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

“Get me out of here,” he screamed, but his voice sounded distant. They were fiddling with something on his face, perhaps giving him a gag to stop him from calling for help. “I’m going to burn alive, get me out.”

The flickering continued, but he could not see anything clearly. A mask was placed over his mouth and nose even though he’d batted it away several times. He smelled the chemical-laced air as they hooked tubes over his ears to keep the mask in place. He tried to hold his breath against the poison he knew was coming his way, but his will collapsed and he was forced to inhale, expecting his lungs to explode. Spots began to form at the edges of his vision. Just before it turned black, he saw a team of blue-smocked doctors with masks bending over him. One had on a pair of glasses with the distinctive star-shaped pattern of a shattered lens on one side.

As he lost consciousness the screaming returned, and he realized it was the sound of his own voice.

When Rory awoke,
he felt like he’d been in a rugby match with a team of three-hundred-pound Samoans. His ribs hurt. His mouth hurt and the split lip he’d gotten the night before had worsened. Someone had stitched it up. His arms felt heavy and he had a splitting headache.

He vaguely remembered being wheeled down hallways with bright fluorescent lighting which nearly blinded him and bumping into the doorway with the gurney on which they were transporting him. When they tried to lift him in the sling they’d devised, the pain caused him to pass out.

He was nearly flat on his back, with his left leg in a small traction device. Suddenly he realized he couldn’t feel his other leg. He wiggled the toes of his right foot, trying to arch up to look for movement under the thin sheet and blanket that covered him. They were there all right. He could just barely see movement under the covers.

Thank God!
He let his head plop back into the pillow as he inhaled and thanked his lucky stars he was not a paraplegic. He stretched his arms and wiggled his fingers.

That’s when he realized he wasn’t the only patient in the room. The beds on either side of him were separated by white hospital curtains hanging from a track fastened to the ceiling. The guy to his right had the window side and was out cold, snoring like a frog pond.

The patient to his left was watching TV and had a smoker’s cough.

A wave of nausea hit Rory, and he tried to move to the side to throw up on the floor, but he missed and the vomit trailed down the crisp white sheets and snaked its way down his backside and between his butt cheeks.

“Fuck!” he yelled out.

Immediately, the guy to his left adjusted his TV monitor down. “Hang on there, son. I’ll buzz the nurses for you. Everything okay?”

“No, I’m not fuckin’ okay. I got something nasty and bright orange down my back and my ass.”

The patient in the bed on his right began to stir. He was mumbling something.

Great. They have me stuck in a funny farm.
“Nurse!”

“Hold on. I already called them. You just quit your complaining and lay back there. Nothing you can do about it until they come.” The door burst open and two uniformed attendants appeared, a small Indian-looking man and a very large black woman.

“You in any pain, Mr. Kennedy?” She was adjusting an I.V. drip he hadn’t noticed was stuck in his arm.

“Where the fuck am I?”

“You’re at Mercy Emergency Trauma Center in Big Bear. You’ve just had a long surgery after your accident.”

Accident?
“What about the fire?” he yelled at her. Did they think he wouldn’t remember that fire?”

“No fire, Mr. Kennedy. I think maybe you had a vivid dream with all that anesthetic. But I assure you, there is and was no fire.”

“Nurse!” The man in the bed to his right woke up and was trying to climb out.

The big nurse with hands the size of basketballs swore under her breath. She left Rory’s side and caught the man as he fell backwards and would have landed on the floor. The small Indian attendant stood idly by, wringing his hands.

“I don’t know what kind of stuff they gave you guys in surgery today, but it’s been a long time—” She hoisted Rory’s roommate in a backwards bear hug under his armpits, setting him back down on the bed without being very gentle. The patient howled in pain. She grunted, satisfied the man wouldn’t be a danger to himself or others. “Been a long time since I got this level of ornery on my floor, and here they goes and put you two together in
my
room on
my
shift.” She straightened her uniform and glared at the Indian orderly.

