Tessa Rowan ran through the hallways of the Presidio Army Health Clinic, Monterey, not seeing anyone or anything. She knew where she was supposed to go. Tank had told her, and he’d promised he’d wait for her.
“Tessa, slow down, please,” Hilary called after her, and although she was thankful her American friend had followed her, she didn’t care one bit.
Jazz has been returned to the US, and they are worried.
Tank had told her nothing more on the phone, and it was all she needed to hear, besides the address he’d given her.
When she reached the right ward, she stopped at the nurse’s station. “Corporal Jesse Connor. I need to see him. Now.”
The nurse lifted a light brow, gray eyes focusing from behind gold-rimmed glasses. “And you’re family, I assume?” Her voice wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t exactly warm either.
“I’m not.” Her heart dropped.
“Fiancée then? Wife?” Even before the nurse shook her head at her non-answer, Tessa stepped back. No, she wasn’t even Jazz’s girlfriend. Or was she?
“Tessa Rowan?” a deep, male voice asked from behind her, and Tessa watched as the nurse rose from her chair, pushing at her messy dirty-blonde bun and tugging on her clothes.
“Yes, I’m Tessa Rowan,” she replied, lifting her eyes from the nurse to the doctor who had asked for her. He was as tall as Jazz, but his shoulders weren’t as wide. She shook her head as she realized she compared every guy she met to the one she’d given her heart to.
“Good to see you. For two nights, the corporal has woken up screaming your name, but once awake, he refuses to speak. I can’t tell you anything about what happened, partly because of my oath and partly because we don’t know anything. And, just so you know, I’m Dr.Ryan Spencer. Sorry, I don’t usually deal with those close to the patient.” He scratched the back of his head in embarrassment, and Tessa gave him the smallest of smiles.
“Don’t worry. But since he asked for me, can I go see him?”
God, she needed to tell him so much, needed to say so many things they hadn’t ever talked about, and yet she wasn’t sure she could manage to bring out just one word.
“Yes, come on.” She didn’t bother to turn back to the nurse. No matter that the woman was merely following orders, nothing was worse than not being allowed to see your loved one because papers didn’t yet announce you belonged together.
Tessa followed the doctor, suddenly hating white color of the walls and the ceiling because it represented the hospital and therefore meant Jazz was hurt.
She didn’t notice the doors they passed. In fact, if someone had asked her how far they had walked, she’d have said “no further than the end of the world” because that was what it felt like to her. Eventually the doctor paused in front of a door: white, unmarked like all the others, a window next to it with blinds drawn from the inside.
“I have to be honest here, Miss Rowan, he hasn’t asked for you during the day, or rather when he’s awake. I don’t know what you are to him, but don’t expect anything, okay?”
She had stopped expecting anything until Jazz had called into her show and said all he had just four weeks ago. He, in his own way, told her he still loved her, and her heart was ready to hold onto that.
“I’m a friend,” she finally stated as she realized the doctor was waiting for a comment.
“A good friend if you come to the hospital at seven thirty in the morning,” he pointed out, and she nodded.
“He’s a soldier who has fought for peace, so if he needs someone by his side, and I am that person, then it’s the least I can do.” She forced a smile, her heart racing in her chest, and suddenly the doctor’s hand fell away from the door handle where it had been from the moment they’d arrived.
“Do you have any idea what PTSD can do to a person? Post-traumatic—”
“Stress disorder, I know. And I know they sometimes have trouble deciding between what’s real and what’s not, and they might not be able to interact the way they did before getting into the situation causing their PTSD. I know they might have night terrors, and they don’t even have to sleep to get the flashbacks. They can—”
The doctor laughed, his dark eyes shining with amusement. “You know the territory, I understand. Just be prepared he might not want to see you, no matter what your relationship was before.”
She sighed in exasperation. “For now I need to see that he is walking, talking, and breathing because for ten months, I wasn’t sure that was the case. Then he called and even after that, I was sure I dreamed it. I just need to see him, and if he’s calling out for me when he’s not conscious, I think some part of him wants to see me, too. So can I please go in now?”
The doctor nodded, just a tiny movement of his head, but it was all Tessa needed.
