If there is a hell, it's found in the emergency room. There’s a machine that triggers the blood pressure cuff around my upper arm to randomly inflate and cut off the circulation to my fingers. The stench of disinfectant is pungent. It’s eerily quiet on this side of the ER. Apparently, I was moved to the brain injury side of the house where it’s supposed to be quieter.

I guess the silence and the dark is supposed to help with brain injuries and shit but it’s creepy. I’m glad I’m not alone.

I'm still not really sure how First Sarn't Sorren convinced them to let him back here but damn it's nice to have company.

He’s been sitting with me in this hell for the last three hours and hasn't said a word. He just walked in, as big and badass as I remember him and sat down, scaring three little kids and a meth addict.

"You know, being here really triggers my PTSD," he says after a while.

A lady in the next bed looks at him like he's lost his mind.

"Ouch, don't make me laugh. It hurts to breathe." I choke back a wet laugh as he pulls the curtain between us. "That's so fucked up."

"I wish I was kidding. I fucking hate hospitals. You'd think I'd be better at this shit by now."

I glance over at him. "Things still rough back at Hood?"

"Worse than when you were there. Nothing has slowed down. The troops have been at the breaking point for years. No one cares because it's not their kid and not their war."

I rub my hand over my mouth, trying not to wince as the movement jars my bruised ribs. "Why do you stay?"

"What else am I going to do, hand out stickers at Walmart?"

The idea strikes me as absurdly funny for some reason and I start to laugh until the tears leak out, partly because of the pain and partly because the visual of him in a blue Walmart vest is really fucking funny.

"I'm good at this Army shit. I'm good at teaching kids how to kick in doors and pull security. As long as there's a war going on, I'll stick around. At least until I piss off the right colonel or general officer."

When I can breathe again without hurting my cracked ribs, I finally start talking. "It's funny. I spent so much time running away from the Army, I never really thought about everything I gave up when I left it."

"Yeah, well, you're not missing much. Instead of sitting in a hospital in Durham, you'd be sitting in the ER at Darnall. Some things haven't changed."

"Why aren't we doing better at this shit?" I finally ask him.

He leans back into the chair and sighs hard. "Lots of reasons. Too many to unpack in an emergency room soul-baring session." He closes his eyes. "Kelsey is pretty pissed at you right now."

I press my lips into a flat line. "It's not like I put myself in the hospital on purpose. I got hit by a fucking driver who was texting. I'm lucky all I ended up with is a concussion and some cracked ribs."

"It's a fuck of a lot more serious than that, shit-for-brains. Bleeding on the brain is a really big deal."

"Ah, you're going to make me cry from all the love."

He flips me off. Goddamn it's good to see him. "Sorry you had to come here on your trip. Where's your daughter?"

"Talking to her mother about coming here. Looks like I'm staying in for thirty to pay for it."

I frown. "You can't transfer your GI Bill to her?"

"Already did. They cut the housing and book stipend for family members so I've got to keep some form of employment to help support her."

My head is throbbing like a motherfucker from laughing. "Wow, that's a hell of a sacrifice. You really going to deploy to World War III to put your kid through college? Handing out stickers at Walmart might be a better option."

"We all make sacrifices for the people we love." He makes a noise. "So what the hell happened between you and Ryder? It's only been a week; I didn't think you'd fuck things up this badly this fast."

"Clearly you underestimate my ability," I say dryly. I hold my hand over my eyes, needing to block the light. Reading my mind, he dims the overhead lights as much as he can. "Thanks. I may have gotten a little upset when I found out that not only did she get really fucked up downrange, the Army threw her out over pissing hot for expired medication. And I was too selfish to even ask if she was okay."

"Well, we all do stupid shit when we’re young. It’s amazing any women take chances on us."

"She tried to kill herself, First Sarn't. The surgeries she had, everything, she needs medical treatment. She's doing yoga and while I think it's really fucking cool that it's helping as much as it is, she also needs modern fucking medicine and she can't get it because she doesn't have an honorable discharge."

He says nothing for a while. "Sarn't Ryder has always been one of those people who does her best when she's deployed." He looks over at me. "She volunteered for the long runs between Mosul and Taji. Always willing to go on the roads. She's damn good at what she does." He looks up at me. "She's also stubborn as the day is long so the fact that she's willing to do anything to take care of herself is pretty fucking impressive. You should take a page or six from her book."

"I know. I was there when she started to hit rock bottom. And I fucked it up then, too."

"Well, how 'bout you stop fucking up? Tell her you love her and be a man about it. You can’t protect her from the world. You can't keep her from getting hurt. You can't block out the world and stop it from taking shots at her. All you can do is love her and be strong enough to face it with her."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Why do I think we're not just talking about Kelsey?"

"Because we're not. This place is a fucking dick assembly line. Do you know how many terrible news stories there are every week about what happens to women on college campuses?"

"I guess this is what it feels like, then, loving someone and not being able to fix everything for them."

