Page 5 of A Veteran’s Second Chance

“Which is why you’ve been sent here.”

I wasn’t sent here. When I got injured, I pulled strings and called in favors until I was transferred here, to Savanna.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m not military personnel. You don’t need to call me ma’am.”

“Yes, Savanna.”

At the sound of her name, her jaw stiffens. A small movement, barely perceptible, but enough to know I still affect her.

Savanna and I met when I was doing a side gig as security for a small country music festival where her sister was singing. It was supposed to be a summer fling, but I fell for the curvaceous blonde with buckets of confidence and an easy laugh. The feelings stole up on me until they were too big and too terrifying. I’d never been in love before and never since.

I thought the memory of Savanna would fade over time. But eleven years on and I can’t forget her. When the opportunity came up, I had to see her.

“On a scale of one to ten, how sore is the shoulder?”

I roll the shoulder and wince as pain shoots down my arm. “A one if I keep it still, but a seven when I roll it.”

She turns to her computer, all business, and types something on her keyboard.

“Is it only on the right side?”

I answer her questions, and she makes notes on her computer. It gives me a chance to observe her up close.

Her features are softer. She’s filled out, and it suits her. Tiny lines creep from the edges of her eyes, giving her character and letting me know she still laughs a lot. Her hair is pulled back in a professional ponytail. I used to know what it felt like tangled in my hands. I wonder if it’s still as silky smooth, and if I’ll get the chance to find out.

“Take your jacket off and let’s take a look.”

Savanna stands up, and I stand before her. It’s the first time we’re face to face with only a foot between us. Her gaze darts to my chest, where my white t-shirt is taut over my pecs. I haven’t been able to work my upper body since the accident, but my chest is still hard with built-up muscle.

Judging by the pink tinge rising up her neck, she likes what she sees.

Her gaze flicks back to my face, and the blush has reached her cheeks. Savanna may be trying to remain professional, but there’s still a spark between us, no matter how much she’s trying to hide it.

“Raise your arm.”

I do as instructed, and she talks me through a range of movements, noting how high I can lift my arm and asking about the pain with every movement.

She notes it all down on her computer. Her efficiency is as attractive as her intense gaze.

Savanna walks behind me and asks me to do another range of movements. There’s a full-length mirror on the wall, and I watch her as she assesses my shoulder.

“I’m going to touch you now to feel the joint. Is that okay?”

She takes a step toward me, and her breath caresses my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.

I swallow hard and resist the urge to say something cocky and inappropriate. I haven’t earned the right to banter with her yet, and I’d only sound like a sexist jerk.

“Of course.”

Soft fingers grip my shoulder. Through the thin cotton of the t-shirt, her fingers are strong and warm as she feels around the joint. I suck in a breath as I’m transported to a different time. The last time Savanna had her hands on me, tears streaking her face as she begged me not to leave. And me, the asshole, gently prying her hands off my t-shirt. Telling her it was for the best before I closed the door and left.

I’m the biggest jerk in the history of jerks, and I hope like hell Savanna can forgive me for what I did. But she isn’t that eighteen-year-old girl who wore her heart on her sleeve anymore.

She releases my shoulder and moves to the computer. “I can feel where the cartilage is ripped. And the fact that it isn’t healing leads me to suspect a labral tear, which is what your notes say.” She frowns. “They could have treated this in Germany.”

I shrug. “Perhaps they wanted me closer to base.”