No Regrets, No Surrender(8)

“Hey.” That was it. One packed-to-the-brim-with-emotion word.

Logan’s throat burned with a clog of feeling, but he swallowed it down. Time for his sorrow later. Much later.

Over a beer, when she was healthy and hardy and on her feet again.

“Hey.” Jazz’s husky voice never sounded so sweet. Logan unpeeled his feet from the floor and led with a hand open to the Corpsmen traveling with her—Corpsman and lieutenant, he amended as he took in their uniforms.

“Logan Cavanaugh.”

The lieutenant shook his hand first. “Lieutenant Ambrose. You’re our ride to Mike’s Place?”

“Yes, sir. Welcome stateside, sir.” Logan transferred his attention to the Corpsman.

“Corpsman Reade, sir.” His grip was firm and brief, most of his attention on their patient.

“Our van is right outside. Airport security is holding it next to the door so we can load immediately.” He glanced down. She held Zach’s hand, but she stared at him. Pressure squeezed his chest. The faint, familiar scent of her—violets and vanilla—tickled his nose. One block-like stone rolled off his diaphragm. “Welcome home, sweetheart.”

“Thank you.” He earned two words and the shadow of a smile turned up the corners of her mouth. She paused, her expression frozen for the space of three heartbeats. Her hand in Zach’s went slack.

The stone shoved against his chest again. “Jazz?”

The lieutenant dropped to his haunches and pressed two fingers against her throat. Logan fought the base urge to rip the man’s arm from the socket and waited instead.

“What’s wrong?” Zach leaned forward.

“Microseizure. Hang on.” The lieutenant seemed unaware of the impending threat at his back. The words barely left the medic’s mouth when Jazz’s lips parted and she took in an audible breath. Her smile wavered and lines of tension knitted between her brows. “Hey, there, welcome back. That wasn’t so bad this time.”

This time. Bitter bile crawled up Logan’s throat. Seizures.

They still didn’t know the full extent of her brain injury. The research into that area seemed divided into two camps of scary as shit and fuck me.

“Let’s go ahead and get out of these people’s way.” The lieutenant rubbed a comforting hand against her shoulder. Logan shifted, ready to intercept Zach as the blond man’s eyes hardened. He recognized that look, and they didn’t have time to interrogate the medics here. His gaze clashed with his best friend’s and Zach nodded once. He pressed a kiss to Jazz’s hand and circled the chair to take control of it.

She didn’t need the Corpsman on station. They had her now.

Amazingly, the passengers had waited while they blocked the exit, and as Zach navigated the wheelchair around to leave, a small round of applause broke out. Jazz jerked with the barest flicker of a grimace and paled further, if that was possible. Logan nodded politely and gestured with a thumb for Zach to get her moving.

A little girl raced up and pressed a squished, well-worn teddy bear into Jazz’s hands.

“Mr. Huggles wanted to say thank you.” Two and half feet of precociousness beamed shyly with her offer.

Jazz stared at the child, her fingers slowly wrapping around the stuffed animal. She lifted it up until its worn face, sewn together with varying colors of thread, was eye level. “Thank you, Mr. Huggles.” She kissed the bear’s face and handed it back with all the gravity of a folded flag. “And thank you for bringing him to see me.”

The child’s face screwed up with concern. “He wants to know if the soldier will be okay.”

“Marine.” Logan, Zach and Jazz echoed each other, their deeper masculine voices swamping her feminine tones.

“I’m working on it.” Jazz continued, meeting the girl’s sweet concern. “I have to listen to my doctors, like you would your mom.”

“Okay.” The child hugged the brown bear to her chest. “I have to go now.” She skipped off to a harried looking woman holding out her hand expectantly. The mother gave them a tight, sympathetic smile and ushered her daughter off.

Jazz sank back against the seat, eyes closed. Exhaustion filled the air around her.

“Let’s go.” Logan flanked the chair on one side, the lieutenant on the other with Zach guiding it, and the Corpsman in their wake. It was time to get the hell out of the airport. His heart drummed a march. A gentle touch brushed the back of his hand, and he closed his palm around her too cool, too fragile fingers. She squeezed with the barest of pressure.

Definitely time to take her home.



***



The ride back to Mike’s Place passed uneventfully. Not that Jazz noticed much of the flat scenery or concrete highways. She fell asleep almost as soon as Logan lifted her out of the chair and into the van. The warmth of his ripped body pressed into hers, and she relaxed, letting go of the tension caging her chest in rebar. She hated being so helpless. She hated the conversations that came and went. The lieutenant had to remind her of his name constantly. If not for the uniform, she wouldn’t know his rank.