Hold On (Delos Series Book 5) (25 page)

“Beau!” she whispered, sitting up in bed. “Are you okay?” Callie saw he’d taken a shower and had changed into a clean Army uniform. He was wearing a dark green olive T-shirt, his desert camouflage jacket open over it. His hair and beard were damp, his gray eyes clear. He stepped into the room and quietly closed the door behind him.

Beau gave her a tired smile and limped over to her bed, reaching out and gripping her left hand. Her right arm was in a sling. “I’m fine. How are you doing?” he asked, searching her exhausted features.

“I’m whipped, but also hyper,” she admitted. “What happened to you? Why didn’t you tell me you were shot, Beau?”

He released her hand and caressed her hair, which now, washed and combed, fell like a bronze waterfall around her shoulders. “Not much time to tell you,” he teased. “We were a little busy out there, weren’t we?”

There were tears in her eyes, and he could see Callie trying to fight them back, but the effects of all the violence she’d experienced were deluging her. “Busy . . . I guess that’s an understatement. Did you have your leg looked after?”

“It’s okay,” he drawled. “They cleaned it out, slapped a bandage on it, pumped me full of antibiotics via a nasty shot in the ass, and said I’d be fine. I took a hit to my Kevlar, so I have a big, pretty-looking bruise on my chest, and it’s nothing to write home about.” He looked deep in her eyes. “Now, you need to tell me how
you’re
doing.”

She closed her eyes, loving his hand as it caressed her hair. The need for his touch was overwhelming. “Dr. Bartel wanted me to take an antianxiety pill,” she rattled. “I told her no. I-I just needed you, Beau.” She lifted her lashes, clinging to his warm gray gaze, filled with love. Even now, with terror still coursing through her, Callie could see Beau’s unspoken love for her. His hand was gentle as he moved it across her gowned shoulder, his fingers sliding down her left arm and capturing her fingers.

“You’ll always have me,” he promised, his voice gritty with emotion The words meant a helluva lot more to Beau than she realized, but he wasn’t ready to speak to her about it yet. Right now, Callie was in deep shock and needed his reassurance. He wanted to be there for her as much as possible under the circumstances. “Look, I have to get over to my HQ at 0900 this morning.” He looked at the watch on his wrist. “It’s 0400 now. How about I sit in that chair near your bed? You need to sleep, Callie. I can stay until 0800. You’ve run for nearly three days. Rest is what will help put you back together again.”

His calming words soothed her, and she gripped his hand. “You’re right.” She searched his exhausted face. “Have you been able to call your parents to tell them you’re okay?”

“No, not yet. You were my first priority, Callie. The Army has already called them and told them that I was no longer MIA and that I’m fine. After I see my captain at 0900 this morning, I’ll call them from HQ and chat with them. Did Dara get to your family yet?”

“Yes, she called them for me.” Taking a sharp breath, she whispered, “I-I just feel so shaken up, Beau . . . scattered . . . in pieces. I’ve never felt like this before . . .”

“You could have died out there, Callie. That’s the bottom line. And you didn’t, but you have to take care of yourself right now. I’m sure your family knows you’ll call when you feel up to it. Don’t be hard on yourself.”

Nodding, she released his hand. “I’m so tired, Beau. And I’m wired, like I can’t come down off that cliff of anxiety that just keeps ripping me up. It won’t go away . . .” How she wished she could crawl into his arms and be held. But it was impossible, and she was grateful he’d stay with her in the room while she slept. “Will you come back after seeing your captain?”

“Yes, for sure. With my leg in this condition, I don’t know what they’ll do with me. My CO will probably give me some downtime.”

“At least you can’t go out on ops,” she said, and noticed his eyes lighten with humor for a moment.

“That’s for sure. Right now I’ve got an eight-week sick-time chit from the doc saying I’m not going anywhere. I’m not sure what the captain will decide to do with me underfoot.” He leaned over, kissed her forehead and her cheek, and murmured, “Now, come on, lie down and I’ll tuck you in. I want you to sleep, sweet woman’. Sleep heals.”

Callie agreed and lay down on her left side, getting her broken arm in the sling comfortable against her gowned body. Beau tucked her in and she closed her eyes, needing his calm presence. He’d actually been shot and could still act as if it wasn’t the end of the world. She’d been violently attacked and was having trouble dealing with the memories that kept surfacing when she least expected them, spiraling her back into terror like a broken record that played over and over again.

Beau left her side and turned off the overhead light, plunging the room into darkness. She heard him moving to the chair and sitting down. “Will you be able to sleep, Beau?” she asked, closing her eyes, the exhaustion flooding through her bruised, aching body.

“Oh, real easy, gal,” he promised. “You just sleep like an angel, Callie. I’ll be here if you need me.” Rubbing his face, he tipped his head back against the comfortable lounge chair and was instantly asleep.

*

Callie felt drugged
as she slowly awoke, hearing the door open and then quietly close. Instantly, her mind went on red alert, and adrenaline surged through her. She jerked up into a sitting position, then gasped with pain as the sudden movement jarred her broken arm.

“Whoa, Callie, it’s me, Beau.”

Her heart was pounding like a drum and she realized that light was peeking around the venetian blinds covering the only window. “Oh, Beau. Thank God! You scared me for a minute . . .”

