21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (29 page)

Not once, during that nightmare did his friend lose it, but he’d been there, seen the damage. He’d taken Logan’s sour moods and anger without blinking. He’d be better when they saw Jazz.

Traumatic brain injury
.

Those three little words would haunt Logan for the rest of his days. A remote detonated IED had burned and shredded the flesh on her arms and legs. The flash burns were the least of the doctors concerns. According to her mother, shrapnel from the IED cracked part of Jazz’s skull, lacerated brain tissue and lead to swelling.

They removed a portion of skull cap until the swelling went down. She was in a war with seizures brought on by bleeding inside her brain. The doctors called them microseizures with partial physical paralysis. As soon as the doctors declared her fit for transport, they planned to send her back to the States for rehabilitation and recovery. When Mrs. Winters said those words, Logan told her about Mike’s Place. He’d gotten the Doc and the Captain involved. Mrs. Winters agreed.

Fourteen days, ten hours and twenty-two minutes after Brody’s phone call, he and Zach waited to pick her up and transport her back to the Allen, Texas campus. Two Navy Corpsmen medics traveled with her and would remain with her until she was admitted to the newly finished medical wing and turned over to the Mike’s Place physicians.

God, he wanted to hold her hand.

Zach’s soft shoe swish ground to a halt, and Logan’s spine jerked taut. The wheelchair rolled steadily toward them, carrying the most fragile woman he’d ever seen. Their Jazz was a physically vibrant, tough lady with an athletic build, warm tan, and sexy-as-fuck smile.

The woman in the wheelchair was ten shades of pale, despite the dress blues she wore.
Of course she flew in her uniform
. Logan wore his, even strapped to a back board and unable to stand. He’d insisted.

Pride fisted in his chest. Her silky black cap of pixie hair was completely obscured by the thick white bandages wrapped around her head. The closer she came, the louder Logan’s heart pounded. Blue-black bruises smudged under her eyes. A single cut, mostly healed with fresh pink showing around the edges marred her cheek.

The uniform and the chair hid the rest of the damage. Logan would inspect every injury, every scar. He would know exactly what happened to her. Zach edged forward, practically vibrating with the need to push through the gates and greet her. An urge Logan shared, but the guarded look that washed over her tired face held him rooted to the spot.

He hated the hovering. He hated the pushy need of others who gave him sympathy, even when he’d needed it. In the two weeks since her injury, Zach seemed torn between a walking basket case and cold military precision. He had a platoon’s worth of hovering in him. Logan steeled his soul. He’d let Zach hover for both of them.

Logan would treat her like the Marine she was. No matter how much he wanted to just pick her up and hold her until certain she really was alive.

The other passengers followed the wheelchair with its Navy escort. Surprisingly—or maybe not—they didn’t crowd, push past, or try to go around. Normally those disembarking after a long flight were a chattering swarm. Not this crowd. It was quiet, respectful, and almost solemn.

He recognized the moment she saw them. Her slumped shoulders straightened, and she attempted to sit up in the chair. His heart ached at the slow, painful movements. It took enormous effort to keep his expression neutral. The wheelchair rolled through the gate, and Zach stepped up to meet her, blocking Logan’s view. Her guardians stopped the wheelchair rather than run Zach over, and the man dropped down to his knees and collected her hands in his.

“Hey.” That was it. One packed-to-the-brim-with-emotion word.

Logan’s throat burned with a clog of feeling, but he swallowed it down. Time for his sorrow later.
Much later
.

Over a beer, when she was healthy and hardy and on her feet again.

“Hey.” Jazz’s husky voice never sounded so sweet. Logan unpeeled his feet from the floor and led with a hand open to the Corpsmen traveling with her—Corpsman and lieutenant, he amended as he took in their uniforms.

“Logan Cavanaugh.”

The lieutenant shook his hand first. “Lieutenant Ambrose. You’re our ride to Mike’s Place?”

“Yes, sir. Welcome stateside, sir.” Logan transferred his attention to the Corpsman.

“Corpsman Reade, sir.” His grip was firm and brief, most of his attention on their patient.

“Our van is right outside. Airport security is holding it next to the door so we can load immediately.” He glanced down. She held Zach’s hand, but she stared at him. Pressure squeezed his chest. The faint, familiar scent of her—violets and vanilla—tickled his nose. One block-like stone rolled off his diaphragm. “Welcome home, sweetheart.”