She steeled herself and then went to the door, pausing only the shortest moment before she pushed the handle down, wondering what in the world she’d find on the other side.
* * *
Corporal Jesse “Jazz” Connor combed his fingers through his hair. The dark strands had grown out again, but then that was what happened to you if you were forced to stay in bed while severely injured. In fact, he was so badly bruised and broken they had worried about flying him out and kept him in camp instead until he’d been sure he could just get back into the field. They hadn’t allowed that, but instead flew him back home.
Now he was bound to another bed for at least three more weeks. They’d already told him as much.
Pulling on his hair, even though his ribs and throat were hurting enough to remind him he was still alive, he stood from the bed. He was supposed to rest, because his formerly torn lung might rapture again, but he didn’t care. He should be wearing one of those flimsy hospital nightgowns, too, but he’d refused. Instead he wore black sweatpants and a white shirt. It wasn’t one of his, and the fit was a little too snug, but he didn’t care. He was in a damn hospital after all.
The door opened behind him, and he braced his hands against the window frame, staring outside, not caring who had come in. That was, until there was absolute silence behind him. No demands, no scolding, nothing. It made him curious, and he shifted until the person in the door reflected in the window glass and all the air rushed from his lungs. He grabbed his ribs, squeezing tight so the pain would pull him back from the dream or flashback or whatever it was.
Tessa couldn’t possibly be standing in his hospital room.
“Jazz.” Her voice was broken, the word barely more than a whisper, but he heard it as if she’d screamed it.
He spun around and his body cried out in agony, but nothing stopped him from crossing the room and drawing her into his arms; even picking her up to feel her closer. She was real. He felt her curves against his body, molding into him, fitting him almost as perfectly as he remembered. Even her scent was still the same, and God, she was there, right by his side.
“Tessa,” he gasped, putting her down as the pain seared through him, forcing him to sit. Stumbling back until his legs hit the bed, he dropped onto the mattress, his eyes glued to the blonde woman who stood by the door, her arms wrapped around herself.
“Come here,” he pleaded, reaching out until his ribs protested again. She stepped closer and only stopped when she stood between his knees, being at eye-level with him now. Her chocolate eyes roamed over his face as her fingertips brushed his cheeks and the stubble there. He wasn’t sure if he was sporting a beard yet.
He knew what she touched, every scar where she lingered, without needing to see them. They were tiny, as glass cuts always were, and he had enough on his cheeks to last him a lifetime. The doctor promised they’d be nearly invisible under a scruff, but the way Tessa’s eyes lingered told him they showed too clearly.
He wanted to tell her so much; he’d meant to say so much when he’d called in to her show that night, but things had changed since then. Everything had changed, and he couldn’t say those words any longer.
Pushing her back a little, he made sure he moved further away from her on the bed. “Why are you here?” His voice sounded exactly how he wanted it to sound, and he saw her cringe. It tore at him like nothing else could. Nothing but the guilt he was feeling.
“Tank… I… we thought maybe…” She licked her lips, her hands trembling as she brought them up to her hair. “I needed to see you. I mean, I wanted to. I thought… I just…” She shook her head, and although he knew she hadn’t meant the two words the way they used them, his heart thudded angrily in his chest, ready to burst out.
“Well,” he stated, his voice rough. He moved until his back rested against the headboard. Jazz couldn’t look at her any longer. He hadn’t even kissed her. Maybe he should’ve done that the moment he’d held her, when his heart hadn’t yet been one with his mind. One last taste—
He didn’t get to finish the thought as the door flew open and a dark whirlwind came in, propelling itself directly into his arms on the bed, not caring if he was injured.
“Jazz! Jazzy! God, you’re fine, you’re okay!”
Betty. Betty was there. The moment his mind caught up with that fact, he gently pushed her aside, but Tessa was gone.
Luckily he didn’t have to see the expression on her face because he knew it would just add to his nightmares, and he sure had enough of those to last a lifetime.
* * *
Tessa’s heart rattled in her ribcage, beating irregularly as if it had been shattered, and every little piece tried to have its own rhythm. She could barely swallow around the lump that had formed in her throat. She’d hardly made it out of the room before her knees collapsed underneath her. Sinking down right next to Jazz’s door, she rubbed her palms furiously across her face, hoping to keep her tears in check. No one needed to see them, and honestly, she’d set herself up for that.
