Page 7 of Luck Be Mine
Was he justified in keeping this secret compartmentalized when she had clearance for it?
Or was he being too protective and destroying trust before they even got to their three-month anniversary?
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◊ Home – Five Days: Seeking Comfort ◊
Cait gently squirmed in search of a less painful way to lay and sighed against her pillow. This was the first real ease since the explosion. Home. Safe. Alone with Hunt. No nurses. No fussing.
Her injuries and the pain nagged, churning deep anxiety and frequent tears. She hid those as best as she could.
But her broken hip throbbed, stiff and healing.
Her lungs worked if she didn’t breathe too deep. As a doctor, she knew the long-term risks of lung injury. As a patient in recovery, she was terrible at coping.
The rebuilt shoulder joint with broken clavicle – painful, inflexible. There was enough plastic in her shoulder to rub against bone, and it did. Too many metal screws made the ache intensify. Move wrong and pain slammed her like a hammer.
Her left fingers were still numb. Part of her arm, too.
Nerve damage yet to be assessed.
The worry about her surgical career ebbed and flowed with every jolt of pain.
She dreamed. Not good dreams. Jumbled ones. Many memories floated in those dreams, unconnected with a linear timeline. Part of the traumatic brain injury. Headaches were commonplace.
Most haunting were the moments of weightless flight, the slam into the brick wall, and the loss of Hunt. Each moment was wrapped tight in a mind too broken to face the fear.
Still, on good days, a combination of rest, medication, and safety at home anchored fragile comfort.
The pillow smelled like fresh laundry soap and her husband. A small smile escaped.
A bag rustled in the kitchen.
She lay still. Movement was madness. He’d come to her. It wasn’t like she was going anywhere.
He padded into the room. The man moved like he belonged in the silence. He’d already surprised her with a television. It was mounted on the wall opposite the bed. Muted colors of the fish screensaver danced on the screen.
She yawned and, daring herself to try, stretched in incremental moves. Slowly. Carefully. “Hunt, what are you doing?”
‘Sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to wake you. Happy New Year!”
She lifted her head a fraction, swallowing a yelp at the jab of pain in her skull. Hunt’s back was to her, blocking whatever the surprise.
“Happy New Year to you.” Her voice was a raspy scrap of noise. “But we’re already three weeks into January.”
His blue T-shirt and jeans molded well-defined muscles. “Doesn’t matter.” He stepped aside and revealed a two-foot-tall plant in a terra cotta ceramic pot. Tiny red lights with silver hearts hung from large green leaves. The pseudo tree twinkled softly in the dim light of the bedroom. The tiny hearts should have smothered the tree in cuteness, but they gave the small greenery a touch of elegance.
Tears flooded her eyes. “Hunt!”
“Like it?”
“Yes! I haven’t had any plants since…” She stopped, unable to pull the timeframe and shying away from the lapse. “Before my second deployment?”
“This is a first for me, too. I usually keep the green outside. But I figured this was a first step to gardens, a big kitchen, and a barbecue.” He held up a finger. “Wait. I have one more thing.”
He went back into the living room.
Cait stared after him. He’d remembered her ramblings in Germany about the house with a fence and a yard and a dog!
