Not when I’m the one responsible for her brother’s death.
2
ED
Three months later…
The atrium at the center of the Hope Medical Center is dome shaped with glass panes that let the sunlight through and cause the place to overheat. The atrium branches off to the various parts of the center, and the middle is a crossroads of medical staff and patients.
I dodge a group of medical students and head for Stitches, the inappropriately named cafe in one corner of the atrium.
Medical staff wearing scrubs line up at the counter looking overworked and harassed, while slow-moving patients and weary visitors take up the tables.
I choose the last empty table and slink into a chair, hoping the baristas are too busy to notice I haven’t ordered anything.
My fingers tap on the Formica table as I watch the people move around me. I haven’t been out in public much since the accident. I didn’t enjoy being around people to start with, and I like it less now.
There’s a dull ache in my jaw, and I rub it absently. The wire’s been off for four weeks, but it still aches. The doctor prescribed me painkillers, but I’m not taking that shit. I’ve seen what can happen, and I’d rather take the pain.
There’s a flash of blonde hair amongst the passersby and I sit up straight, my body alert. It’s Avery, Jake’s little sister.
She walks briskly across the atrium with a takeout coffee in one hand, which doesn’t give me much hope for the coffee at this fine establishment.
She has tied her hair back into a neat ponytail that bounces as she walks. My heart thumps in my chest as I take in her curvy figure, the way her skirt hugs her hips and her tight blouse.
She’s got a key card around her neck, so she must work here. I can’t remember Jake mentioning what his little sister did. All I remember is she was a kid the first time I came home with Jake, and she was away at college the next time I visited. I never thought to ask what she was studying.
I wish I had now. As I watch Avery’s hips sway with every movement, my mouth goes dry. I swallow hard and a familiar ache shoots through my jaw, reminding me of my injuries. Of my deficiencies.
I pull the cap further down my forehead and slink into my seat. She doesn’t notice me as she hurries past.
“Do you need this seat?”
I’m jolted out of my thoughts by a woman standing over me. One hand is on the spare seat I’m saving for Joel.
I glance around the cafe. It’s not the only seat available.
I try to form the words to speak to her. My jaw twitches with the effort, and all I come up with is a guttural noise that sounds more like a grunt than speech.
She takes a step back, and her hand falls off the chair.
“I’ll find another one.” She turns away, looking confused and upset.
I’ve offended her. I slink further into my chair, hoping no one else tries to talk to me.
This broken jaw left me with nerve damage, and even after the wires came off, it’s hard to form words, which is why I’m seeing the speech therapist today.
The VA arranged it after my doctor and physical therapist weren’t able to make any progress. The only people I see since the accident are medical professionals.
Apart from Joel. Persistent Joel.
I spot him as soon as he enters the building. He strides across the atrium, all six feet something of him, and the crowd parts for him. Once a SEAL, always a SEAL. We’re supposed to blend in, not draw attention to ourselves, but Joel has an energy about him you can’t ignore.
He waves to the women at the reception desk, nods to a passing doctor, and smiles at a woman with a young child on her hip.
He’s as charismatic as he was when he was our team commander.
Only for Joel would I leave the cabin where I’ve been staying and brave a crowd of people.
