deepened the kiss.  Hot.  Wet.  He yanked her blouse from her jeans. He craved her skin. 

“You have no idea what I want to do to you,” he said.


“Oh, I know exactly what you want to do to me because I want the same thing.”  She yanked his T-shirt over his head while he fumbled with undoing her bra.  “You’re the sexiest man alive.  I’ve really missed touching you.”

“Do you really want me?  Like this?  Don’t lie to me.”  His hands closed over her breasts.  God, she felt like heaven.  He looked in her eyes, saw them darken with passion and knew the truth.  She wanted him.  Miracles did happen.

“You know I do.”  She smoothed her hands over his shoulders.  Her mouth followed where her hands roamed, over his neck, his shoulders, his chest.  “I love you, Michael.”

His fists wrapped in her hair, pulled her closer.  “I missed you touching me, missed touching you.” 

Her mouth returned to his with a fervor that he matched.  He wanted more than groping in his chair.  He wanted her naked against the counter with his head between her thighs and his fingers inside her.  He wanted her naked and gasping his name. 

And then they tipped backward.  Whack, his skull knocked against the floor.

A tangle of wheelchair, limbs and clothes, they looked into each other’s eyes and laughed harder than either of them had laughed in months. 

“I guess making out in a wheelchair isn’t a good idea,” she muttered against his cheek.

“Unless we have the brake on.”  He held her against him when she tried to move.  Tangled or not, he liked her naked chest against his.  “I can’t believe I’m laughing about this.”

“I’m glad there were no witnesses.”

“How do you do it?  One minute I’m a lunatic, the next I’m laughing with you.”

“Must be the meds they have you on, you’re not in your right mind.”

“Stay here for a minute. Don’t move,” he said when she propped up on an elbow.

“Are you hurt?” She kissed the side of his neck.

“No.”  He closed his eyes and held her tight.  “Just don’t move.”

“I love you.” Her arms snaked around his shoulders and held him as tightly as he held her.  “Let me back in.  You know you want to...let me back in.”

“I’m really screwed up.”  He buried his face in her hair. 

“I noticed.”

“I lost control.”  He combed his hands through her hair.  “Aren’t you scared of me?”

“No.” She rose up on her elbows, her hair falling around her face and her smile as wicked as sin itself.  “I am turned on, frustrated, and excited by you…but I’m not scared of you.” She kissed him again while her right hand curved over his erection. “Guess what I found?’

He smiled against her lips.  “It hurts like hell.”
“Which means you feel more than you wanted me to know.  My man’s still got skills.”  Her teeth caught his lower lip.  Her eyes glowed with challenge.  “And if you feel something, then Becky’s right.  You can—”

“Stop.  Don’t.”  He held her face between his hands. How could he explain that, erection or not, he couldn’t move like he used to, couldn’t walk, run or toss her onto the bed and grind himself into her like he used to.

“What is it?” She braced both hands against the floor on either side of his head and looked at him until he answered.

“I have a long way to go.  I don’t know how to…it’s just an erection.  I can’t…I’m not…you know.”

“Stop telling me what you’re not.”  Her mouth lowered to his again.  Lips moved tenderly over his.  “You need to trust me, trust yourself, trust Becky. We can do this.”

Spasms ripped through his chest.  He arched his back and bit back a scream.  His hands squeezed her until she winced. 

“What’s wrong?  Oh, my God, I hurt you, didn’t I?  Damn it.” She scrambled off of him while another spasm shot through his back and seized his neck.  “Okay, okay.  This is bad.”

She looked between him on the floor with the wheelchair pitched precariously beneath his legs.  She pulled her blouse on without the bra and kneeled next to him as yet another spasm took hold.  He couldn’t talk, couldn’t tell her that this happened all of the time, couldn’t erase the fear on her face.