His Soldier Under Siege Page 2

  Together they moved through each life-saving protocol with competent precision, the only goal to save the patient. And they lost both battle and war as the soldier’s body gave out in fits and starts. When the doctor pronounced time of death, there was a tangible sense of defeat choking the air as Grace Ann and the others cleared the room.

  In a field hospital on the other side of the world, there might have been hugs or even a fair bit of cursing over the circumstances and failure. None of the people she worked with knew how to give up gracefully in the fight for life. Here, in this beautiful, state-of-the-art facility, with families present and watching, they were expected to maintain a standard of professionalism that bordered on superhuman.

  Grace Ann lifted her chin, rolled her shoulders back and strode down the hallway away from the shadow of defeat and frustration. The patient hadn’t been under her care, but that didn’t lessen the sense of loss. They were a team, the concept drilled into them from day one of their basic training, all the way through nursing school and beyond. Although the human body was astounding and resilient and mysterious, sometimes the wounds were too severe or the will to survive too fragile. And yet they had to keep going, keep pressing on to save those they could.

  Smothering reactions and distress were part of the job. This was merely the first time in the current hour she’d had to hide the emotions roiling inside. At home she could break down and have a glass—or a bottle—of wine with a frozen pizza and let the tears flow. She couldn’t wait.

  In the process of locking down her grief, she smiled absently at the man who turned into the corridor without really seeing him.

  “Grace Ann?” He shifted toward her, not quite blocking her path. He reached out before he caught himself and tucked his hand into his pocket. “I’m glad to see you.”

  The voice cut through her haze of grief first. Derek. She looked up into his gentle blue eyes and saw a friend. The urge to lean on him grew like a giant bubble at a children’s party. He’d understand. He might even take comfort as he offered it.

  Feeling weak and sad, she felt this was the worst time to bump into him. She held herself back, shoulders straight, hands shoved into her pockets. “Hello, Derek.” She squeezed out the greeting through the vise grip of emotions clamped on her throat. “How are you holding up?”

  The tension churning deep inside her belly eased just being near him. The man was so easy on the eyes with his sandy-brown hair and vivid blue eyes. He hadn’t shaved and the burnished gold stubble emphasized his strong, square jawline.

  She found him as attractive now, rumpled and exhausted, as she had when they’d first met at a family picnic for the unit. Today, his suit jacket was folded over his arm and his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his tie nowhere in sight. She imagined he’d driven straight to the hospital from the office when he’d gotten the call about Kevin’s injury and impending surgery. Under the sun-kissed skin of a man who loved the outdoors, his face was a little gray and his lips bracketed with worry lines.

  When had he last eaten?

  And just like that the day’s trouble and her lingering guilt faded to the background. Her mind soared well away from the hospital, back to the tent they’d shared on a kayaking trip six weeks ago. She opened her arms and pulled him into a hug. Clearly startled by her demonstration—no one knew they saw each other regularly—he hesitated before reciprocating the embrace. She couldn’t say which of them held on to the other as people and activity flowed around them.

  Giving was simply the way Derek was built, as intrinsic as his lean muscles and bone structure. She knew they both benefited from the nurturing contact, though she tried not to take too much.

  Reluctantly she stepped back. “Is Kevin out of surgery?” she queried as her guilt surged to the fore again. She hoped he was too distracted to notice.

  “Yes,” Derek replied. “I just got word.” He pushed a hand through his hair, wrecking it more. “The surgeon told me he came through the procedure in great shape.”

  The urge to pull him into another hug, to celebrate and let herself ride a wave of happiness for him and his brother, nearly overwhelmed her. She clutched her stethoscope with both hands until the feeling passed. Remorse and culpability were strange emotional burdens.

  “That’s fantastic.” How long had they been working on the patient they’d lost? “Everyone in the unit will be so happy. Have you seen him yet?”

  He nodded. “For maybe all of a minute in recovery.”

