Breaking Free (4 page)

“I don’t think you do, Lieutenant.” She recognized the edge that had crept into her voice and drew a deep breath.

“He’s not just one of the men under my command, Zoe. He’s also my friend.”

The letters Brett had written to her had been witness to that. “If you’re his friend, then you need to understand something.”

“What’s that?”

She met his pale gray gaze straight on. “I’m not going to let my brother die. He isn’t going to lay there like a vegetable either. Whatever it takes, however long it takes, he’s going to come back from this. If you won’t or can’t believe that, you needn’t bother visiting him.”

He gave a brief nod. “I’ll help in any way I can.”

“Good.” Some of the tension inside her relaxed. “You can start by telling me what happened.” She put the car in reverse, and turned to look over her shoulder.

“I can’t discuss the mission, Zoe.”

“I’m not asking you to. I don’t care what, where, or when, I just want to know how my brother ended up in harm’s way.” She stopped at a stoplight.

“It’s a war. We were all in danger. That’s our job.”

Those few words, so succinct, so blunt, caught at her heart and gave her a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. The light changed, and she stepped on the gas.

“I realize it’s your job to put yourself in dangerous situations. I’m asking if Brett was hit by flying debris or attacked by someone. How did he end up in a coma?”

His features looked honed from wood. “I’d like to be able to tell you, Zoe, but I can’t. An investigation is underway. I’m not at liberty to talk about it, not even to you.”

A dropping sensation hit her stomach. “No one told us about an investigation.”

“There’s always an investigation when something goes wrong. I’m sure you’ll be notified, now that you’re here.”

She fought the urge to pound the steering wheel in annoyance. “How do the other men’s families feel about this closed lip policy?”

“I’m sure they find it just as aggravating as you do.”

She took her eyes off the road long enough to flash him a look that had a wry quirk turning his lips upward.

“We go where no other unit can. We try to get in and out without anyone knowing we’ve been there. Most of the time, things go according to plan. This time, it didn’t.”

“When Brett first decided to become a SEAL, I did hours of research. I know how you train and I know how you operate. But knowing that doesn’t help me a bit, now that he’s hurt.”

They drove in silence for several minutes. She tried to concentrate on the road and block out the rush of emotion that made her eyes sting and her throat to ache. She was being a bitch, but she couldn’t contain her anger and grief. And he happened to be a handy target.

By the time she wheeled the vehicle into the parking structure at the hospital, tension had tightened her muscles to the point her leg ached from the strain. She knew she’d have to do some stretching exercises later to relieve the cramps. She had been on it too much today.

Because her own wreaked such havoc, she thought of Hawk’s leg. “How’s the knee?”

“A little swollen but holding up. How about your leg?” he asked.

Obviously, he had noticed her grimace of pain. “It’s there--which beats the alternative.” With the help of the door, she swung out of the car and gained her feet. By the time she’d come around the vehicle to help him, he had climbed out of the car and balanced on one foot. She retrieved the crutches from the trunk.

“Thanks.” He hooked the crutches beneath his arms, and maneuvered around the car door and slammed it.

“How long did they say you’d be on crutches?”

He adjusted his speed to accommodate her slower pace.

“A couple of weeks. I didn’t tear my ACL or do any permanent damage to the joint, just strained it badly enough for it to puff up like a basketball. I won’t start PT for another week or so. I should be good to go in six or eight weeks max.”

She nodded. ”A whirlpool or hot tub would do wonders.”

“So I’ve found. There’s one at the house we can share.”

Heat raced across her skin and settled in areas she tried hard to ignore. She pretended an interest in the flowering trees planted at equal intervals within the walk and hid the color in her cheeks.

The universal smell of antiseptic and pine scented cleaner permeated the air as they entered the hospital. She led the way into an elevator, and held the door for Hawk.

