11 Whiskey Tango Foxtrot (9 page)

She squeezed his hand and the sensation went all the way to his heart. “After her surgery.”

“Okay.” He would give her all the time she needed.

Chapter Seven

Melody couldn’t have been more prepared for Monday morning. She slept hours at a stretch. Meredith and Joe took turns sitting with her and Libby, making sure she could shower, eat meals, and watch more football—although the night before, Meredith insisted on a movie and Melody had fallen asleep on Joe’s arm watching an old black and white film noir. The Marine captain and his parents took her and her daughter under their wings and as profoundly grateful as she was, she didn’t want to get used to it.

What happened when Joe got better? Or if she couldn’t be more than friends? Her attraction for the man overwhelmed her, and she constantly had to remind herself he was still in recovery and she should be worried about her daughter, not thinking about what his lips would feel like.

But while standing in the surgical waiting room as her daughter disappeared behind the heavy doors for a procedure that could improve the quality of her life and end it in the same breath—everything crashed in on her. She couldn’t move. Her rigid muscles cramped, her chest hurt, and spots danced before her eyes. Joe’s voice came from so very far away she struggled to hear it, but the spots blurred together and blackness swallowed her whole.

Sound came back first, a steady thump echoing in her ear. She opened her eyes and stared up at Joe. His cheer pushed back the dark curtains shrouding her mind.

“Hey, there you are….”

He caught her hand.

“You hyperventilated and passed out. But you’re okay.” A doctor appeared over his shoulder. At least she thought he was a doctor. He wore a white coat and a stethoscope.

“You’re going to be fine, Mrs. Carter.” The doctor echoed Joe’s words. “But we’d like you to rest for a little while longer, and we want to check your blood pressure again.”

Uncertain, she glanced at Joe, but he watched her steadily—not sharing his thoughts, whatever they might be. She nodded to the doctor. The pressure on her arm increased and she realized it was a blood pressure cuff. Closing her eyes, she burrowed her head against Joe’s shoulder.
Wait
. Her eyes opened wider. They were in a room, Joe sat on the bed and she sat on his lap.

“Your back—” She fumbled with the mask, but he caught it and pressed it back into place.

“I’m fine. I caught you and I figured if I had to hold you for a bit we could sit here. Okay?”

He caught me
.

His chair sat parked a foot or two away. The cast on Joe’s right leg was barely visible in her periphery. He’d gotten out of the chair and caught her. What if she’d hurt him?

Lips pressed against her forehead. “Shh. Just breathe.”

“Libby?” Her voice sounded wildly muffled.

“Still in surgery, you were only out a few minutes. But breathe, okay?”

She tried to relax and ignore the pressure on her arm, the coldness of the air filling her lungs, or the decided emptiness in her gut. She couldn’t lose her little girl.

Leaving her alone with James was one of the hardest things Joe had ever done. The psychologist arrived and asked for a few minutes. He waited until Melody nodded before letting her go. His pride forced him to limp the steps from the hospital bed before putting himself back into the wheelchair. His back ached from catching her, but he embraced the pain. James gave him a mild, reproving frown, but he ignored it. The wonder in Melody’s gaze satisfied him.

Or it had, until he took up his post outside, back in the damn wheelchair again. A warm, feminine touch closed on his shoulder, and he reached up to grasp his mother’s hand. He wasn’t too proud to admit that her presence provided a balm to his soul.

“She’s not going to stay, Momma.”

“No baby, not yet. She’s not ready.”

It was bad enough to believe it, worse to hear it from his momma. “Did I do the right thing, calling them?”

“You did. The psychologist fellow, he’ll know what to recommend. He can find her good people to help her help herself.”

“I never believed in it before.” A muscle twitched in his jaw, and his leg ached from his ankle to his hip, like it had been shredded with bullets all over again.

“Believed in what?” Meredith Anderson stared at him with patience and wisdom—both of which he wished he possessed right then.

“Love at first sight. Always thought it was a lot of hogwash for romance fairy tales.”