  “That’s good. I know it doesn’t seem like much.” She wanted to reach up and soothe as the lingering distress rippled across his shoulders. “Have you eaten lately?”

  “I’m fine.” He shifted his feet. “Just not a big fan of hospitals.”

  “Who is?” she asked brightly. “We’re used to that completely natural bias around here.” She was fully aware he wasn’t a big fan of the army, either. To be in a place that combined both must be excruciating. As family went, Kevin and Derek only had each other. For a fleeting moment, she wanted to confess that it should’ve been her in that helicopter. But what good would it do to give him more what-ifs to think about right now?

  “Do you know Kevin’s room number?” she asked.

  “Not yet...” His voice trailed off as his gaze drifted over her face. “Are you okay?”

  “Absolutely,” she lied. “Would you like me to look up the room number or show you around the floor?”

  “Lieutenant Colonel Bingham just gave me the full tour. I know they have Kevin assigned to that wing.” Derek tilted his head toward the opposite end of the hallway.

  She glanced in that direction. “He’ll have an excellent team.”

  “Not you?”

  Was that disappointment in his voice or only her wishful thinking? “Not me.” Medical crises could instigate all sorts of reactions, but she didn’t want this situation to alter the foundation of their friendship. At the core of it, they were good together because they didn’t have any expectations or pressures from external sources. “Don’t worry, everyone from the unit will make time to pop in and pester him until he’s on his feet again.”

  One corner of Derek’s mouth curled into a hint of the smile she missed more and more between each of their meetups. “Kevin will appreciate that.”

  “Probably not for long,” she teased. “I’ll check in on you both in a bit, okay?” She had to get back to her patients. Even with the lingering guilt, she’d have an easier time maintaining her positive, calm professionalism after these few minutes with Derek.

  “Grace, one more second.” Derek smoothed the fabric of the suit coat draped over his forearm. “Can I buy you a coffee? After your shift, of course.”

  An answer evaded her. Was the invitation an attempt to move their covert, casual relationship into something more public? Coffee was an activity friends or colleagues shared when they didn’t care who might see them together. A lonely butterfly flew a tight spiral in her belly before she grounded it. She was reading too much into it. Her arrangement with Derek was private. Sharing a conversation over coffee wouldn’t expose their secrets, even if someone from the unit happened to see them.

  “We’ll see,” she hedged, needing time to sort out if her hesitation stemmed from guilt or something less easily defined. “I’ll stop by once Kevin’s settled in his room. We can decide then.” He might be too tired or too worried to leave his brother’s side.

  A pucker appeared between his golden-brown eyebrows as he studied her. “Okay.”

  She hurried away, the soles of her shoes squeaking rapidly in her wake. Her mind flickered back to Derek as she moved between patients and responsibilities. Did she want to have coffee with Derek? Oh, yeah. Especially if coffee was a euphemism for something far more physical, distracting and life affirming.

  She had to get a grip. Biologically, she was well aware that sex was one of the most common coping mechanisms a
fter a loss or in a crisis. And though hooking up with Derek had proved mutually beneficial, she didn’t feel fair connecting with him physically just to take her mind off her ever-expanding abyss of guilt over what happened to Kevin.

  Of course, fairness wasn’t something life tossed out very often. Both she and Derek knew that firsthand. A cajoling, suggestive voice in her head reminded her that this affair had been his idea. And hadn’t she happily continued their casual hookups every three or four months for the better part of the past two years?

  She’d felt more than a passing interest spark when she’d been introduced to him at a gathering for families prior to Kevin’s first deployment with the unit. Those sparks had fired a bit stronger at the homecoming picnic that wrapped up that particular tour.

  Her lips tingled, as they did every time she recalled their first kiss. A rushed moment, stolen in the shadows as the sun set on a full and happy day, it had been a kiss full of tantalizing promises. Promises they’d kept to each other through various camping trips and outdoor excursions no one else knew about.

