SEAL My Home: Bad Boys of SEAL Team 3, Book 2 (SEAL Brotherhood Series 9) (10 page)

She wanted to ask Brady if it was okay for him to receive calls or visitors when he came to L.A., but she decided all would be revealed in the coming days. She resigned herself to the fact that her most important job was to stay calm and wait for him to make the next move. Her lack of patience, though the outcome was lovely, had complicated things between them now.

Brady hung up, reassuring the girls that he and T.J. would be meeting the chopper in Los Angeles and would stay until after Rory’s hip surgery, and then they’d come home.

“I’m guessing three days max. Unless something happens, sweetheart.”

“I’ll tell the others. You call Fredo and Kyle?”

“Next call, darlin’.”

Megan listened to their happy banter, the reassurances between them, and the signoff they always did.

“Love you.”

“Love you more.”

“Impossible.”

After Brady disconnected, Lindsay reached over for Megan’s hand. “It’ll be okay, Meg. You’ll see.”

“I can’t imagine what Rory will do if he—”

“We don’t talk that way on the Teams. The wives don’t ever talk about a future bad result. Our men are solid, Megan. It’s the worry that is the evil destroyer of marriages in our community. When they’re gone, every time they leave, you never know if it’s the last time you’ll see them.”

Megan squeezed her friend’s hand.

“We just love them. They do what they do, and we have to wait. And that’s the worst of it.”

Megan withdrew her hand to wipe her cheeks, which were stained with tears. She watched Lindsay’s profile, noting she was just as strong as Brady on the inside. She’d totally missed this attribute of her friend. She could see Lindsay’s marriage would work if they each were the center of their respective universes. Megan could see there was no halfway. Either you were in or out.

“And the best of it—” Lindsay began after she inhaled deeply and blew it all out. “The best of it is pretty damned good. I’ve never felt so loved. Never been so abandoned. Never needed anyone so much.”

Lindsay’s tears had returned, and now Megan felt them too. She looked over the landscape, now changing to palm trees and bright bougainvillea blossoms on salmon-colored houses with tiled rooftops.

“It’s scary perfect, Megan. Scary perfect.”

Of course, Rory’s
things remained in Lindsay’s car. She hugged her friend goodbye and slung her overnight bag over her shoulder, ready to tackle the rest of her life.

Once inside, she threw her bag on the bed and remembered their night together here. Was that only two days ago? How her world had changed in just that small space of time. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, in the shadows of the mild San Diego evening, her tears came in earnest.

For while the time spent with Rory was beautiful and so satisfying on so many levels, meaning much more than sex to her, she wasn’t quite sure it was the same for him. She’d extended herself. She’d opened up and let a man in again.

God, she hoped she didn’t have to learn to live with her old lonely friend, rejection, in a karmic do-over.

‡

R
ory felt like
a new man once he’d taken his sit-down shower with help from one huge orderly. He’d had to keep his left leg outside the enclosure. His hip was killing him and he was required to use a walker and not put much weight on the left leg, which sucked big time and hurt his ego more. Even though he’d had surgery late that morning, he felt pretty good, mood-wise. He attributed it to the good “juice” he was being given which seemed to elevate his spirits.

He was nearly at the edge of his now-cleaned bed when T.J. and Brady poked their heads around the corner of the open doorway. Both men made a quick assessment of him, the walker, and the look on his face. Rory could see the wheels churning. They were trained to observe without showing emotion, and that both men did. The pain in his pride was worse than the pain in his leg.

T.J. was right there, helping him into bed as the orderly took the brunt of Rory’s solid two-hundred-pound weight, placing him squarely in the center of the mattress and adjusting the back to a sitting position. Rory’s pain soared when T.J. lifted his legs to slip them into the covers.

“Juice me up, Scotty,” Rory said to the orderly. “Tell her I gotta have something for the pain.”

The large helper left the room.

“You look great, Rory,” Brady lied.

“You’re full of shit, Brady. Hurts like a son of a bitch.”

“You talk to the doctor yet?” T.J. asked.

“Just briefly about a half hour ago. He’s supposed to be here any minute.” He could see they knew something he didn’t. “Okay, T.J. spill it,” Rory demanded.

“I’m going to let him tell you all the variables, Rory. There is no cut-and-dry here. You have a serious break. All the smaller ones are cleaned up, but you’re still at great risk of infection, and then you need another surgery to fix the hip joint itself.”

“Yeah, he told me.” Rory searched between the two faces of his friends. “So what is it you’re not telling me?”

“I’m not telling you anything, Rory, because we don’t know everything yet. So don’t get your panties into a wad. Dry your flippers and chill.”

Rory knew that was the worst part, the waiting. He had faith his doctor knew what he was doing. He just hated the waiting.

Doctor Thomas was cheerful, still sporting the same glasses with the taped bridge and cracked windshield, reminding him of the character Patch Adams. He whistled, sauntered to the bed like an athlete. The man looked like he was comfortable to hang with the rich and infamous in the L.A. scene and could run with the best of them.

“Evening, boys. You can’t take him home just yet.”

“So you said, sir,” T.J. answered.

This confirmed what Rory felt. The doctor himself had given them a briefing, and there were details he was going to learn now that his Team Guys were here. If it had been anyone else, he’d have been livid.

“So, here’s where we be, Rory.” He remained standing.