“Of course you did.” She brushed her fingers across his forehead, as though straightening his close-cropped hair. It was military perfect in cut, but the familiar gesture comforted him nonetheless. “You’ve never fallen in love before.”

“Or lost the girl.” He frowned.

“You haven’t lost her.”

“Momma, she doesn’t want me….”

“Joseph Cooper Anderson, you should be concentrating on getting well. You’ve saved her. You braved that firefight and got her out, and now she’s where folks can help her. You also gave her a lifeline to hang onto while that sweet baby gets surgery. It’s time to trust her to get well while you do the same.” She turned the chair around and knelt so she could gaze into his eyes. “You have good instincts, solid, honorable, upstanding instincts and you make me proud every day to call myself your momma. Now you trust those men and women who’ve been helping you to help her. You want her whole, yes?”

“Of course….”

“And you want to be whole yourself, yes?”

He bowed his head. “Yes, Momma.”

“All right then. One step at a time. Have faith, baby. God doesn’t let you find love to take it away like that.”

“Yes, Momma.” He’d have to trust God. Life hadn’t been particularly kind of late.

The hours dragged by, but Joe stayed with her. They played more cards, ate the food his mother brought by, and drank coffee until Melody thought she might turn into a cup of it herself.

The psychologist gave her a lot of options and introduced her to another psychologist, a woman named Claire Rogan. James Westwood recommended Doctor Rogan highly—even if she was Navy. The camaraderie between the two set her at ease, but it wasn’t until James left and Claire sat down to talk to her that she realized how hard she clenched her hands.

Joe covered her fists and brought her back to the present. His touch didn’t bother her. Just a few days before, she’d been terrified to open her door to him. It baffled and delighted her. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiled. “For what?”

“For being here. For being my friend. For knocking on the door because you heard Libby crying and for not running away when you discovered what a train wreck I am.”

He chuckled and lifted her hand to his lips. The kiss he pressed to her knuckles sent a flutter through her insides. “Thanks for answering the door and letting me in. And you’re not a train wreck; you’re a work in progress.”

“Claire told me about a program they have—for women like me.” She chewed her lower lip. “Do you know the story behind the founding of Mike’s Place?”

Joe shook his head. He cradled her hand in his and kept stroking her palm. “No, I don’t think so.”

“The man who founded it—”

“Captain Dexter.” Joe’s lips quirked. “I know him.”

“Of course you do.” She grinned. Joe probably knew everyone. He was that kind of a guy, trustworthy, honorable—gorgeous. “Anyway, he had a friend in the service and I don’t remember all the details, I don’t think I really absorbed it all.”

“’S okay. Just tell me what you can remember.” The constant petting of his fingers on her skin muddled her thoughts.

“They were in the same unit, but when Mike came home, he was suffering from PTSD, or at least they believe that was the issue. He hurt his wife, killed her and then himself.” She wanted to say it never occurred to her that Tuck might have done that to her someday, but she couldn’t lie—not to herself, not anymore. “Captain Dexter decided to start this facility, in part to help guys like Mike and other veterans and to help their families.”

It surprised her, how accepting Claire had been.

“Sounds like Luke. The facility is relatively new, but it’s gained quite the reputation. I know a lot of the men working here, or at least have a passing acquaintance with them. Good people.”

The endorsement made her feel better. “They have a program for spouses like me.” She didn’t want to say abused. She hated the label and the connotations. “Claire said that when Libby was ready, she would recommend me into it. They’ll offer counseling, relocation, and support to get back on my feet. It’s also close enough to here that Libby would still have access to her physicians and….” How could that sound to him? Her going on about leaving and he would still be there?

“I think it’s a great idea if that’s what you want to do.”

“I don’t know if want is the right word.” Between the fainting, the confusion, the jumping at loud noises, and the crazy flutters in her belly every time he touched her—want, need, and should got mixed up in her mind.

“Okay.” He tipped his head to the side, studying her. “What’s the right word?”