“Brett looks just as he always has,” she said as they exited the elevator, and started down the hall to the right. “He has an IV and a catheter, but other than that he isn’t on any kind of life support. If he doesn’t regain consciousness soon, they’ll have to put in a feeding tube.”

“What does the doc say is the reason he won’t wake up?”

“He’s had a severe trauma to his brain. A subdural hematoma. They had to drill a hole in his skull to relieve the pressure. His coma was induced by drugs at first, but now---”She shook her head.

“He could wake up tomorrow and be fine. Or he could wake up and have brain damage.”

She pushed open the wide wooden door. Silence rushed out to meet them. They stepped into the room. Each time, she saw her brother, so still upon the hospital bed, his head swathed in bandages, her heart ached as though it had been run over three or four times by an eighteen-wheeler.

A hard knot of emotion lodged in her throat. Had Hawk not been there, she might have indulged in a few tears to ease it. His hand slid down her back and came to rest against her waist. She pulled away. Her composure would desert her completely if she accepted the comfort he offered.

When she’d regained control of her emotions, she hazarded a glance at Hawk. His features were set in a grim forbidding expression, his lips compressed into a hard line. His pale eyes, darkened to steel gray, held a pain with which she was all too familiar.

****

Hawk dragged air into his lungs. Sucker punched. That’s what it felt like to see Brett like this.

The man lay still on the bed, his skin nearly as pale as the sheets. The slow even rise and fall of his chest was the only sign he was alive. Hawk struggled to draw some reassurance from the fact his buddy seemed to be breathing on his own without difficulty. Wires ran beneath the pale blue hospital gown that only partially covered his chest. Electrodes were attached to his chest and a machine monitored his heart rate and blood pressure, another, his oxygen level.

Hawk cleared his throat before he could speak. “Let’s go talk to him. Hey, Cutter, don’t you think you’ve goldbricked enough?” he asked loudly as he approached the bed. “It‘s time to rise and shine, sailor.”

Zoe brushed a kiss across Brett’s forehead, and drew the sheet up over his bare chest.

It seemed surreal seeing the man so unresponsive when he had always been so active. Because he ran every day and lifted weights, as did most of the other team members, he was in prime condition. The slow rise and fall of his chest made it appear as though he’d just nodded off for a brief power nap, not a two weeklong excursion into a dark nether world.

Hawk lowered his tall frame into a chair next to the bed and propped his foot on the bottom railing of the bed. He kept up the one sided conversation with Brett, while Zoe exercised her brother’s arms and legs so the muscles wouldn’t atrophy.

Not being much of a talker, he found it difficult to keep the unreciprocated flow going. He talked about the team, about the barbeque, and about the remodeling project he worked on at his house.

“I could really use your help, Cutter. It’s hard as hell hanging sheetrock by myself.”

“Why do you call him that?” she asked.

“Most of the men have nicknames. Cutter got his during his first mission after graduating SEAL training.”

Zoe looked so young, with her hair pulled back and the sun kissed blush upon her cheeks and nose. Reluctant to tell her anything that might put her brother, or his profession, in an adverse light he wracked his brain for an innocuous comment to explain. She beat him to it.

“Brett was always toying with sharp instruments. Knives. Screwdrivers. Axes. I imagine that comes in handy when you’re in dangerous situations.”

“Yeah, it does.” Damn, she was tough. She faced off the hard things without flinching.

“Brett used to practice at targets in the back yard with a bow and arrow. He was on the archery team in high school. He won several competitions.”

“And what were you like in high school?”

“Very shy and self-conscious.”

“You outgrew it.”

She bent Brett’s knee, pushed his foot all the way up to his buttocks, then straightened the limb again. “I know my limitations and accept them.”

His gaze dropped to the pant leg that covered her injury and he frowned.

A cursory knock sounded on the door and it opened. A nurse entered the room. Her thick dark brown hair, though pinned up according to regulations, still managed to look attractive. The green scrubs she wore didn’t entirely hide the curves beneath.

