Probably because they were still stitching my head. “It’s getting better without the surgery.”
“Right.” He had me stand. I gritted my teeth as he moved the gown aside and pressed against my chest. “Broken ribs too?”
“Healed.”
“Right.”
He didn’t fucking believe me? Holy Christ, when I first woke, the ribs and collapsed lung fucked me up more than the head wound.
The doctor had me sit. He examined the scars on my head and exhaled.
“Do you feel you are physically capable of returning to duty?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes, sir.”
“Son, you suffered a severe, near-fatal accident only eight months ago. You endured months of intense therapy after weeks of extended hospitalization. Do you understand what that sort of trauma does to a body?”
“I remember it well,” I said. “A lesser man might have fallen.”
“But not you?”
“No, sir. I guarantee, I’m the strongest son of a bitch you’ve ever had the pleasure of examining.”
“That so?”
“Yes, sir. Just wait until I turn my head and cough.”
Finally got a chuckle out of him, but it faded quick. He tapped the chart. “Well, you seem mostly recovered. I’m guessing you’re more physically fit now than you were before the accident which is…impressive, given the SEALs expectations.”
“I’ve definitely had more to work for, sir.”
“Any family?”
In a sense. I shrugged. “I live for the job.”
That wasn’t the answer he wanted.
He pulled a chair over and sat, crossing his legs. His glasses came off, and he rubbed his eyes. He hesitated.
But fucking why?
“Tell me about the headaches, Zach?”
I revealed fucking nothing. “What headaches?”
“Son.”
“Gotta be more specific, doc.”
“You’ve been prescribed oxycodone and fiorcet for migraines by Dr. Gretchen Halley.”
Damn it. Gretchen tried to force the pills down my throat before. I refused her every time. Didn’t stop her from calling a prescription in for me. Son of a bitch.
“I didn’t take them,” I said.
“So you aren’t having headaches?”
I preferred a real mine-field to these questions. “I could handle them.”
“How bad are they?”
“Just a headache.”
“Do you have one now?”
Yeah, and he was making it worse. “It’s not bad. Caused by the travel. Chartered my own jet, but unless I’m strapped in the back of a helo, flying is boring.”
He handed me a plastic tool to hold over my eye. He pointed to the chart on the door.
“Read the fourth line.”
“Look, the headaches are manageable—”
“Son, read the line.”
I couldn’t. The words blurred the more I concentrated. I shrugged.
“R-O-3-A-V.”
He frowned. “Not even close.”
I knew what he was going to say next. I didn’t let him talk.
“I can get LASIK. It’ll correct my vision. That’s not a problem.”
His voice hardened. “It’s not your eyes.”
“They’re blurry. Of course it’s my eyes.”
“Zach, you suffered extensive head trauma. Quite frankly, it’s a goddamned miracle you’re even standing, walking, talking, exercising, and thinking of re-enlisting in the SEALs.”
“Sir—”
“These aren’t tension headaches. This is a clear-cut case of Post-Concussion Syndrome. It’s serious. You shouldn’t be trying to get into the Navy. You need to find a qualified neurologist.”
“But—”
“This types of syndromes can kill you, son. The only thing you should be doing is resting and focusing on getting healthy. These headaches may last a lifetime.”
“I’ll handle them.”
“Not if you’re under enemy fire in hostile territory. It isn’t just your life on the line. Do you want to be the man responsible for killing a member of your squadron?”
Jesus. Like I didn’t have that nightmare every night. I clenched my jaw.
“Son, do yourself a favor. Be grateful you’re alive. Take care of yourself. Find a pretty girl and settle down.”
“I can do this, I just need a chance.”
He stood, clapping my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I can’t in good conscience clear you for duty. Not when you’d pose a danger to yourself and others. You served your country well, almost gave your life. Be grateful for the opportunity and focus on your continued recovery.”
He offered his hand. I reflexively shook it. He nodded.
“I’m sorry, son. But thank you for your service. You’re a hero to many people.”
The door closed behind him.
A hero?
To fucking who?
Years of training. Dedication. Motherfucking hell week—five days of physical fucking torture with no sleep—and it was over?
