Alpha Male Romance(23)

And he'd loved it.

My bossy, often over-bearing, way-too-protective big brother had thrived under the pressure. He'd been great at his job, receiving accolades from his commanding officers and respect from his fellow soldiers.

Four months later, his convoy was taking medical supplies to a village that had recently been decimated by some local warlord. His truck had been in the lead and he'd been riding shotgun. They'd hit a roadside bomb and that had been it.

Four members of his unit died that day. One ended up with permanent brain damage. And Logan lost his right leg from the knee down.

Before he'd even come back to the States, his girlfriend had written him a Dear John letter.

I'd gone to her house, slapped her, and said a few choice words. And I'd ended up with a restraining order. It'd been worth it.

They'd called him a hero when he'd come home, but all he'd been able to see was the future he'd lost. It had been that, as much as the loss of his leg, that had changed him from my brother to some stranger.

X was a hero.

Granted, he hadn't done any of that stuff overseas, but he'd still saved the lives of two people. He'd put himself in danger to protect others. The newspapers were all calling for medals and recognition. They'd been parked outside for two days now, asking everyone who came and went if they knew anything about X. Of course, none of us answered, but that hadn't stopped them from trying.

In fact, just last night, I'd caught a reporter dressed in scrubs trying to sneak into X's room to get a picture. Since then, the hospital had brought in a handful of extra security to watch the burn unit doors and check credentials thoroughly and often. The army was keeping fairly quiet about it, issuing a single statement to acknowledge that X was indeed a member of the military, but not adding anything else. Local law enforcement officials were being equally close-mouthed, refusing to say anything about the two people X had rescued or what had caused the fire in the first place.

In true paparazzi fashion, some of the less reputable news sources – and I used that term loosely – had taken to coming up with their own reasons for the silence. After reading part of one article that was claiming X had blown up the building himself to try to take out some sort of terrorist cell, I decided to ignore the media completely.

If X woke up, there'd be some answers. But I honestly didn't care about the whole story. I cared about him waking up. About him living.

I closed my eyes for a moment and let out a slow breath. When he woke up. It couldn't be if. He had to survive.

A noise made me open my eyes again and I immediately jumped to my feet. X's eyes were open, panic flooding them.

“It's okay, X,” I said quickly as I moved to his side. I hit the nurse call button and then grabbed his uninjured hand. “It's okay. You're in the hospital. Relax. It's okay.”

His fingers tightened around mine and some of the panic receded. I could tell that he wanted to talk, wanted to ask questions, so I kept talking, trying to think of answers to what he might want to know.

“You were in an accident and had some smoke inhalation. Your throat and lungs were singed enough that we put in a tube to help you breathe.”

His pulse began to slow.

“My name's Nori Prinz. I'm a nurse here at the medical center. You're still in San Antonio. This is the burn unit.”

The door opened and Dr. Fellner followed one of the other nurses in.

“It's okay,” I repeated, squeezing his hand. “We're going to take good care of you here.”





Chapter Twelve





Xavier





Her name was Nori.

The brunette I remembered from before. That was her name.

She'd told me her last name, but I couldn't remember it.

I focused on trying to remember. It was the only way I could make it from minute to minute. Something to focus on, to try to keep my mind off the excruciating pain tearing through me.

Prinz.

That was it.

She said her name was Nori Prinz. She was a nurse. And she'd known to call me X, not Xavier.

I'd met a couple other nurses in the last few hours since I'd been awake. I didn't remember anything about them other than blurs of faces, all armed with meds and charts.

My doctor was Catlin Fellner. Dr. Fellner. Early fifties. Smart. Didn't pull any punches.

I wasn't sure if I should be glad for that or not.

She told me that she wanted to keep the tube in at least until tomorrow morning, just to be on the safe side. I'd agreed, but not because I wanted to. My brain was scrambled, but not so much that I didn't know that I wasn't really in a place to make any real decisions. So I'd trusted her judgment.

Then she'd told me why half my body felt like it was on fire.

Because it had been.

She'd listed off my injuries in a matter-of-fact manner, but she hadn't been cold about it, just professional. She'd told me of all the things I had to look forward to over the course of the next few months. What it would mean for the rest of my future.