  His friendship was priceless. He was so different from the men and women who made up the rest of her world. Though they didn’t see each other on a regular basis, he’d become her haven in a world that could turn from beauty to frightful on a whim. On rough days, her stolen time with Derek buoyed her spirits and gave her something positive to look forward to.

  She didn’t want to lose that or hurt him with might-have-beens. She had to tell him it should’ve been her on that helicopter, even if it meant the end of their friendship.

  * * *

  Derek craved a breath of fresh air. The odor of hospital and antiseptic was embedded in his clothes. He could feel it seeping into his skin. And he was doing what he always did in hospitals—overreacting. He closed his eyes and focused on that sweet feeling of Grace Ann’s hug. The one she’d given him in public, at her workplace. Marveling over the gesture calmed him enough to take another deep breath. To stay put. He hoped that hug would be enough to carry him through the challenging moments to come.

  By the time they had his brother settled in the hospital room, Derek found his second wind, or maybe it was the third or fourth. He’d lost count of how many times he’d fought back from the undertow of exhaustion and panic since the unit had notified him about the crash.

  Unfortunately, he was pretty sure one more adrenaline spike was the last thing he needed. Steady as he’d been through all the waiting, the familiar mixture of worry for his brother and aggravation with essentially feeling helpless was creeping in. It put an edgy buzz in his ears, under his skin, that he couldn’t shake off.

  From the moment Kevin had announced his intent to join the army, a piece of Derek had been waiting, braced for “the call.” The call that would make him the last Sayer on his family tree.

  He dropped into the bedside chair. He should be used to this weight on his shoulders, having become Kevin’s emergency contact at the age of eighteen when their parents had been killed in a car crash. Grief and the sudden onset of responsibility had changed everything about him. He’d willingly stepped into the breach—would do so again now—but the carefree teenager he’d been occasionally wanted to act out at the unfairness of it all.

  Anger swelled at the sight of his brother in the hospital bed, tethered to several machines monitoring who knew what. Derek reeled in his temper. Negativity wouldn’t help. Kevin wasn’t on life support and he would make a full recovery, eventually.

  After he’d waited out the surgery with Kevin’s commanding officer, seeing Grace Ann had steadied him. Their brief conversation had been a spark of hope. And that hug... He’d nearly buried his head in the sweet-scented softness where her neck curved into her shoulder. Hardly fair and nowhere close to appropriate, considering their personal relationship was top secret. No one even knew they were more than acquaintances.

  He liked it that way. The setup worked for both of them. No pressure, no questions, no conversations about what might come next. She must still approve, as well, or she would’ve stopped meeting up with him on the random weekends when their schedules meshed. On occasion, he’d debated the wisdom of the casual, no-responsibility thing they had going and couldn’t manage any shame. They had mutual interests and were definitely compatible and so far, neither of them had met anyone worth making a change to an arrangement they both enjoyed.

  “Knock, knock.” Grace Ann’s quiet voice preceded the sight of her face peering around the door. “Can I come in?”

  “Please,” he managed, practically jumping to his feet. He should keep his distance, especially here. This was her place of business, the unit her second family, yet he couldn’t resist the appeal and comfort of having her near.

  Her relaxed, easy smile as she walked into the room was reminiscent of early mornings on their many camping trips. Under a clear sunrise, her cap of short dark hair gleamed and her soft fair skin and deep brown eyes radiated warmth. He never tired of seeing her in those remote, solitary settings, knowing the moments they shared were only for the two of them.

  Selfish? Maybe. He cataloged it as self-preservation. Other women eventually expected more than he could give. Grace Ann, raised in a boisterous and busy military family, was too independent to make demands on him.

  Today, with the whir and beeps of machines and the cold, clinical smells surrounding them, their backdrop was a far cry from the pace and peace of nature. Here, dressed in her scrubs, her stethoscope in her pocket and a bulky watch on her wrist, she was a professional, though he desperately wanted to lean on her as a friend without fear of being caught in the act.