Cutter was going to love waking up to her. She was just his type.

She nodded in acknowledgement of Hawk’s presence. As he started to shove himself to a standing position, with the use of the chair arms, she waved him back down. “At ease, sir.”

Her gaze swung to Zoe. “Hello, Zoe. Captain Connelly will be by in about half an hour.”

Zoe nodded. “How have Brett’s vitals been today, Angela?”

Angela checked the chart she carried. “Steady and strong.”

She came forward to unwind the hose of a blood pressure cuff and wrap it around Brett’s arm. She pumped the bulb and took the reading, then recorded it in the chart. She went through a routine of checking his pulse then looked over the reading on each machine, each time entering the data into the chart.

Zoe resumed the exercises.

“You might check into the hospital administration office. We subcontract some of our PT,” Angela said as she watched.

“Thanks for the tip, but I’m not going to be here long enough to settle into a job. As soon as Brett’s on his feet again, I’ll have to return home to Kentucky.”

Angela looked down at the chart for a moment. “It’s early days yet. He may wake up tomorrow.”

“I’m counting on it,” Zoe said.

The doctor showed up a few minutes later. Hawk rose to his feet, and with the help of his crutches, balanced on his good leg. Though she had demonstrated more than once she didn’t want his comfort or support, he stood beside Zoe while the doctor examined Brett.

He could sense her worry in the stiff way she held herself and in the way her eyes followed the doctor’s every move.

“He’s responsive to painful stimuli, his pupils are equally reactive, and his EEG shows normal brain activity.” Captain Connelly said as he turned to face them both. “He just hasn’t decided to join us, yet.”

“I’ve been doing some PT with him, hoping the exertion will stimulate him and he’ll wake up,” Zoe said.

“It certainly can’t hurt him. Talk to him as much as you can while you’re here.”

“I wanted to talk to you about that.” Zoe squared her shoulders. Her battle-ready look slipping into place. Her jaw was set and her eyes homed in on Connelly like lasers. “I want permission to spend as much time with Brett as possible, even in between visiting hours. I’ll read to him, talk to him, do PT, whatever it takes to get his attention.”

Dr. Connelly’s square jawed features softened in sympathy. “Miss Weaver---”

“Zoe,” she interrupted.

A brief smile curved his lips. “Zoe. I know you want what’s best for your brother.”

“What’s best for Brett is for him to wake up.”

“Yes, it is,” Dr. Connelly conceded. “But he’s also sustained a trauma to his brain. He needs time to heal. I’ve spoken to one of the best neurosurgeons in the country, and have faxed him copies of everything in your brother’s file. Let’s wait and see what he says before you launch your campaign, all right?”

“And if he gives the go ahead?” she pressed, the determination in her expression unwavering.

“Yes, I’ll give you a green light and you can camp out with your brother as much as you like--within reason.” He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It will ultimately be up to your brother, though. I know how frightening it is to see him lying there seemingly unresponsive. There is something going on in his brain. The readings of his electroencephalogram register brain activity. His brain pressure is normal now. His MRI shows no extensive brain damage. I don’t know why he won’t wake up.”

“So there is hope,” Hawk said.

Zoe frowned.

“Yes, there is. I haven’t given up on Ensign Weaver. You shouldn’t either,” Connelly said.

Hawk nodded, a deep sense of relief easing the taut feeling of guilt that knotted his insides. He had to hold on to the belief that Brett would wake up, just as Zoe did.

As he looked down at his friend, his thoughts turned to other questions too hard to speak aloud. What if he woke up crippled, brain damaged, unable to care for himself? What then would Brett or his family do?

His attention focused on Zoe’s face. The delicate curve of her cheek and jaw, the wing-like sweep of her brows, the straight narrow line of her nose,
gave her features a fragile femininity that underlined her vulnerability, despite her expression of stubborn resolve. He suddenly realized that was her way of warding off the fear and uncertainty. Just as it was Brett’s.