Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“F—sorry.” Cal made a pained noise as she resumed her work. “That hurt.”
I had a feeling he meant his ego at the doctor pulling rank rather than his neck and shoulder, but I took the opportunity to ask, “Can you numb him more?”
“Absolutely. Listen to your friend, sailor.” She patted Cal’s leg before reaching for a syringe. Moving quickly, she injected Cal before he could inevitably protest that he was plenty numb. “You’re going to be sore for a good while. Take all the help we can give you. Before you leave, I’m going to give you an antibiotic prescription as well as pain meds.”
“Don’t need ‘em.” The wet, angry cat was back in Cal’s eyes and tight body language. I wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley, but hell if I didn’t want to comfort him, dangerous as that might prove.
The doctor shrugged like Cal being stubborn was nothing she hadn’t seen before. “Good luck finding a viable position for sleep tonight without pain meds.”
“I don’t sleep.” Cal’s voice was terse, and the doctor set her needle down to peer into his eyes.
“Wanna talk about it?”
“Nope.”
She inhaled sharply, but her tone stayed as unflappable as ever. “Have you tried—”
“Yep. Trust me, whatever you’re about to suggest, I’ve tried. Unless you’ve got a do-over button or a sledgehammer, it’s not gonna work.”
“Who manages your PTSD, sailor?” Gone was the cheerful doctor, replaced by a hardened army captain who had seen some shit. Her full lips thinned to a steely pink line, daring Cal to disagree with her assessment.
“Me.” Making a frustrated noise, Cal stared down at where his hand rested in mine. “You know how it is, Doc. Sure, the VA was quick to label the insomnia PTSD. But others have it way worse.”
“Mm-hmm.” Resuming stitching, she didn’t sound like she believed Cal any more than I did. And I’d bet money the insomnia was only the tip of the PTSD iceberg weighing down Cal.
“I’ve tried meds. Long list. Only thing that helps is diving.”
“Therapy?” She squinted at the wound, her careful, perfect stitches slowly repairing Cal’s skin. Lord, how I wished she could repair his psyche as easily.
“Navy made me try that too. I’m not much on talking.”
“No kidding.” I laughed, but his stubbornness was no joke.
“Well, if you ever want to try again, I know someone great in town.” The doctor managed a bright tone like Cal might actually take her advice. “Former school counselor opening up a private practice. Love her. We’ve got ourselves a little support group of service people going too. Casual. A few times a month in a church basement.”
“I’m not sticking around.” Cal shook his head, and Lord, wasn’t that the truth. This wasn’t a guy who put down roots. No dust gathered on those boots, and I’d do well to remember that.
Chapter Six
Cal
By morning I felt like pond scum, an algae bloom choking out what little life and energy I had left. As usual, I’d barely slept, but the pain in my neck, arm, and upper back was new. I’d never known how many small muscles it took to turn my head until I couldn’t. Hell, I couldn’t even shrug without moaning. And keeping my arm motionless was almost worse, the stiffness that had set in as painful as the wound.
“Good morning.” Knox greeted me as I gingerly made my way into the B&B’s dining room. He was Monroe’s much-younger partner, built like a Greek god with an ever-present smile. At the moment, he was devouring a large plate of muffins and fruit at the large oak table. The room was decorated in various shades of blue with a coastal theme. White wicker baskets displaying breakfast items added to the beach retreat feel, but I had zero appetite. I wasn’t even sure I could manage coffee, and if I sat next to Knox at the table, I might not get back up.
“Morning. I’ll be heading out in a few.” Earlier, I’d dragged my backpack out to my RV parked on the street. Whomever Monroe had asked to drive it from the lake to the B&B had at least done a decent job parallel parking. Because lifting was a literal pain in the neck, I’d made sure to get my stuff out before the rest of the house woke up. No one needed to witness my grunting and wincing.
“Are you sure you’re fit to drive?” Knox gave me a searching look.
No. Not at all. I knew better than to express any doubts, though, and I schooled my expression. “Absolutely.”
“What did the doctor say?” Knox sounded not unlike Holden’s repeated bossy instructions the night before to follow all medical advice. “We’ve got guests coming in tonight, but I could move things around or maybe give you the daybed in my art studio on the third floor. If I were you, I’d want to lounge around all day with bad TV, not hit the road.”