Page 49 of Never Yours

“Rogers. Lawrence.” Pop’s voice is now stern; both Ingrid’s and my posture is rigid. “Ingrid, go to the hotel. I give you my word that the moment I have any information, I will personally call you.”

Ingrid’s eyes shut tightly, and more tears fall. I kiss them away, but more trail down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I love you,” are the only words I can manage before Pop stands between me and Ingrid.

“Commander,” Pop barks out, “you’re going to see the medical team before you see Ingrid again.”

I raise my chin, but can’t muster a salute. “Yes, Sir.”

Though I can’t see her, I hear the small admission, “I love you, Cay. We love you,” before two men attempt to steal me away from her. They’ll deem me unfit to leave if I fight, so I try my hardest to remain as calm as possible.

“You’re my everything, Ingrid,” I shout, but then I grip Pop by the arm as he walks me a few steps away from her. “Pop, there’s a journal. Please make sure it gets to Ingrid if things…”

“A true Rogers,” he attempts to make light of it. “I’m not leaving your side, but I’ll make sure she gets it.”

“Sir, you can’t join Rogers. You’ll need to stay here.”

Pop glances at their insignia. “Lieutenant, thank you for your concern, but as a retired Vice Admiral, I’m going to need you to put me in contact with your superiors if we have an issue here. My son is experiencing severe anxiety, and the last thing you need to do is isolate him. Wherever he goes, I go.”

The men who pulled me from the one person who keeps my mind quiet glance at each other and nod. “Yes, Sir.” They lead Pop and me into a cold, sterile room with a metal table and two chairs. Just like the room I saw Ingrid, Pop, and Cass in, there’s a one-way mirror. This isn’t a mental health screening. It’s a fucking interrogation.

My jaw tics, wondering how much masking this will take to get back to Ingrid and our baby. Though even I can see the possession over her and our child’s safety is extreme.

“Be honest with them, but… you need to rein it in, son.”

Pop is right. If I don’t get a hold of what I’m feeling right now, they’ll never let me see my girl again.

Fuck!

All it took was a fucking plane rattling our building. But, so help me, if anything or anyone hurts Ingrid or our child…

“Rogers.” Pop’s voice snaps my attention to him. “This is Doctor Franz. She’ll be evaluating you today.”

“Commander Rogers, it’s a pleasure to meet you. It’s my understanding you may need someone to talk to.”

“Where’s Ingrid?” I growl.

“Ingrid?”

“His wife,” Pop finishes, his tone still gruff. I’m not delusional. I know Ingrid isn’t my wife, but I still appreciate the gesture.

“Your wife is doing great.” She’s so full of shit. “Let’s start with how you’re feeling.”

“You can all stop placating me,” I groan. “I know Ingrid isn’t my wife, as much as I want her to be. I don’t know what happened in that hall. But the woman I love is worried about me.”

“I see,” she replies, noting something in my chart.

“Don’t ‘I see’ me! Ingrid is the one thing that has kept me sane when I was stuck on that fucking boat for months. I passed the psych screenings. For a moment, I was worried about the safety of Ingrid and our child. It passed.”

“I see,” she repeats.

A growl rumbles in my chest, but Pop covers my hand to quiet me. When I quickly glance over, he shakes his head once.

This looks bad.

“Does Ingrid not want to see me?”

“No one said that,” she replies.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

---