“Thank you.” He earned two words and the shadow of a smile turned up the corners of her mouth. She paused, her expression frozen for the space of three heartbeats. Her hand in Zach’s went slack.

The stone shoved against his chest again. “Jazz?”

The lieutenant dropped to his haunches and pressed two fingers against her throat. Logan fought the base urge to rip the man’s arm from the socket and waited instead.

“What’s wrong?” Zach leaned forward.

“Microseizure. Hang on.” The lieutenant seemed unaware of the impending threat at his back. The words barely left the medic’s mouth when Jazz’s lips parted and she took in an audible breath. Her smile wavered and lines of tension knitted between her brows. “Hey, there, welcome back. That wasn’t so bad this time.”

This time
. Bitter bile crawled up Logan’s throat.
Seizures
.

They still didn’t know the full extent of her brain injury. The research into that area seemed divided into two camps of
scary as shit
and
fuck me
.

“Let’s go ahead and get out of these people’s way.” The lieutenant rubbed a comforting hand against her shoulder. Logan shifted, ready to intercept Zach as the blond man’s eyes hardened. He recognized that look, and they didn’t have time to interrogate the medics here. His gaze clashed with his best friend’s and Zach nodded once. He pressed a kiss to Jazz’s hand and circled the chair to take control of it.

She didn’t need the Corpsman on station. They had her now.

Amazingly, the passengers had waited while they blocked the exit, and as Zach navigated the wheelchair around to leave, a small round of applause broke out. Jazz jerked with the barest flicker of a grimace and paled further, if that was possible. Logan nodded politely and gestured with a thumb for Zach to get her moving.

A little girl raced up and pressed a squished, well-worn teddy bear into Jazz’s hands.

“Mr. Huggles wanted to say thank you.” Two and half feet of precociousness beamed shyly with her offer.

Jazz stared at the child, her fingers slowly wrapping around the stuffed animal. She lifted it up until its worn face, sewn together with varying colors of thread, was eye level. “Thank you, Mr. Huggles.” She kissed the bear’s face and handed it back with all the gravity of a folded flag. “And thank you for bringing him to see me.”

The child’s face screwed up with concern. “He wants to know if the soldier will be okay.”

“Marine.” Logan, Zach and Jazz echoed each other, their deeper masculine voices swamping her feminine tones.

“I’m working on it.” Jazz continued, meeting the girl’s sweet concern. “I have to listen to my doctors, like you would your mom.”

“Okay.” The child hugged the brown bear to her chest. “I have to go now.” She skipped off to a harried looking woman holding out her hand expectantly. The mother gave them a tight, sympathetic smile and ushered her daughter off.

Jazz sank back against the seat, eyes closed. Exhaustion filled the air around her.

“Let’s go.” Logan flanked the chair on one side, the lieutenant on the other with Zach guiding it, and the Corpsman in their wake. It was time to get the hell out of the airport. His heart drummed a march. A gentle touch brushed the back of his hand, and he closed his palm around her too cool, too fragile fingers. She squeezed with the barest of pressure.

Definitely time to take her home.

***

The ride back to Mike’s Place passed uneventfully. Not that Jazz noticed much of the flat scenery or concrete highways. She fell asleep almost as soon as Logan lifted her out of the chair and into the van. The warmth of his ripped body pressed into hers, and she relaxed, letting go of the tension caging her chest in rebar. She hated being so helpless. She hated the conversations that came and went. The lieutenant had to remind her of his name constantly. If not for the uniform, she wouldn’t know his rank.

The idea of forgetting Logan and Zach terrified her. How damaged was she? Seeing them come into focus as she wheeled down the concourse choked her. She knew them. She knew Logan. She knew every inch of his gorgeous body with its patchwork of scars. She knew Zach from his smile to the way she tickled his feet if she ran a toe against the bottom of them. She knew them.

The thought repeated itself in her mind as she drifted off and waited for her when she woke up. The blistering Texas heat smothered her as Zach eased her out of the van and into the god-be-damned chair. She cooperated, because the chair was the only way she’d obtained clearance to travel stateside.

