Page 45 of Mended Hearts

He nods and drops his head in defeat. I wrap my arm around his waist and help him to the bed, thankful he allows me to assist. Brian sits and I stand in front of him. I run my hand across the softness of his fresh buzz cut, and he wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me closer. I yelp at the quickness, and he groans where his head rests against my chest. His hand moves all over my body, finding its way between my thighs as it navigates up. My breath catches at the feeling of his hand moving up my bare leg, caressing the hem of my shorts. This isn’t what I meant by take care of him, but it feels too good to stop. He tilts his head up, and I lean down and kiss him. So much built-up need between us as our mouths open and our tongues intertwine.

I step back and kneel in front of him, watching as he watches me. One by one, I unlace his boots, slowly pulling each off. I stand and tug the bottom of his brown shirt, pulling it off from his uninjured side over his head and then slowly maneuver it around the cast. His breath catches as my fingers fumble to unbutton his pants. I lightly press against his chest, urging him to lie back as I unzip and carefully remove his fatigue bottoms and boxers. His lean, hard body lies before me like it’s mine for the taking. But I don’t want to take. I want to give.

Chapter Thirty

ECHO

We sit in the hot bath that he only agreed to take if I joined him. Like I would tell him no when I feel we might be on the upward trajectory. I revel in the closeness of my back against his chest as we sit with our fingers laced together. His casted arm rests propped on the side of the tub while he begins to move our interlocked fingers across my stomach. The movement slightly tickles, but I remain still as he continues.

“Have you ever thought about having more kids?” he asks, sending a shiver down my spine.

I begin to stutter, unsure if it’s his breath against my skin or the question causing my reaction. “Sure, in a perfect world,” I admit with a shrug, trailing my free hand down the top of his thigh.

“Huh,” he says, pulling his hand from mine. “And what would be a perfect world?” I hear the agitation in his question and regret ever answering him in the first place.

I sigh. “One where I’m not the only parent ninety percent of the time.” He wasn’t wrong when he said Dylan isn’t his, but he also hasn’t been around to even be a father figure. His body tenses beneath mine and a coldness settles in as he pushes upfrom behind me, groaning in pain as he does. “Let me help you,” I say as I stand and reach for his arm.

“No,” he yells, voice sounding like thunder, rattling the walls. I jump back, retreating from him.

“Fine, figure it out yourself.” I grab a towel and wrap it around me. “But don’t blame me if you bust your stubborn ass on the floor.” I wipe away the tears and head for the door.

“Echo, I’m sorry,” he mumbles, the water splashing as he sits back down in the bathtub.

I turn around to see my husband hunched over with his knees pulled to his chest. His body heaves with cries of brokenness I’ve never heard from this man of mine. I practically slide on my knees the short distance to him and wrap my arms around his shoulders, pulling him into me. I don’t know what he’s been keeping inside. I just pray he can get it all out.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he admits through ragged breaths.

“Shhh.” I rub his back, trying to calm him down.

“I just find myself getting so angry, and I don’t know why.” He looks over at me, eyes filled with agony, pleading for understanding. I move my hand to his face and cup it, offering what he needs. “I don’t know if it’s the pills, the pain, the experience, or the situation that’s pushing me over the edge.” He shakes his head as if he’s trying to rid the demons. I want to ask about it all and pick at his brain to see if it’d help but feel it might have the opposite effect. I want to ask about the rest of his unit, but I refrain. I keep the possibility of Dustin being injured in the back of my mind, knowing that if he were, Lynsie would let me know. But also knowing he has a family to take care of him, while I’m essentially all Brian has.

“You need to talk to someone.” I let out a shaky breath. “And while I’d love for that to be me, I don’t think I’m going to be what you need to get through what you experienced.”

He nods in agreement.

“Now let’s get you out of this tub.” I kiss his forehead and pull him against me again for a hug.

“I love you. I don’t know what I would ever do without you.” His admission ties my heart in a knot.

Chapter Thirty-One

DUSTIN

“We tried to preserve as much of your arm as possible, but there was just nothing we could do from the wrist down. The burns, shrapnel damage, and crushed bones were just too much. Honestly, you’re very lucky to have the majority of your forearm left.”

I snort when the word lucky comes out of his mouth. Yeah, I’m some ungrateful asshole who wants everyone to pity me. I do realize I’m lucky to be alive. But you should only consider yourself lucky when that’s what you’re wanting.

“My men?” I croak, my throat feeling dry and scratchy. I could give two shits about my own flesh wounds. I need to know the status of my platoon.

“No casualties.” The doctor looks up, finally making eye contact. I can see the sympathy in his crystal blue eyes before he quickly adverts his gaze back downward to my arm where he continues business as usual. “You still have full mobility of your elbow, which will allow you the ability to wrap that part of your arm around in a gripping motion. I know it doesn’t seem like much, but if we’d had to amputate”—I shudder at that word, but he continues without noticing—“from the elbow down, you’d only have from the bicep section up.” He gestures with his ownarm what he’s trying to explain. I get what he’s saying. The puppet show isn’t necessary.

“How much longer will I be here?” I ask, needing to get to get an idea of when I’ll be discharged from the hospital. My facial hair scratches my neck and I can imagine I look pretty unkempt and rough.

“Well, if everything goes smoothly with no infection, both of your wounds should be fully healed in four weeks at the earliest.”

“I have to stay here for a month?” My voice comes out louder than I intended. I grip the bedsheet with the only hand I have left, and breath in and out, reigning in my temper.

“Ideally, no.” The nurse attempts to be calming with her low tone and sympathetic stare. “If you have somewhere to go and no infection, you should be able to leave here in ten to fourteen days.”

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