How could it be over?
How the hell could I survive the IED, the transport, the surgery, the recovery, only to have a goddamned headache prevent me from shipping back out?
Holy Christ, I survived spider bites, lacerations, and a parachute that incorrectly deployed. A damned headache knocked me out.
I ripped the gown off and pitched it across the room. It took out a glass container of tongue depressors. The glass didn’t shatter, but it toppled into the sink.
It wasn’t enough, but I wasn’t trashing a doctor’s office. It wasn’t his fault he ruined my life.
It wasn’t anyone’s fault, but it sure as hell felt like mine.
What the fuck was I supposed to do now?
Take money that shouldn’t have belonged to me and live some worthless life beside a pool? Grab some shitty nine-to-five to occupy my days?
All the damn opportunity in the world, and the one thing I wanted was gone.
Now I knew how Shay felt.
Shay.
Fuck.
I couldn’t face her. How many men had the honor of telling their women they were weak? Unfit.
Unworthy of the SEALs. Unworthy of her.
What the fuck was I supposed to do?
Chapter Eighteen - Shay
The front door slammed shut.
The windows shook with it, scaring the absolute bejesus out of me.
My heart just about stopped. The little library didn’t have a secondary exit to escape, not unless I wanted to climb up the fireplace. I abandoned my Kindle and dove over the couch—like the fraying afgan Gran knitted for me would protect me from goblins in my closet and intruders bursting through my door.
I grabbed the remote and reared to throw.
Bags thudded against the floor. I peeked at the door.
Christ, it was just Zach.
And he was…stripping.
Zach peeled his shirt off. His shoes kicked off next.
I swallowed. Pressing hard against the seam of his jeans was just the sort of trouble I knew he’d bring back from D.C.
“You’re home.” I gripped the couch. Suddenly, I was very aware that I stole one of his shirts to sleep in…and conveniently forgot to wear any pants or panties while I snuggled into a steamy book. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”
“Take it off.”
I smirked, picking at the shirt. “I didn’t think you’d mind if I borrowed it.”
“Take. It. Off.”
Oh, Lord.
His tone. That voice. The twitching muscles, rugged scars, and the devilish swirls of ink coating his chest.
Zach’s presence was enough to undo me. Combine that with the naughty book I read?
I wasn’t looking forward to sleeping alone tonight. Now I doubted I’d get any sleep at all.
But I hadn’t expected to welcome him home from D.C. on my knees. In fact, I planned on avoiding him as best I could. It wasn’t that I didn’t like him staring at me, studying me as I curled the shirt over my hips, across my navel, and over the swell of my breasts.
All I wanted was for him to stare at me. To touch me. Kiss me. Hold me.
Stay with me.
The shirt dropped to the floor. The cool air tickled over my skin, tightening my nipples beyond arousal and into a painful throb. Only his mouth could soothe them.
A single word stripped my defenses and clothes. His command was issued with SEAL authority and masculine desire.
“Come here.”
How could anyone resist? I’d never deny a man so powerful and sexy and charming and just…perfect. Too perfect.
My stepped padded close, slow and steady, letting the curve of my hip sway to tease his hungry gaze. I shouldn’t have encouraged this. A night with him was just another mistake.
But letting him get into my heart was worse.
I ignored every reasonable expectation for myself and touched the fierce ridges of his abs. The fear of losing him faded. He cupped my breast and soothed the ache inside of me.
I wasn’t following my head. Hell, I wasn’t even following my heart. I acted on need. Selfish, stupid, terrible desire. I never should have wanted this man. Embracing him would end in heartache and misery.
I tried not to let him close.
Our bodies touched.
I meant to ignore my feelings for him.
He kissed me.
I wished I could hate him.
But I didn’t. Couldn’t.
And what I did feel scared me.
His kiss turned ferocious, and his grip on my breast fierce and possessive. He squeezed, and I fell against him.
Even the little sting of pain felt good in his palm.
He released my nipple to tangle his fingers in my hair. I didn’t expect him to jerk my head back. I gasped as the nip against my throat was anything but playful. He clapped his free hand against my ass and dug in. Zach pressed me against him.