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Andrew “D-Day” Nolan woke up in mid-flight. The C-17 wasn’t a quiet plane, but he’d slept for a while. He looked over the stretchers carrying his teammates and breathed a sigh of relief. That had been a hairy situation back there. He pushed up on his elbow and searched the faces for Joker. Their LT hadn’t regained consciousness since the helicopter crash. The flight doctor was sitting right near him, monitoring his vitals, and administering meds when needed, D-Day was sure. The Navy didn’t skimp on taking care of their special operators.
He sighed and settled back down, remembering how they had lost Rock. He had been mostly quiet about his feelings regarding Joker when he had first been assigned to the team, but he’d liked the guy from the moment he got there. Joker had been low-key, not too pushy about them accepting him, didn’t give any trite or gung-ho speeches about new leadership or any of that cake-eater shit. He was direct and got down and dirty in the trenches with them. That had earned D-Day’s respect.
Didn’t mean he didn’t hurt about the loss of Rock. That whole thing with their former LT had shaken him down to his soles. He’d buried those feelings just like a good special ops warrior.
As tired as he’d been, he couldn’t help noticing how interested the beautiful woman had been in Buck. He’d caught her touching Buck’s face before they’d been loaded on the choppers.
He started to drift again, thinking about how nice it would be to have someone, even a total stranger, be that way with him. He fell asleep and didn’t wake up until they had landed at Naval Air Station, North Island.
They were loaded off the plane just as two choppers landed. LT’s stretcher was placed on a medical air transport and Buck and the other members of the walking wounded team, including Flint into the other medevac helicopter. Twelve minutes later they were surrounded by a swarm of people in white coats and stethoscopes with the officer of the day barking orders.
D-Day winced as a sharp voice made the pain in his head feel like someone was sticking toothpicks in his eyes—from the inside out. “Petty Officer. Sit. Down.” He looked up to see Buck and a woman in scrubs in a standoff and immediately saw the problem. The wheelchair. Yeah, he wasn’t sitting in one either.
He was about to tell her so when Nurse Rachet turned his way, putting her nametag in clear view, Captain Julia Crane. Okay, new plan. “Sam, sit in the wheelchair. The sooner we get inside the faster they can focus on Joker.”
Buck’s anger deflated a bit as they were rolled into the emergency room, but he still wasn’t happy. Bear was wheeled away with Flint at his side. MWDs always went with their handler and the Army Veterinary Corps would have already dispatched one of their vets to handle Flint’s evaluation and treatment.
One of the last things he remembered was thinking he would have to tell Buck that he saved his career. Another minute and he was going to say something to a senior officer—a Navy captain—he couldn’t take back. And, then he was out.
Later, he saw Pippa Jackman, Julia Prescott, Bree West, and Isabelle LaBauve rush toward their men, all clasping them tight except a stricken Pippa who looked helplessly around for Joker until the doctor talked softly to her. Tears flowed slowly down her face.
D-Day couldn’t help wondering again what that would feel like to have someone like his teammates’ loved ones to greet him, care about him when he was deployed, and better yet, be part of his life. He wasn’t sure that would ever be in the cards.
3
Buck woke up eight hours after they had returned to San Diego, the pain in his side bringing him out of a deep sleep. For a moment, he thought he had dreamed Maritza, but as he came fully awake, he realized it had all happened. And he got a little angry at all the circumstances that had landed him in her life, for however brief the moment, and he was unable to follow through on anything, including being the strong man he prided himself in being. He directed his anger at Nacho—what a ridiculous name—the drug lord they were trying to neutralize.
When it came to following through, he hated waiting, negotiating, or being limited in any way. It was why he had no problem taking charge when the need arose. He was happy to relinquish the mantle, but if he felt a power vacuum that needed to be filled, he didn't hesitate to step forward— getting them out of the jungle or shouldering Joker on his back.
He wouldn’t be thinking about all this so hard if he hadn’t felt so weak and ineffectual in the jungle. It did occur to him that no man wanted to look weak in the eyes of a woman, not that Maritza thought of him as weak, he couldn’t know her mind, but he discovered the need to always appear strong and protect himself, his team, and innocents. In this case, she’d been the one to protect him. It didn’t sit right at all.
It made him think of his rodeo days, clashing with his dad, and his rebellion and determination to show how tough he was. The thought of controlling thousands of pounds of horseflesh, bulls, and cows drove him to succeed and burn out quickly from rodeoing. That hollow space that was left over sent him to the SEALs, and his second rebellion against his dad. They’d always had a push/pull relationship, but unlike rodeo, Buck never regretted his service, not for one moment.
Needing to relieve himself, he pushed the covers off him, determined to stand on his own two feet and pee like a man, even in this sad excuse for a garment. He swore hospital gowns were built for nothing but discomfort and compromised dignity. The moment he put weight on his legs to stand, he wobbled, clutching at the bed for balance.
“Why am I not surprised that you are trying to walk on your own after what you’ve been through? SEALs…” a female voice said behind him. He turned to find a nurse who was approaching from the door.
“Let me get you back in bed and I’ll get the bedpan.”
“I don’t need a goddamn bedpan,” he growled. Most of the time he got people to back off by being aggressive, jumping ahead in a knee-jerk reaction instead of choosing his words or approach more diplomatically.
But Navy nurses weren’t timid, or diplomatic either, and this one was no different.
“I don’t give a crap what you want. If you insist on stressing your body, then I will be escorting you to and from the bathroom like a toddler. Got that, sailor boy?”
The corner of his mouth kicked up. Damn if he didn’t like sparring with people who could hold their own against him. “You can enjoy my ass exposure on the way.”
She looked behind him and raised her brows. “No one likes a smartass…” She chuckled “Ah, but you have nothing to be ashamed of on that front…or back as it were. Now, let’s move. You need to eat and rest.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, needing to relieve himself in a dignified manner more than he needed to argue.
True to her word, she took his arm and walked with him to the toilet. When she stood there, he glared at her and she sighed and retreated, closing the door.
He did his business, forcing himself to stand and handle his junk like a man. He washed his hands, and she was right there at the door to help him back to bed. He gritted his teeth against the weakness and his own anger. It wasn’t her fault for fuck’s sake.
He wheedled information out of her by giving her a charming smile instead of a demanding scowl. It was new to him. But it was fruitful. He found out that Joker was out of the woods, his treatment by Maritza’s sister had indeed saved his life. He’d undergone surgery and was now recovering not only from the shrapnel wound but a severe concussion. Professor had a mild concussion and several cracked ribs, Gator the same. Blitz’s broken arm was a clean break in his humerus almost exactly centered between his elbow and shoulder. Luckily, he suffered a non-displaced fracture, meaning Buck’s careful wrapping of Blitz’s arm helped the bones to remain aligned. He would need to be in a cast for six to eight weeks. D-Day and Zorro had mild concussions, Bear wrenched his shoulder, and according to the vet, Flint sustained a concussion, bruising and contusions, but he would be fine.
His own injury was considered a microfracture where he sustained significant damage to the tissue in his rib cage and torso, causing blood to pool, swelling to form around his bones, cartilage, ligaments, and tendons, also known as bruised bone. Worrying about the edema and inflammation on his left side got him a second day of incarcer—ah—observation. Like his teammates, he was also looking at a couple months of recovery.