“You go tell Dr. Thomas they’s both awake and I need instructions in a hurry.”

The orderly hesitated. In his singsong accent he told her, “I think Dr. Thomas went home.”

“No, dummy. He went downstairs for dinner. You’re gonna interrupt his dinner whilst I babysit these two.”

The orderly quickly departed.

The nurse addressed the attempted escapee. “What kind of dumbass thinks he can get up and walk after surgery? Mr. Corrigan, you got pins and rods and so much metal in you, you gonna set off alarms wherever you go.”

He started to say something, but coughing overtook him.

“You warm enough?” she asked, addressing Mr. Corrigan.

“No. I’m freezing my butt off in here. Can you bring me a warm blanket and some slippers?” he returned hoarsely, peevishly.

Rory couldn’t see much of the patient except for stiff greying hair that stood up like cornhusks on an aging scarecrow. The nurse’s rear end was easily the full width of the bed. Just before she turned, she admonished the patient. “You hold tight there, Mr. Corrigan. We got no slippers, but we got some nice scratchy brand new blankets and I’ll go unwrap one for you.”

The man grunted.

“Now you don’t try anything foolish, or I’ll chain you to the bed. Don’t think I won’t.”

When she left the room, Rory could finally breathe. He examined the profile of the tanned face to his right. The man suddenly gripped his wrist and touched his left ring finger. “Goddammit. Thieves. This place is crawling with thieves.”

Rory was feeling the effects of the drip the nurse had adjusted and was jumbled up inside, trying to piece together the facts, but unable to think clearly or do anything about any of it.

“You miss something, gramps?”

“They took my watch and my ring. It was my great-grandfather’s ring and I want it back.”

Rory turned his head horizontally as if to consider whether the man was out of his mind. It was an odd sensation. The drugs made him curious.

Again, the door burst open and Rory recognized the face of the doctor who had treated him in surgery. In addition to the shattered lens, the doctor had taped the bridge of the glasses with white surgical tape. Nurse Ratchett was right behind the doctor.

“Mr. Corrigan, we understand you are to be transferred to another facility in a couple of days after you stabilize a bit. In the meantime, I suggest you lay back, just relax, and let us pamper your every whim. Of course, if you do anything foolish, I have already given the approval to secure you to the bed and gag you, if necessary.”

He nodded to the nurse who spread the blanket out over the lower body of Mr. Corrigan. Dust and fuzz blew all over the room. She was sporting a wide grin.

“Do we understand each other?” He delivered it in his best Jack Nicholson accent.

“Crystal,” Mr. Corrigan answered in a mock Tom Cruise imitation.

“Sir,” the doctor nodded as he walked right past the end of Rory’s bed.

“Hey!” Rory shouted. “What am I? Did I just get the nosebleed seats in this game?”

The doctor gave Rory a smirk and sat down on the edge of the bed. “No, sir. I’m not done torturing you. You have more surgeries in your future. Places I can still stick pins that will make you scream and wish you’d never set foot here.”

“More surgeries?”

“I’ll be making my rounds later, explain it all in detail. You got some friends who want to see you outside and I’m gonna keep them out until you behave.”

“I’m behaving. This is me—”

Sharp pain seared down his left leg for the first time.

“Why do I get all the special treatment?”

“You’re the one who customized my reading equipment, and if you weren’t a goddamned Navy SEAL, I’d be major sore about that.” He pushed the glasses back on his nose and stood.

Rory put his forefinger to his lips to indicate he didn’t need the publicity, but it was too late. The patients on either side of him erupted, suddenly becoming more talkative and asking him questions.

Rory tossed his head back into his pillow, rubbing his eyes. “I threw up on myself,” he mumbled.

“What’s that?” the doctor leaned in and raised his eyebrows.

