No Regrets, No Surrender(17)

Zach listened, committing everything to memory. Three weeks after her final surgery—he crossed his fingers—the neurosurgeon signed off on releasing her from the hospital wing. Jazz needed to remain on campus. She had physical therapy every day, checkups with the neurologist, and appointments with James. He glanced at his watch. The first session with doc was scheduled in a couple of hours. Not a lot of time to get her home and settled in.

Home.

Reade pushed the pair of bags with her meds toward him. “You got this, Zach?”

“Yeah, I got it. Every six hours, take with food, get lots of rest.”

“She will need the sleep. She’s going to be a lot more tired than any of you realize. It’s a big jump to leave the hospital. It’s a bigger jump to start doing things for herself. If she’s like every other Marine I’ve ever met, she’ll start pushing the minute you walk out those doors. Don’t let her overdo it. Falling isn’t an option. Not yet.” In the five weeks since she’d arrived back in the States, Reade served as her primary nurse and initial physical therapist.

“Been here before, Reade—with an even more stubborn Marine. We got this.”

In the seven weeks since learning Jazz was the one injured, Zach didn’t seem to sleep anymore. Not well, anyway. First it was the waiting for news, then waiting for her to come stateside, and lately it had been the wait to get the all clear from the neurosurgeon. Eight brain surgeries seemed an impossible number. Logan had gone through more, but those surgeries had rebuilt his bones.

The seizures worried him and so did the strokes. She suffered two of them in rapid succession. Every episode chipped away at the beautiful Marine, souring her hope and diminishing the gleam in her eyes. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, and he sure as shit wouldn’t say it to her, but the depression lurking in her soul leaked out.

She all but shoved them out the door most days. Pushing away, feigning sleep, and twice she picked fights just to piss him off. Yeah, he’d been there before. Logan’s recovery took everything both of them had to survive, but they did it.

They and Jazz would survive this.

“All right, discharge papers are here. Her first PT is tomorrow morning. The Lieutenant wants to see her again on Friday.” It was Tuesday morning, so three days neuro-assessment free would be a boon for her.

“Got it.” He headed back toward her room. The sound of voices murmuring pressed through the door and he knocked twice.

“Yes?” Elizabeth Winters voice rose over that of her daughter’s. Jazz’s mother had informed them of her planned visit. Weeks after her daughter threw her out after a seizure, her mother visited often, but she kept her distance.

He opened the door. “Ma’am. Jazz. I have the discharge papers and your meds. Logan took your things back to the apartment. We’re ready to go when you are.”

Jazz sat in the wheelchair she hated. She’d insisted on dressing and wore her uniform. Zach delivered it when he’d arrived, ironed and crisp. She still wore a crown of bandages, a blatant reminder of her numerous surgeries. He’d seen her without them immediately after one surgery. The missing hair barely fazed him. The neatly sutured lines were battle scars. The bore holes after her third surgery—those gave him pause.

“Thank you, Zachary.” Elizabeth was a tall woman, like her daughter. Jazz inherited many of her mother’s features, save for her eyes and her chin. Where the daughter possessed almost delicate features, her mother’s jaw was longer, less rounded, and added to the image of her maturity. “Jasmine and I need a few more minutes if you don’t mind.”

He met Jazz’s gaze. She nodded. She wanted the time, too. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be right outside when she’s ready.”

“Thank you.” The women waited until he closed the door before they began talking. Their voices softened, he could hear snatches of the conversation, but not all. He tried to tune out the snippets. They deserved their privacy.

He leaned against the wall and glanced at his watch. His team had the day off, but they would be back on the practice field tomorrow morning. He would miss Jazz’s first PT session. But that was Logan’s territory, and even though he wasn’t assigned specifically to her case, he would keep watch over her.

As if summoned by his thoughts, his best friend strode up the hallway toward him. Judging by the workout sweats he wore, he’d had a PT session of his own that morning, sessions he’d been missing while Jazz was in the hospital. His wet hair suggested he’d showered at the center and jogged right on over.

“She ready to go?” Logan asked by way of greeting.