Rory noted the doc’s dropping the perfect English was an attempt to get on his level. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

“We cleaned up as best we could. I’m going to be following your progress very carefully with the pins and plates on your tibia and fibula, those—”

“I know what bones those are, sir.”

“Okay.” Thomas sucked in air and exhaled. “Now for the tricky part.”

Great. Here. It. Comes.

“That femur of yours is fractured just below the femoral neck, and it’s not clear whether or not there is much damage to the femur itself. We’ll have to remove the ball, the head, if you will.” He demonstrated by using his fist and encircling his wrist with his opposing hand fingers. “Here. Then we fit you with a new one and screw it into your femur.” He motioned like he was opening a Mason jar top. “We do these every day. Your femur is the largest bone in your body, as you know.”

“Yup,” Rory answered.

“Get you a nice new titanium one, one that will be stronger than your regular hip, as long as your body doesn’t reject the device.”

“Reject? How will I know?”

“In your line of work, Rory, I’ve got to say you better plan on five years of use. You might need another one then, when you’re at a place where you won’t be so active. Luckily, you won’t have to do another stint at BUD/S, but all the HALO jumps are going to be tough on that hip. I’m just going to be completely honest with you, you
should
get five years, but no guarantees. For most people I’d say they never have to worry about it. Not for you guys.”

Rory’s mouth was parched.

“As far as knowing, well, it’ll hurt like a son of a gun. You’ll start to limp. One leg might become slightly shorter than the other. If you’re in too much pain, or the differential is too great and you’re unstable, you might need to walk with a cane.”

“No fuckin’ way.”

“Rory, listen to him. If it will give you more years of mobility, why not?” T.J.’s ample forehead wrinkled and his dark thick brows bunched. “Who cares?”

“Who cares? The Navy cares, asshole.”

“What’s done is done. You decided to go boarding, man,” Brady inserted. Doc Thomas bowed his head with his hands on his hips, nodding, taking it all in.

“Yeah, before I knew this dickwad over here was going to go berserk and try to do something only his grandkids should be trying.” Rory was pointing to the silver-haired roommate who was reading a book, his curtain pulled back slightly so he could overhear them.

“Oh sure, blame your mistake on someone else,” Corrigan retorted. “Real sporting of you, son.” He gave Rory the finger.

He thought about shoving the old man out of the bed onto the window ledge, maybe even send him out the window, but T.J.’s long powerful arms pinned him at the shoulders before he could move.

“Don’t even think about it, Rory.” T.J.’s quiet demeanor and firm grip told him it was useless to struggle, unless he wanted to get hurt.

“Honestly, you two are going to kill each other.” The doctor motioned to Rory and Corrigan. “You’ve only got a few hours left. You both ship out, and to my,” he placed his palm right over his heart, “
my
hospital. But not to worry, I’m putting you on opposite ends of the hall from each other.”

Rory and Corrigan glared at each other. He wondered if it was far enough.

“Play the hand you’re dealt, Rory,” T.J. added. “You know Kyle always says that. You could have done it in a jump training. You could have had it like Tyler in the middle of the desert riding a freakin’ bus and running from a patrol.”

The nurse came in and injected clear liquid into the I.V. tube on the crook of his elbow. “That should make you feel better soon, son.” She patted his arm showing a slight thaw in her demeanor. “Gentlemen.” She nodded to the room stuffed with testosterone. Her white lace-up shoes squeaked as she exited the room.

“Doc, a question for you. Rory’s got a rare blood type, you know that, don’t you?” With medic training, T.J. had noticed Rory’s patch on his uniform when they were overseas.

“I do,” Dr. Thomas said.

“Fuckin’ got all the vampires after me, sucking for my blood,” cursed Rory.

“That’s because you’re universal, Rory. One would have to say special.”

“See? There you go.” Rory’s mood was beginning to shift.

“You need any of us to give blood for the operation. Except for a little alcohol, all of us, any of us would be clean.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think he’ll need it. But we’ll let you know. He can give or receive blood from anyone, which is a good thing. Rare. But a good thing.”

“Hey, I got an idea, Rory. You can always tell them you injured it training in Alaska,” Brady tried to be helpful, but the look Rory shot him made him raise his eyebrows. “Rory, what everyone’s saying is that it could have been worse.”

The doc stared down at him. “In earlier times, this was a slow, painful death or meant years of pain and disfigurement. This isn’t a minor operation. But my job is to see to it you don’t suffer any but minimal ill effects. You’re healthy and strong.” Thomas looked over at Corrigan as he delivered his final comment. “And you’re young.”

Corrigan wasn’t going to lose an opportunity like that. “Which is why he should have been going slower or been able to control himself. The faster skier is
required
to be in the most control.”

“Didn’t plan on finding a two-hundred-pound tortoise crossing my path just past the turn.”

T.J. and Brady swore simultaneously.

“Okay, we’re making plans for the airlift in the morning, if you’re still agreeable. You can stay here, but I guarantee you—” He leaned over Rory and said just loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, “the nurses are way hotter in L.A.”

Rory smiled in spite of himself. The drip was working again. When he closed his eyes, he realized he didn’t see hot nurses in skimpy white uniforms in danger of clothing malfunctions.

He saw Megan.

‡

R
ory awoke when
he thought he’d heard a strange sound. He turned his face toward the window and saw Corrigan watching something in the night sky. His cheeks were glistening. He knew that long faraway look, the private war some men had to face. He was going to say something bitter, but thought better of it and closed his eyes quickly. Corrigan had turned and was starting to look in his direction.