  “How’s he doing?” She stopped at the foot of the bed, adjusting the blanket tucked around Kevin’s feet.

  “You probably know better than I do.” Derek winced at the hard edge in his voice. He hated hospitals almost as much as he hated standing by, helplessly waiting. He held up his hands, surrendering. “Sorry. Apparently I’m too tired to be civil.”

  “That’s to be expected,” she murmured.

  In the privacy of the room, with Kevin unconscious, her lips curved into one of those smiles he enjoyed only when they were alone. Her eyes warmed with compassion, chasing away the persistent chill he’d been fighting since walking into this building.

  “Has he been awake at all?” she asked, turning her focus to one of the monitors.

  Derek shuffled his feet and stuffed his hands into his pockets, uncomfortable with the needs at war inside him. He could handle this, had handled worse in the past. “A minute or two,” he replied. “Long enough to tell me to lighten up.”

  “That’s his special skill around here,” she said, patting Kevin’s shoulder. “He keeps all of us from taking ourselves too seriously.” Sadness drifted over her like a fog, first shadowing her eyes, then flowing down over the rest of her in those shapeless scrubs. Was she afraid for Kevin? Were they keeping some dreadful detail from him? Curious and concerned, he studied her while she watched his brother’s monitors.

  “Well?” he asked.

  She swiveled around as if she’d forgotten he was there. “Pardon me?”

  He nodded to the various machines emitting periodic beeps. “What’s your assessment?” Waiting for the answer, he watched her reclaim her composure, though the signs of a rough day lingered in her rigid shoulders and the way she gripped her stethoscope.

  “He appears comfortable,” she said. “You, not so much.”

  They stared at each other over the bed. The silence stretched between them, a wire ready to snap. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to yell at her or kiss her or beg her to get him out of here. “I’m not myself,” he muttered, turning toward the safer view outside the window.

  “Did you get something to eat?”

  “No.” The idea of food made his stomach turn over.

  “You should grab something,” she suggested. “I’ll wait here if you don�
�t want him to be alone.”

  Her calm, professional demeanor was taking over. Was it too much to ask to keep Grace Ann, friend and lover, in this room instead of the experienced RN?

  He stalked back and dropped into the chair by the bed. “I need to stay.” Being there for Kevin had become his role the moment their parents died. It didn’t matter where “here” was. He wasn’t perfect, but whatever support Kevin needed—emotional, financial or physical—Derek did his best to provide.

  “All right. Tell me what sounds good and I’ll go get that for you.”

  Her completely rational tone grated on his nerves. “You’re not a waitress.” He had to get control of this nasty attitude. No one deserved this surliness, but especially not her. Not when he claimed to be her friend.

  She angled her head, a grin teasing the corner of her mouth. “Well, I have been. It’s just like riding a bike,” she said. “What’ll it be? Downstairs, they had burgers and pasta marinara on the line today.”

  He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I’m being an idiot.”

  “No, Derek.” She stepped closer, her gaze earnest. “You’re being a concerned brother. I have a few, so I know firsthand what it looks like.”

  Her gracious understanding did nothing to settle this prickling under his skin. Surely she saw plenty of people at their worst every day. He didn’t care to be lumped into that group.

  “You and I are so different,” he said. Not the first time he’d thought it, though it was the first time he’d dared to say it aloud. The cornerstone of their weekend getaways had been the avoidance of deeper topics and connections. Better, they’d decided early on, to keep the focus on their common interests. Love of the outdoors, new adventures and sex. Excellent sex.

  She waited for him to gather his thoughts without saying a word.

  He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had been so patient. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d argued with a girlfriend. Because he didn’t. And she wasn’t. He was a short-term kind of guy who knew when to make a quick or graceful exit. The randomness of their hookups had to be why things still worked with Grace Ann.