Limping over, Beau could see the terror in her eyes, which were no longer drowsy but wide-open with alarm. “Sorry, gal, I didn’t mean to wake you up like this.” He reached over and carefully moved her toward him. Callie was breathing erratically, in that flight-or-flight mode he knew all too well. The wounding to her psyche, her emotions, was pervasive, and Beau felt helpless to combat it for her. He understood it was all internalized within her. Without the proper training and mind-set, anyone would react like this.

“I just left my captain,” he told her, brushing her hair away from her face as she rested against his shoulder. “He’s not sure what to do with me. I’m on sick call and so he’s putting me on mission planning at the HQ for now.”

“Does that mean you’ll be leaving me?”

He heard the panic in her tone. “He’s giving me until tomorrow to be with you. Then,” he said apologetically, “I’m back on day duty Monday through Friday. I’ll get weekends off.”

“I-I wish we weren’t here, Beau. I wish we were over at the Eagle’s Nest, just us two.”

“I can make that happen, Callie. But first, we need to get your doctor to sign you out of here.”

Nodding, she sat up. “I don’t want to be here. If I could just be alone with you so you could hold me, I’d feel so much better.”

Because he’d forsaken her during the firefight, Beau felt a pang of guilt. “Sure, I’ll go look up Dr. Bartel, and you can tell her what you want.”

“Thank you, Beau. I’d really appreciate that.”

“Have you eaten yet?”

“No. I’m not hungry.”

Frowning, Beau muttered, “Gal, you’re going to have to eat something. I know you’re going through a lot, but the best thing you can do is eat and get your strength back. I’ll go find Doc Bartel, and on the way back, I’ll swing by the cafeteria and grab you a tray of breakfast vittles, okay?”

She nodded, hating that she felt so wimpy and needy. This wasn’t like her at all. Callie had always been the strong one in their family. Now she could feel herself falling apart. Her world as she knew it had shattered into a million pieces out there on that Afghan slope. “Yes, I’d love that. Thank you, Beau.”

Beau’s gut churned. What was going to happen to Callie? Would they send her home? Did Maggie and the Hope Charity have anything to do with her decision making or not? He had so many questions and no damned answers as he went through the cafeteria line, getting a breakfast he hoped she’d want to eat.

Callie was so damned pale, and he knew she was on mild pain meds for her broken arm. His mouth tightened into a thin line, and he couldn’t forget that he’d left Callie unprotected when she needed him the most. How many times had he replayed his tactical decision-making process? Could he have done it any differently? Beau didn’t see it, but maybe discussing it with Matt Culver would help. Or it might not. Beau had five years in as a Delta Force operator, all of them here in Afghanistan. He knew the land, the players, and the tactics. He simply didn’t see another option besides trying to hide Callie and get to those riders before they got to her.

But she’d not listened to him and had moved, making herself an immediate target of those riders. He hadn’t expected that. She’d gotten so scared that she’d run. It was a normal reaction for a person without military training, and Beau couldn’t fault her. Callie was already feeling guilty for talking Dara into going along with them to that village. He wasn’t about to pile more on her shoulders for her decision to run, rather than stay hidden.

*

As he limped
toward the hospital elevators with a breakfast tray in hand, Beau wondered what this backlash might do to their budding relationship. Would Callie be so broken that it would dissolve as a result?

He lived in a special hell where that question was concerned. So far, she hadn’t said the words, but she could. And then what? He was falling in love with her. Right or wrong, he wanted a life with Callie, but this debacle had thrown everything up into the air. And Beau had no idea where it was going to land. The military owned his ass. He couldn’t walk away and remain with Callie, even though he understood her need to have someone she trusted at her side. She was falling apart before his very eyes.

He had no training for a civilian trauma like this and didn’t know where to go to ask hard questions about what Callie’s changed demeanor meant. She wasn’t the same person as before, but then, how could she be? He’d been shot twice now, and Beau recalled how the first experience had changed his attitude toward his future. He had taken a bullet in his right shoulder. Fortunately, it was a flesh wound, but it stopped him in his tracks.

Life became more precious. He didn’t want to waste it as he had before. Things had become more serious for him. That first time he’d been shot, the experience had matured him and made him more sober about his future.

Before being wounded, he’d thought he was bulletproof. But then, he’d found out from talking to other operators who had been wounded while in Delta Force that the same thing had happened to them. Major life changes occurred.

As he took the elevator up to the ward floor, Beau knew he needed to talk to someone about this. Callie’s trauma was something he needed to understand better; he had to find someone who was an expert on rape or near-rape experiences. Right now, he felt ignorant and knew he could inadvertently do more harm to Callie as a result.

More than anything, he wanted to be there for Callie because he loved her. Taking a deep breath, he walked down the hall to her private room and lightly knocked, letting Callie know he was there.

She opened the door. Surprised, he saw her in a pair of her jeans, a soft apricot sweater, socks, and a pair of leather shoes. “Come in,” she said, standing aside.

“You’re dressed,” he said, bringing the tray to the rolling table.

“Maggie just dropped by to see me while you were gone. She’d stopped by my B-hut and Dara happened to be there, and she gave Maggie some of my clothes to bring over to me. I actually feel halfway human again.”

Closing the door, Beau nodded. “Maggie was here?” She was Callie’s boss.

“Yes.” Callie sat on the bed, her legs hanging over the mattress.

Beau wheeled the tray table over to her, taking the lid off the plate that held scrambled eggs and buttered toast. “What did she say?”

Callie grimaced and picked up the fork with her left hand. She was right-handed, so it was an effort to use it. “I told her I was going home, Beau. My parents called me right after you left the room. They want me to come home to the ranch. So do my grandparents.”