“Discharged, but she’s talking to her mom.”
Her mother surprised Zach, although, with what he knew about Jazz, he shouldn’t have been. She was a tough, resourceful woman who demanded answers in the form of the most polite questions. She didn’t budge until she had the facts and then she pressed for more.
“Elizabeth is actually here? Jazz let her in?” Logan had never accepted Jazz’s ousting of her mother. He’d made a point of keeping Elizabeth in the loop and encouraged her to be in the room.
“Yeah. She called her to let her know she was going to be discharged.” Her mother’s arrival concerned Zach some. Captain Dexter offered Elizabeth Winters an apartment on the campus. “She may want Jazz to stay with her.”
“Jazz won’t want that.” Logan dismissed that concern with a wave of his hand, something he’d been doing a lot lately.
“You do realize that if she wants to stay with her mother, we’re going to get cut out of the loop.” Zach wanted her home, safe and sound, and they could take care to see she got her meds and to her appointments on time. He also wanted her where the bed was big enough that he could crawl in, tuck her against his side and know exactly where she was while he slept. He wanted her safe.
“Maybe. Elizabeth knows her daughter. Jazz doesn’t want to be hovered over and her mom can’t help it. She’s a mom. But Jazz needs her support, so making up now is a good thing.”
How the hell did Logan make it sound so blasé? Through the entire ordeal, he’d barely flinched at her prognosis, at her seizures, or her surgeries.
“Neither did you, but that didn’t stop me from taking care of you. Her mom is here, she’s local, and she has more say than we do.” That fact sat squarely on the crux of his concern. He appreciated her mother’s affections and needs, but he didn’t want those to usurp his and Logan’s place. Jazz needed to be protected, from herself if necessary. She needed to rest, to focus on her recovery, and not to put on a brave show for a worried parent.
“Man, when was the last time you slept?” Logan’s concern barely penetrated the cloud of questions hammering to be heard in Zach’s head.
She’d burrowed into his heart and claimed that battlefield without firing a shot. He’d never intended to fall for the Marine. He’d planned that date in Las Vegas to help Logan, to get him over the hurdle of impotence brought on by the trauma. He’d had a front row seat to the instant connection that flared between the pair—a connection that included him. That night the three of them spent together was one of the best of his life. The three days in Italy followed as nights two, three, and four.
“I’m fine. I’ll sleep better when she’s at the apartment.” He repeated it like a mental mantra. From Brody’s first phone call, he walked a razor thin wire between fury and fear. He preferred the anger. It kept him focused.
“Yeah, me, too. I checked the schedule. She’s got Maxwell for first round PT. She’s good. She’ll push her.”
“Jazz doesn’t need to be pushed.” The reply was almost automatic. They’d debated the issue for weeks. Logan insisted on setting a timetable. He’d been the one who encouraged Reade to get her physical therapy started before her surgeries were complete. He’d taken her out of the hospital for a walk that ended with her first stroke and brought in weights for her to work her arms because her right side remained weaker than the left.
“Yes, she does. Bringing in someone to do her nails isn’t going to fix what’s wrong.” Two days ago, Logan found the manicurist Zach paid to visit, buffing Jazz’s toenails. Reade pushed back her therapy for the day, so the woman could do her job. No matter Logan’s opinion, Jazz relaxed more after that visit, a hell of a lot more.
“There’s more to it than pushing her. She needed to feel pretty. Her nails had been growing and she kept snagging them. She wanted me to clip them all off, but the pampering helped.” Her smile afterward was all the encouragement and thanks he needed. The grin stretched her full mouth wide and lit up her face in a way very little had since she’d woken up.
He’d learn how to do a damn pedicure himself if it could make her smile like that.
“She needs to feel whole. Pretty is like patching a bullet hole with a band-aid. She’s fucking gorgeous.”
Zach sighed. It was always so damn black or white with Logan. How quickly he forgot his own situation. His own shaken self confidence. He wore his scars with pride now, didn’t flinch away from mirrors or the staring gazes of others.