He sighs again. "It never stops. I still get calls from guys I served with a decade ago. And when they call, I answer. I always will." He looks over at me. "And so will you. Always. Because that's what we do. We take care of our own. No matter what. And when they're the women we love, we still stand with them. Nothing changes."

My eyes burn. My throat closes off and I try my damnedest to hide the tears slipping down my cheeks.

A short dark-skinned nurse with bright, calm eyes pushes the curtain aside and steps to the machine near my shoulder that’s reporting on my blood pressure and a bunch of other shit. "Mr. Hunter, we've cleared Ms. Ryder if you'd like to see her?"

First Sarn't stands up. It doesn’t matter that I’m a civilian now. I can’t call him by his first name. He’ll always be my first sarn’t. "Yes, he'd like to see her." He glares down at me. "I'll see you when you get out of here. Don't fuck this one up. She's got a finite amount of patience for your dumb ass."

He stalks by the horrified nurse. "He's very loving," I tell her.

I’ve never seen a look call bullshit more clearly.

I don't know how I feel, seeing him sitting there in a hospital gown, the needle sticking out of his arm, stark blue against his dark skin in the dim light.

I’ve seen all of his tattoos before but seeing the electrodes pressed to his chest, breaking up the lines of the branches and the crow’s wings…it breaks something inside of me. Like a branch that snaps from too much pressure, the fear hits me in that moment.

I almost lost him again.

"Did you know First Sarn’t was coming to visit?" I ask, needing a neutral topic to start with. The hurt in my chest is a tight knot, aching and still raw.

He's in a neck brace. I can see the outline of bandages beneath the hospital gown and one of his eyes is bruised and swollen. He plucks at the thin blanket covering his lap.

I don't move into the room. My throat is tight, anger a knot in my chest.

"Yeah. I may have called him last week," he admits quietly.

I tip my chin. "Oh yeah?"

"Needed some advice." He looks up at me. "On how to stop fucking everything up with you."

The knot in my chest releases, just a little. "Well, you are exceptionally good at that."

He looks down at the needle in his arm. "This is going to be really fucking expensive."

"Getting hit by a car because you're not looking where you're going tends to be."

He looks up at me, his eyes intense and wary. "It wasn't my fault the guy was texting and driving."

"He's spending the night in Durham County. Turns out the cops don't care that he was fighting with his girlfriend, too."

His mouth relaxes a little. "Are you?"

"What?

"My girlfriend?"

I give. I step into the room and lean my hip against the edge of his hospital bed. "Well, you got a little salty when I said we were fuck buddies so maybe we should go with a more polite term."

He laughs then and winces. "Jesus, don't make me laugh."

I tug the divider curtain closed behind me. I was going to yell at him. I was going to ask him what the fuck he was doing walking in the middle of the road during rush hour.

But instead, I stand there, unable to push the words out over the intense gratitude squeezing my chest.

"What did the docs say?"

"They're keeping me for the weekend. Guess my head isn’t that hard after all because I fractured my skull when I hit the pavement. They're watching for bleeding on the brain."

Fear is a powerful thing. "That sounds terrifying."

"Mildly. If there is, they may have to drill in there to relieve the pressure. You know, outpatient surgery."

I move to the edge of his bed, sitting near his hip. He threads his fingers with mine.

"You're not allowed to die, you know. I just got you back."

He shifts, then, and tugs me down. I sink into the bed next to him, careful of his bandaged ribs. The knot in my chest breaks apart, releasing into a thousand pieces all at once, a flood of emotion slamming into me.

The tears bleed out onto his chest. "Don't cry. I'll be okay."

"I'm supposed to be the fucking train wreck here, not you," I finally say.

“I was coming to see you,” he says quietly. “I was coming to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never asked if you were okay. After Iraq. I’m sorry I just assumed we’d pick up where we left off.”

He cups my chin and I don't resist him. "I fell for you a long time ago. Train wreck and all. There aren't too many people who can make me laugh when I'm getting shot at."

"God, when you put it that way," I whisper. "You're an idiot. How the hell did you manage to get hit by a fucking car?"

He closes his eyes. "I was texting Professor Blake on my way to see you."

"The only thing you have to apologize for is nearly dying. You scared the shit out of me."

"Keep talking dirty. You're getting me hard," he whispers. "Maybe it's the universe’s way of slapping me upside the head and reminding both of us that life is too short." He lifts my face to his. "I don't have much. But I want to share everything with you. The good. The bad. I'll even do yoga with you because it's important to you, and maybe if I make myself look like a fucking asshole enough, you'll forgive me for being a selfish dickhead."

"It's going to take a lot of yoga. Maybe even yoga man pants."

He laughs then, rests his cheek against the top of my head. "I'm sorry," I whisper.

"I was angry. Pissed that you were hurting. Pissed that I never once thought to see if you were okay." He presses his lips to the top of my head. "I don't like being an asshole."

"It's not your job to protect me from the world. I think we had this argument once before."

"I know."

"But I'd very much like to walk with you. Through the good. And the bad. And everything in between."

His fingers tighten in mine. "There is nothing I want more."