Rory took a deep gulp of air and let him have it. “My ass is sitting in my own vomit and where I come from that means I get new bed sheets and a goddamned new nightie, or do I have to wait until he gets his slippers?” Rory directed a thumb over his shoulder at Corrigan.

“You two have some kind of karma going on, no question about it. First, you collide with each other at Bear Mountain, and then you manage to take the last two beds on the surgery ward, right next to each other.”

Rory turned and looked at Corrigan, who appeared just as shocked as he was.

“That’s right. I guess fate wants you two to continue to duke it out, for some reason. Now, excuse me while I write up some orders that will make you more comfortable. And you’ll get that sponge bath, Mr. Kennedy. You want the lavender or lemon gel?”

‡

R
ory was still
in surgery when it was time for part of the group to return home to San Diego so they could report for work the next day. Gina, married to the handsome Puerto Rican SEAL, Armando, was a detective for the San Diego Police Department.

T.J. and Brady said they would stay behind with Rory.

“I’m staying too,” said Megan. There was no way she was going to leave Rory’s side.

“No, Megan. Doesn’t work that way. We got his six. That’s the way it works.”

“But I’m—” What exactly was she, anyway? She didn’t know Rory long enough to be considered his girlfriend, but their special connection made it feel wrong for her to leave him all the same.

Lindsay tried to intervene, putting an arm around her shoulder, but Megan shook her off.

“I’m staying,” she insisted.

T.J. walked up to her, towering over her small frame. In his low confident voice said, “We can’t have you do that. We’ll make sure you get updated, and when he can have visitors, we’ll let you know. Go home, Megan. Rory would want that.”

Reluctantly it was arranged that Megan would go back with Lindsay, carting Rory’s things and some items they couldn’t fit in the other vehicles. T.J. and Brady told the girls they weren’t going to leave until they could meet with Rory’s doctors face to face. All the other SEALs would drive back with either Mia and Fredo or Armando and Gina.

Everyone’s biggest concern was whether Rory had a spinal cord injury. The two girls had driven for over an hour without speaking. The call finally came when they were about an hour away from home.

Lindsay played Brady’s voice on her car speakerphone.

“How is he?” Megan asked. She was sitting on the edge of her seat.

“It’s bad, Megan. His left leg is broken in several places, and that’s what they were doing, cleaning up all that today. But the biggest thing is he broke his hip, fracture to the femur, so we’re basically looking at a total hip replacement.”

They heard something in the background.

Brady chuckled. “Ah, T.J. says he’ll be better than new, man of steel. Actually, man of titanium.”

“How long before he can come back home?”

“He’s being transferred. He got lucky. His doc is a world-class hip specialist who just happened to be up at Bear Lake with his family, doing rounds at the local trauma center and helping with skiing accidents in exchange for his stay. Rory’s going to be airlifted to LA tomorrow afternoon so the doc can do his surgery probably the day after.”

“So he’ll be there awhile then, Brady?” Lindsay asked.

“Yes, baby. He’s going to miss the next rotation for sure. Might mean he’ll be medically discharged from the Teams.”

“How’s he taking that information?” Megan asked.

“Nobody’s told him yet.”

She knew this was going to be a blow to Rory. Listening to the rest of Brady’s message only made things worse. He might have a permanent limp, and have to walk with the use of a cane. They were going to tell their liaison and hope for the best but prepare for the worst.

It didn’t take long for her sadness to deepen, as if she was already mourning the death of their relationship. He’d have a lot to deal with. He wouldn’t need the extra baggage he might think she brought to his life. Besides, he had everything he needed in his Team buddies. Megan was going to be that someday girl. A third wheel.

“Brady,” she began, not sure what message she should impart. “Please tell him I’m sending prayers and warm, healing thoughts, and that I wanted to stay.”

“Thanks, Megan. I’ll tell him.”

Loudest in his communication was what he
didn’t
say. ‘
He says to say hi,’
for starters would have been great. But she knew she had no claim on him, and of course, he had much bigger issues to face.