So what if he’d called into the show? Thinking back to his words, they’d sounded like a goodbye of sorts, hadn’t they? She’d just misunderstood them because she had wanted them to mean something different, something promising a future.
God, she’d been stupid.
“Miss Rowan?”
Tessa refused to look up, and as long as no one told her to move, she wouldn’t either. She wasn’t sure her feet could carry her anywhere. Sitting there on a gray linoleum floor while staring at the white walls, Tessa realized she’d put everything she had into the hope, the belief, Jazz would want her back, and they’d make it work somehow. She hadn’t even thought about never seeing him again. Not really, no matter what she’d told herself.
“Tessa.” The sharp way her name was spoken brought her back from the hurtful spiral her thoughts had entered. She glanced up at the doctor, and his eyes shone with pity and regret. She lowered her gaze again because that was the last thing she wanted to see.
He sat next to her, his side against hers as if he knew she’d draw comfort from that. He was maybe thirty-five. Yet he seemed to be old beyond his years. She wondered if it was the job and the patients, or rather those like her.
“You said you were a friend, and that’s what he needs. I’m sorry this meeting didn’t turn out the way you expected, but—”
“What makes you think it didn’t turn out the right way?”
He chuckled softly, resting his head back against the wall while she watched his profile. His hair was a dark blond, and he had dark eyes framed with long lashes. He looked tired, and she assumed he’d already spent quite a few hours in the hospital. He winked as he caught her staring, but the smile slipped from his lips as he answered.
“You’re sitting here, and it’s not the ‘relieved’ sitting, but the ‘tired-to-the-bone’ one. I’ve seen enough of both to know the difference. He didn’t recognize you?”
Oh, Tessa knew Jazz had recognized her well enough. The way he’d crushed her to his body was proof of that.
“He did, actually, and it was as if no time at all had passed, but suddenly it changed… I don’t know…he was a different guy. His eyes were colder, and he told me that… well, actually he didn’t tell me much. He just started a sentence that sounded a lot like a goodbye when a dark-haired woman came barreling in and propelled herself right in his arms. I didn’t even wait to look at them.” She’d never seen that woman before. Then again, she didn’t know many people from Jazz’s life. In fact, she didn’t know much about Jazz.
The doctor stayed quiet for a moment, then he stood, holding out a hand for her much like Jazz had inside the room. The thought cut deep because he had wanted to be close to her—until suddenly he didn’t.
Tessa grabbed the outstretched hand and stood, too.
“He needs a friend, Miss Rowan, and I know that even if he doesn’t say it when he’s awake, he needs you. For whatever reason, he calls out your name, not those of his comrades or his family. Yours. And since you don’t look as if you’ve been to a war zone, I’m going out on a limb here saying you mean something to him. I can imagine it’s hard seeing him, and it will be even harder if he keeps pushing you away, but I need to think of his health, and if…” He trailed off, as if trying to rephrase his thought. “I know that friends or girlfriends or lovers can make a huge difference. He went through a trauma, and war before that. We don’t know what happened, but if you could, maybe come back another time and just talk to him.” Dr.Spencer shrugged his shoulder, as if he wasn’t sure any longer what he was suggesting. “And I meant it when I said PTSD-patients sometimes push those away meaning the most to them.”
Closing her eyes, she sighed. “Here’s my number.” Tessa grabbed a pen from his coat pocket, reaching for the doctor’s hand because she didn’t feel like searching for a paper. In fact, she didn’t feel like lingering. She had places to be, people to meet… Three numbers in, she realized she’d begun to write her British number, so she scratched that out and started anew with the American one. It was still too fresh to appear in her mind on autopilot, but that would come in time. “Call me if you think there’s anything I can do for him.” She met the doctor’s eyes, making sure he understood the hint. She didn’t think he was flirting with her, but it couldn’t hurt to point out that her heart wasn’t free.
“I promise,” he replied, a smile tugging on the left corner of his lips, and it was all the confirmation Tessa needed before she spun around and left the cursed halls, wondering what lies she’d been telling herself about this, Jazz, and most importantly about herself.