No Regrets, No Surrender(10)

She didn’t want to sleep. They were both with her. Both held her hand and the ice dripping into her arm didn’t extinguish the fire spreading from their touch.

“What happened?”



***



She finally slept.

After the doctors added something to her IV bag and her unfocused gaze gradually closed, Zach continued to rub her cold, still fingers between his palms. She looked so damn delicate, a description she would scoff at if he confessed it to her. For two days, he and Logan shared vigil at her bedside, leaving one at a time, only long enough to shower and grab food. It was Logan’s turn for a grub run, leaving Zach to wait and will her to wake back up.

Wake up and remember. He amended the mantra. She’d woken a handful of times and always with the same questions. Why was she here? What happened? As fucked up as it was, he’d almost gotten used to it. They made sure to explain everything in easy to digest chunks. Most of the time she fell right back to sleep, but occasionally she drifted and asked the questions again.

Again.

Grit stung the corners of Zach’s eyes. His body burned with the need for real sleep, but he shut that need away in a box. Trained to go forty-eight hours straight on a hard march through hostile territory, he could definitely handle a cushy assignment, sitting on his ass in the hospital room. Doctors and nurses came in regularly. They checked her vitals and the readouts on the machine. They wheeled her out for a CT scan—a hellaciously one-hour long scan—and nodded to themselves.

No one really seemed worried that she wasn’t waking up. Not even Logan. Sure, he was tense and he didn’t sleep any more than Zach did. But he didn’t act anxious or concerned.

In the back of his mind, a little voice argued that wasn’t fair. Logan cared about Jazz as much as Zach did. Hell, she was the only woman they ever talked about. He just couldn’t do anything about her sleeping, so he didn’t get bent. But it was the not being able to act that drove Zach crazy.

Her fingers flexed against his hand. He leaned forward. Her eyes fluttered, opening with such agonizing slowness. Her pink tongue flicked out as though trying to moisten her lips, and she coughed, the simplest, tiniest, dry-throated cough.

“Water?” He scooted the chair forward and scooped up the plastic cup with its bendy straw and held it to her lips. Barely focused, she sucked down a mouthful and then a second. He pulled it back when she would have taken a third and watched her throat convulse as she swallowed. Satisfied, he returned the straw for her to drink.

She lifted the IV-taped hand to push it away, and he set the cup to the side.

“Good afternoon.”

“Hey,” she said. He loved that little hey. It was a soft exhale of breath, simple and clean. Her coffee-with-cream stare warmed him. She smiled, her expression tentative. He waited for the questions. The why she was here, what happened, but she didn’t say anything. Her pupils seemed normal, large, but they didn’t seem to expand as they had during the seizures he’d witnessed.

The empty blankness that crept over her sexy face was the creepiest, most horrific thing he’d ever seen outside of battle.

“Jazz?” He rubbed her fingers against his cheek, trying to remind her that he was still there.

“I’m in a hospital.”

The statement pushed a wave of relief through him. It was the first time she didn’t ask a question. “Yes. You’re in the States. You flew home a couple of days ago.” He held his breath as her startled gaze alighted on him.

“Was I in a car accident?”

Shit.

“No, babe. There was an explosion in Afghanistan. You were injured. You’ve been in and out for the last couple of weeks, but they finally flew you home.” He stroked her cheek gently. The fresh pink and rapidly fading scar on her too pale skin seemed to mock the rest of her injuries.

“My head hurts.” An understatement, he was sure, but he kept that thought to himself. “Where’s Logan?”

“He went to get food. He’ll be back soon, so you need to stay awake for him.” He needs to get his ass back here. Zach had to let go of her hand to tug his phone out, but he continued to caress her cheek. “I’m going to text him right now.”

“Okay.” Her lashes fluttered down and his texting finger froze. C’mon, babe. Stay awake. Sleep might be the best thing for her, but the utter stillness in her and lack of color in her cheeks haunted him. He needed the spitfire with her sassy red toenails and rapid-fire wit to make an appearance.

She focused on him again, and he finished typing the single word. Awake.

He hit send and set the phone down. “Outside of the headache, how are you doing?”