“I think I need to do it, for me and for Libby. I want to be a whole woman again. I never stopped fighting—even if my rebellions were little things.”
Like my degree
. “But I have poured everything into getting through each day.”

“I think that’s great. What can I do to support you?”

Her heart melted and to her horror, tears filled her eyes. “You just did.”

He cupped her cheek and she bent her forehead to his. She wanted to kiss him—but not with all the confusion swirling through her. It wasn’t right. Not yet. “I want to be here for you, too. Your leg and your recovery….”

“Shh. I got this. You need to focus on you and Libby. I can take care of me.” He looked like he wanted to say more.

“Is it wrong that I know I need to do this and I’m terrified to go and leave—but I’m more terrified not to?”
Am I even making sense
? She needed help to sort out the morass of guilt and pain she wallowed in, but she’d just met Joe. What if he found someone else? Someone not damaged?

But didn’t he deserve that?

If only the doctors would come out and tell her everything went great. That Libby would be fine and her heart would heal normal. Then Melody could focus on her own heart.

“Whiskey tango foxtrot, Melody.”

The words threw her and she leaned back to stare at him. “What?”

“Exactly. We’re whiskey tango foxtrot. You need to heal, so do I. I
want
you to heal. I
want
to be there for you, too. But that’s not what you need. So right now, we focus on getting Libby through this and being together. And whether it’s tomorrow or next week or next month, you go with Doctor Rogan and you get the help you need. We clear up the whiskey tango foxtrot and then we take it from there.”

“You’re a little too perfect,” she admitted with a watery laugh and he pressed a kiss to her palm.

“Only the best for my girls.”

His girls
. It had a nice ring to it.

“Mrs. Carter?” The doctor’s voice pulled her around and she stood, clenching Joe’s hand tight as she did. The surgeon walked toward her in his dark green scrubs. “She did great. Real great. We’re moving her to the PICU and you can go in to see her shortly. We’re not out of the woods, but we can definitely see the light.”

Relief soaked into all of the cracked and splintered places in her soul.

“She’s going to be okay?”

“I think so. We’ll know more in the morning, but she’s a fighter.”

“Of course she is, she’s like her momma,” Joe murmured and squeezed her hand.

Chapter Eight

Six months later
….

The warm April evening melted off the snow and teased a hint of green from the trees on the historical street. The cab slowed and Joe leaned forward to check the address. The Grand Hotel.
This is the place
. He read the total on the meter and slid a twenty through the payment box to the driver.

“Thanks, man. Keep the change.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The muscles in his right leg clenched as he slid out of the cab and stood. Even after months of therapy and recovery, he still led with his right leg and always experienced a brief moment of doubt that it would hold. His dress blues earned some attention from passersby on the street. Pulling his cover off as he stepped inside the lobby, he tucked it under his arm. He was a few minutes early, but he scanned the lobby for a familiar blonde head.

In the months since Libby’s surgical success and Melody’s transfer to another facility, a day hadn’t passed where he didn’t think about her. Melody didn’t say a lot about herself that first month. Emails came first—little notes—progress reports about her daughter. He wrote her back, always happy to hear. And then she included pictures.

Libby sitting up.

Clapping her hands.

Beaming her cherubic smile at the camera.

The baby flourished.

The cast finally came off his leg and the doctor’s agreed—he would regain full function in his leg. Intense rounds of physical therapy got him back on his feet. He traded her pictures of Libby pulling herself up with pictures of him doing the same thing. He hesitated at first, but he wasn’t ashamed of his vulnerability.

The first standing-up picture earned him a phone call.

Her voice poured over him like liquid gold. Gone were the tiny catches and quaver under the words. Like her daughter, she thrived and began to come to terms with the choices and direction in her life. It wasn’t long before their weekly phone calls turned into twice a week and sometimes three times. The emails became text messages.

The day he checked out of Mike’s Place to return to active duty, he received a teddy bear dressed like a Marine in the mail. The note told him his girls were thinking of him and they sent a Bearine Honor Guard to watch over him. The bear had a place of honor in his bedroom on base.