Chapter 13
Gretchen waited in the emergency room lobby for word on Trace. Clover had been treated for minor cuts and bruises, and some smoke inhalation. She’d broken two bones in her hand trying to get away from Trace’s relentless grip on her body, when she thought he was one of the bad guys intending to do her harm. But when the results of her chest x-ray came in, she was deemed well enough to be discharged at the end of the day after what was left of a night’s sleep.
Clover’s fingers were immobilized and she finally got a shower and a change of clothes she’d desperately wanted. Clean and warm, near the ones she loved, Clover’s pink cheeks returned and she began to express worry about her mother. Gretchen shrugged it off and tried not to let her concern for Trace show. There was time enough to have the “talk” with Clover, if and when that time was right. Tonight was about getting rest, and healing.
Gretchen had spent nearly an hour with her before she finally retired, holding her, helping her to call her sisters and her grandparents.
So when Trace was moved to a room, they allowed her to accompany him. She was exhausted, but was much more comfortable waiting for news in a hospital bed next to him, than in the waiting room filled with too many voices and activity. There were not enough beds in the ICU, which is where he belonged, the doctor told her, but he’d be treated the same, just without some of the equipment.
Trace had been taken to the hospital unconscious and when they last checked he was still unconscious. The specialists were worried about his lungs, although a portable chest x-ray didn’t reveal anything serious, problems were likely to develop later on.
His brothers had also been treated, and although it was recommended they stay in the hospital overnight, they weren’t having any of it. They sat with Gretchen and continued the vigil right with her every step of the way.
As the early morning hours turned into dawn, Gretchen awoke to the sounds of heavy snoring. Fredo had tried to sleep in the lounge chair usually reserved for nursing moms or senior citizens. His knees were pulled to his chest as he curled up around a pillow at his side.
Coop’s ankles and nearly half of his lower legs hung off the couch, which had been moved from the vacant waiting room. He was on his back and Gretchen had asked for and received a blanket to cover his chest up. Both his hands had been burned and due to their size, after the treatment resembled white boxing gloves.
Armando slept with his chest and arms draped over Trace’s bed, his head buried in the blanket to ward off the oncoming sunrise. He was seated in a chair, his upper torso bent at the waist.
Gretchen had slept in the bed in Patient #2’s slot, which finally had been offered after all the evening shift nurses were unsuccessful peeling the SEALs off the floor in order to give her a seat. She was grateful for the courtesy.
Trace had ointment on his eyes and a breathing mask along with an IV in his right arm. He hadn’t moved since they’d brought him. His clothes had been cut off, the pieces of the sooty fabric in a large blue hospital bag, hanging from the chair Armando was sitting in.
As she studied him, his quiet repose belied how sick he really was. The vision of his chest gently rising and falling with each breath got blurry when tears welled up and spilled over her cheeks. It wasn’t lost on her the story that Clover revealed, how Trace hung on to her no matter how hard she hit him. Her teen felt awful about it, but at the same time Gretchen knew the fact that he wouldn’t abandon her no matter if it cost him his life, made a huge impression on her oldest. Even if Trace would not go on to become a permanent fixture in their lives, that life lesson he bestowed on her daughter was worth the entire world in gold.
She’d be eternally grateful.
So she’d come to this juncture in her life, along a rocky pathway filled with disappointments, but every day living her life for her girls. Now she found she had someone else so precious, it was unimaginable that he would not be there in the coming days and months. She knew it was selfish to expect much, so she found herself just asking for his healing, to be restored to his particular brand of perfection with that quirky smile and the dark stubble on his cheeks and chin contrasted with his deep blue eyes. Once he was healthy, he’d be in a position to make some decisions and she would not obligate him, nor beg. It had to be something of his own choosing. She just prayed he be given the chance to have that choice, whatever it was.
She wiped her eyes with the sheet again, and when she looked back over at him he’d turned, opened his eyes and was staring right back at her. She wondered if he’d suffered brain injury, since he had no expression and didn’t try to talk or move a muscle.
He tried to say something but creases formed at the top of his nose as his raspiness looked like it hurt him. But it didn’t stop him. He tried again, and again all he could get was a small squeak, which was enough to awaken Armando.
“Holy fuck, you didn’t die after all.”
She could see Trace was trying not to laugh, and wasn’t looking at Armando, but remained staring back at her. Cooper and Fredo were at the bedside too, asking him questions. Coop was even checking his pulse, raising his eyelids and listening to his chest with a stethoscope left over the bedrail. But Trace didn’t take his eyes off Gretchen.
“You did good, you big dufus. Now if you irritate me, I’ll just punch you and it will be like a marshmallow punch,” Coop said, air-punching close to his face.
Gretchen watched a tear streak down into his pillow. Once more he tried to say something, and this time, she understood him.
“Clover,” He was asking.
Gretchen leaned on her side and gave him a big smile. “She’s going to be fine. She’s sleeping right now, which is what you should be doing.”
“Yes ma’am.” He whispered.
Coop, Fredo and Armando got the full import of the fact that Trace wasn’t in the least bit interested in them. He didn’t look at Coop’s boxing gloves. Fredo showed him the burn on his right forearm, and another angry scrape to his side. Armando had a bandage over his forehead from a glass cut during the explosion and several other bandages on his arms. But Trace didn’t react.
Finally Fredo had had enough. He jumped up and landed on Trace’s bed, causing him to bounce to near sitting position. That got his attention.
“Amigo. Join the living.”
“I am. I’m right here with you all. It’s just that,” he turned his face again to stare back at her, “I’ve just found the most beautiful view in the whole world, and it’s a shame she can’t see it.”
Gretchen touched her chest with her palm and just allowed her tears to flow.
“Come here,” Trace said. He kneed Fredo off the bed, flipped open his sheets and covers and showed her his bare legs underneath, scooting to the side to make room for her. He did all this sporting a huge boner.
“You are a mean motherfucker, Trace Bennett,” Fredo announced in mock offense.
“Yea but I sound like a pussy cat,” Trace whispered in return. All four of the SEALs laughed together. As the silence returned, Trace added one other request.
“Help her get over here so I can feel her naked beside me. That’s the best kind of medicine I need right now. And then get the fuck out of my room for, oh, say about three days, okay?”
They took turns messing with him, and then dutifully brought her over to his bedside. “Take that stupid hospital gown off her and close your eyes, dammit,” he continued to whisper.
Gretchen was beginning to giggle uncontrollably as one of them untied the gown and someone else pulled it away from her body and she stood in front of Trace completely naked.
“Now that’s more like it,” he whispered. “Now, get your butt in here and give me your medicine.”
If you enjoyed this story, look for the full-length novel, SEAL My Love, which will be released March 30th. It will come out in paperback and audio book shortly thereafter.
Trace will have some choice words to say to Gretchen’s ex. He’ll also continue to demonstrate what it means to be a true father, as he becomes the husband Gretchen has always dreamed of having.
I hope you’ll follow along with Trace and Gretchen’s journey then! You can preorder or order the novel by
Thank you for your loyalty, and to those of you who enrich my life by reaching out. A writer isn’t a writer unless she has wonderful, dedicated readers like you who leave great reviews and tell their friends about my stories. I’m grateful I get to spend my time writing about these brave men, and the women smart enough to put up with them.
In the real world, I can’t save them all or keep all our heroes out of harm’s way. But I can make sure my SEALs find the women of their dreams and get their Happily Ever Afters.
Sharon Hamilton
Santa Rosa, California
January, 2018