Page 4 of Luck Be Mine
“I’m going to let the disability leave days expire first.”
“Still planning to get out?”
“Yes. The conversation with him didn’t change the situation. But I’ll do as he asks and take some time to think about it. I’m not changing my mind. We can’t work our marriage with two commands, and I’m not going to be in any shape to take on the kind of missions they’ll need me to. It’s going to be months, not days, before I’m solid again.” Her bland verbalization tugged at the anger he kept locked tight inside. Damn fucking terrorists.
She struggled with her gray, zipped hoodie, and he stepped forward to help her. “Let me go to the truck and get our bags.”
Cait shook her head. “Help me get undressed. I need to lay down.” The humor had left her eyes and all that remained was deep suffering. “We are alone here, right? Just us?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Get me naked, and not in a good way, dammit.”
“You want a T-shirt?”
“You have one?”
Hunt didn’t answer. He lifted the lid of the black footlocker near the closet door and pulled out a gray Navy shirt. “I think this will work.”
Cait took a deep, careful breath. “Yes. Can I have it?”
“Have?” He smiled at her. “Are we bargaining?”
“You aren’t getting much of a bargain.”
Hunt threw the shirt on the bed and helped her shed the sling keeping her shoulder and arm immobile. He unbuttoned the white shirt and shimmied her out of the black yoga pants, white undershirt, and black panties. If she hadn’t had red marks, surgical scars, and fading scratches and bruises reminding him too starkly of her injuries, he would have stripped and joinedher. But she moved like every bit of her hurt. He struggled against helplessness.
“Don’t look.” Her pale face only made the misery in her blue eyes stand out.
“You are beautiful, and I’m so lucky you’re here with me. Don’t you forget it.” He eased his gray Navy T-shirt over her head, slowly shifted her broken arm and damaged shoulder into the sleeve, and put the sling back in place. “Need the bathroom or any pain meds?”
“Yes, on the first, and then some Tylenol and water. I am not starting the pain medication route. I’ll have to learn to deal another way.”
“I’ll get you those right now.” If he missed his guess, she’d hold on to use the facilities but would be asleep before the Tylenol. He would reverse the order to get the meds in her. He hustled to the kitchen for Tylenol from his stash and a glass of water. She swallowed the meds with no protest, then he swept her into his arms.
She was a tough cookie and didn’t ask for a thing – which made him want to give her everything.
The small bathroom space was a constrained construction of white on white, but with the two of them in the space, it was ridiculously compact. They might need a new apartment. He opened his mouth to mention the idea. Her eyes went shut. He shoved the item to a remember for later note in his head. The list was longer than traffic in the exit lane for the naval base.
“Come on, honey. Sleep time for you.” He carried her to the bed and laid her gently on the sheets. “I’m going to bring our bags in from the truck. I’ll be right here, though.”
“Mmm, okay.” She burrowed the non-sore side of her face into the pillow, her body giving into the need for comfort and sleep.
He hadn’t any more than tucked the covers gently around her than there was a tap on the front door.
She stirred a bit, but he laid a gentle hand on her head. “Doogie. No worries.”
She sighed again and her tension eased, asleep in seconds. Thank God. The pain would reach out and bite her later but couldn’t prevail against exhaustion.
He quietly shut the bedroom door behind him.
A quick peek in the peephole confirmed the visitor. He opened the door, awash in relief. Chief Warrant Officer Two Warren Dugan stood on the other side with two bags of groceries.
“What did you buy? I said coffee.”
Doogie snorted his opinion of the idea. The muscular, Black man wore cargo shorts and a gray and silver etched Mardi Gras t-shirt. He powered his way through the door only to stop short in the kitchen doorway, his expression torn between horror and gleeful judgment.
“Oh, my man. We gotta do something about this. You have a woman in the house now! You have nothing here. Do you even have a frying pan?”