Her admittance to the medical wing of Mike’s Place sped past efficiently. Too many new faces came and went. The Corpsman and the lieutenant stayed with her through the process, reminding her constantly of where she was, repeating key phrases and information.

“Hey.” Zach leaned against the doorway, all gorgeous polish in his T-shirt and jeans. His skin was a deep shade of golden brown. He belonged on the cover of a men’s fashion magazine except his dazzling smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She was so tired. “Hey.”

“I should probably let you get some sleep.” He walked into the room and dragged a chair over next to the bed. With one twist, he turned it around to straddle it and lay his arms on the back.

“Why?” Her thoughts seemed muddy.

“Because you’re exhausted and you need to heal.” His forehead furrowed into a frown.

“I mean, why are you in Afghanistan?” Why was she in the hospital? An iron spike of pain pounded behind her temple.

His swift inhale added to the strain on his face, but not the smile he pasted on. “You were injured in an explosion in Bamyan. You were airlifted to Bagram, and from Bagram to Ramstein. You’re in Dallas, now.”

“Oh.”
We were at the university
…. They were at the university doing what? She could see the room with the women, the younger girls with their bright garb and eager postures, their mothers dressed more sedately and maintaining a higher level of reserve. The light behind Zach’s head began to kaleidoscope. A dozen different colors stretched out from the center until they filled her vision.

“How often does this happen?” Urgent frustration peppered Zach’s words.

“Intermittent. It’s increasing right now from the stress, give her a couple of days to sleep and recover from the trip….”

She didn’t know that voice.

“If it wasn’t safe for her to travel, why did they put her on the plane?”
Cold
. Logan never sounded so cold when he spoke to her. The alien tone rang warning bells in her mind.

“Mr. Cavanaugh, Mr. Evans, I understand that you’re upset, but this is normal. She’s experienced microseizures since she woke up from her coma. We’ve been monitoring them, and it’s most likely part of the healing process.” The third voice offered nothing but patience.

“Most likely?” Zach’s question dripped with skepticism.

“Marines.” But that patience seemed to wear thin. “You’re worried. I understand, but bullying the medical staff will not help. Let us do our jobs. She remembers you, which is more than she can do for most of us. We have to keep reminding her. You may have to remind her for a while. Until then, get the hell out of the way so we can work.”

“Don’t go.” She blinked the soft lens focus away from the edges of her vision. A hand squeezed hers, and she realized Logan held it. Medical personnel moved around her, and something cold pushed into her arm. The distraction pulled her attention, and she looked at it.

Her mottled-with-bruises-and-scrapes arm.

“What happened?”

Logan squatted down bringing his head level with hers. She didn’t quite sigh with relief. Looking up hurt.

“You were in accident. You’re back in the States. Zach and I are both here. We’re not going anywhere. You need to sleep.”

“What about the mission?” They were due in Bamyan. No, they were in Bamyan. She had to finish talking to the girls. Why were Zach and Logan in Afghanistan?

“You finished your mission. You’re going to be okay. You’re in Dallas with us. We’ve got this” Zach leaned in, his head nearly parallel with Logan’s. “You need to sleep.”

They were here.

Zach’s hand covered Logan’s on hers. Worried encouragement filled his dark blue eyes, flickering to doubt and concern and then back again. Logan’s darker eyes remained steady and burned through her, just as it had when she’d first met him. If eyes were windows to the soul, his soul was boundless with determination and faith.

She didn’t want to sleep. They were both with her. Both held her hand and the ice dripping into her arm didn’t extinguish the fire spreading from their touch.

“What happened?”

***

She finally slept.

After the doctors added something to her IV bag and her unfocused gaze gradually closed, Zach continued to rub her cold, still fingers between his palms. She looked so damn delicate, a description she would scoff at if he confessed it to her. For two days, he and Logan shared vigil at her bedside, leaving one at a time, only long enough to shower and grab food. It was Logan’s turn for a grub run, leaving Zach to wait and will her to wake back up.

Wake up and remember
. He amended the mantra. She’d woken a handful of times and always with the same questions. Why was she here? What happened? As fucked up as it was, he’d almost gotten used to it. They made sure to explain everything in easy to digest chunks. Most of the time she fell right back to sleep, but occasionally she drifted and asked the questions again.