Page 62 of Damaged

“Stop telling me he’s fucking safe, Jace!” I snapped, not caring if I drew the attention of every person in the neurosurgery wing. I did feel bad for startling the nurse sitting behind the counter I was currently using to support as much of my pained body as I could. I mouthed an apology to her and then closed my eyes so I could try and focus on my breathing.

Jace must have recognized the breathing technique I’d been taught just days earlier as a tool to try and fight off my pain. My entire body was shaking and my shirt was sticking to my skin because of how badly I was sweating. I gave up on the breathing technique because I couldn’t focus on anything but my body’s need for relief—in the form of a full bottle of any kind of alcohol and an endless supply of pretty little white pills.

Despite being able to taste the alcohol at the back of my throat, there was no warmth spreading out from my stomach to the rest of my body. There was no quiet, no peace because just like the alcohol, they were no longer a part of my life.

I could practically hear the addict in me laughing his ass off. God, how was I going to do this?

“Get him a wheelchair, please,” I heard Jace softly say. His words reminded me of where I was and what I was supposed to be doing.

“I don’t need a damn wheelchair,” I barked, all my frustration and anger flaring to life again. I shifted my eyes from the countertop and searched out the most recent doctor who’d been brought in to poke and prod at me. “Just get me the AMA form!”

I lost sight of the man because Jace once again got in my face.

“So what, you’re just going to walk out of here?” he bit out. “Then what? Does your dealer make house calls or do you need to go to him?”

Under any other circumstances, I would have appreciated Jace’s concern, but I didn’t give a shit about myself. I’d given Jace more than three weeks of my life and what had it gotten me? Sure, I was technically clean since the only pain meds I got were administered and monitored by a doctor, but what was the point? I had a year, maybe two before the shrapnel took the pain away for good, along with the use of part or even all of my body.

“Fuck this,” I muttered. I didn’t need to throw myself a pity parade. The VA hospital was full of stories far more horrific than my own. I’d seen firsthand how hard former members of every branch of the military were fighting to live a normal life under much worse circumstances than my own.

I turned my back on Jace and began making my way to the elevator which, unfortunately, was more than a few steps away. I continued to lean heavily on the counter because I knew I’d need every bit of strength I had to stay upright when I got to the end of it.

Fear began to plague me as I put one foot in front of the other. The adrenaline helped me with my balance when I was forced to let go of the counter, but how long would it last?

What if he was gone?

What if he’d left the safety of my house and had just disappeared?

It had been more than a week since I’d last spoken to Silver. Our conversations had been stilted and short. I had no way of reading Silver through a goddamn phone. There were no words I could say to reassure him he wasn’t a prisoner again. I’d told Jace and Ronan that big men in dark clothing who were carrying a lot of firepower could easily trigger Silver and cause him to panic. He’d accused me more than once of setting him up to be grabbed by Jace and the people he worked with.

God, I needed to feel his touch. I needed to hear his voice. I needed to tell him so many things. I needed to taste him again. I needed to hear the whimpers he made when I kissed him. I needed him to kiss me back. I needed him to tell me we were okay even though I knew we weren’t. I needed…

I just fucking needed him.

“Dalton,” I heard Jace call in frustration. I ignored him. As grateful as I was to him for everything he’d done, I hated him for what he hadn’t done.

Told the truth.

I was a junkie, but I wasn’t stupid. Jace and Ronan had been telling me Silver was safe after he’d stopped taking my phone calls. I’d recognized the stall tactic for what it was—both men had wanted me to stay at the VA for as long as possible, not only for my sobriety but to deal with my medical issues as well.

Silver didn’t go silent without a reason. He’d had the balls to confront me directly about my addiction and he’d been bold enough to water down my whiskey. The man had fucking stripped in a public parking lot so he could get away from my thoughtless words and dismissive attitude.

“Please,” I whispered to myself. Tears pricked the backs of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. The image of opening the door to my empty house hit me so hard that my knees threatened to buckle. How was it that just weeks ago I’d been eager to leave Jace’s sister’s funeral just so I could get to my empty house?

So I could be alone again.

The way I liked it.

The way it had always been.

“Just let him be there,” I murmured under my breath. I repeated the chant every time I put one foot in front of the other.

“Dalton.”

I came to an abrupt stop, ignoring the fire that burned down my spine in response to the sudden move. I shook my head in denial even as I carefully turned around. I was hearing things. I had to be. My mind was taking me to a place where I didn’t have to deal with the pain and despair of being left behind again. Even when my eyes met his, I wouldn’t allow myself to believe it.

“Dalton,” Silver repeated softly. He was standing by the counter that I’d been leaning against only minutes earlier. I drank in the sight of him as he began walking toward me. I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. I couldn’t. If I did, I might wake up. I would be forced to return to reality.

It wasn’t until Silver’s arms wrapped around me that my mind began to accept the truth. I let out a harsh breath and closed my arms around him. The relief of having Silver in my arms again after what had seemed like a lifetime was so overwhelming that I couldn’t help but lower my head to his shoulder. The adrenaline rush I’d been on crashed so hard and fast that I thought it would surely take me to my knees, but Silver must have felt something in the way I was holding myself because his arms tightened around me. I buried my face against his neck and tried to take in everything I could. His scent, his touch, the way he ran his fingers through my hair, the gentle caress of his lips just behind my ear. I had at least six inches and fifty pounds on him, yet I was the one clinging to him like a helpless child.

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