21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (35 page)

James stared at her steadily. “Why, is that a problem for you?”

The air in her lungs whooshed out. “Because I can’t be in love with two men.”

“Is that a regulation somewhere?” He lifted a brow.

“Yes.” Cold prickled her neck.

“Where?”

“I….” She trailed off. It was a rule.
One man. One woman
. A ménage was a fantasy.

“Gunny?”

“It’s just an impossible situation. I don’t want to talk about it.” She looked back at the windows, hands fisting together in her lap.

“Why did you join the FET team?”

***

“I hate being out here.” Zach drummed a cadence against his thigh, pacing back and forth. They had fifteen minutes more before her session ended. His stomach tied in knots. He’d damn near fucked her in the shower and again when he had her out of it. His job involved taking care of her, not himself. But all he thought about during his second shower was how wet she’d been against his fingers, how responsive to the lightest touch. The provocative allure of her moan as she came apart for him echoed in his ears.

His balls ached thinking about it. He’d palmed his dick in the shower, jerked off to the thought of her. But thrusting into his own grip didn’t come close to sheathing his cock in her pussy or feeling it clench around him.

“Dude, sit the fuck down.” Logan sprawled on one of the sofas. He propped his bad leg up on a table and leaned his head back, eyes closed.

“How can you relax?”

“I didn’t get the boner in the shower.” The dry comment didn’t help. “And pacing out here doesn’t make the time go faster—it just irritates the shit out of you.”

“Says the master of waiting.” He couldn’t help the frustration. How Logan compartmentalized the bad shit never failed to amaze—or annoy—him.

“Yep. You learn patience when you have to rely on someone else to wipe your ass. Walking’s a real bitch of a lesson too. Sit down.” Logan didn’t look up.

Zach flung himself down in a chair, the leather seat bouncing once with his weight. “I almost screwed up.”

“You didn’t hurt her. Hell, an orgasm probably felt damn good at this point.”

“That’s not the point. It was a shower, but….”

“But she’s entirely fuckable, and you aren’t the only one who can’t wait. Just give yourself a break, man.” Logan sat forward and slid his leg off the table where it thumped to the floor. “Seriously. I’m not entirely sorry I lost that coin toss because I want to work my way over every inch of her body. Carrying her is hard enough. Naked….”

They both sighed.

“We’re so fucked.” Zach chuckled.

“Yep.” Logan bobbed his head once. “We have to keep our focus on the prize. Get her better.”

“Yeah.” Who was he kidding? He was ready to jack off again thinking about all the things he shouldn’t do until she was better. His cock strained against the front of his jeans.
Think about something else
. “Who’s handling her PT?”

“Phillips.” Logan grimaced. “Captain ordered me off her case directly. Too much personal involvement. But I’ll be there. Moral support, ass kicking, whatever she needs.”

“Cool.”

The clock inched forward.

“Your kids got a game this weekend?”

“Three. Regional series against Plano.”

“Fin and Jace got it together yet?”

The short stop and outfielder were getting on Zach’s last nerve. The kids worked well enough in practice, but in their last three games they’d crashed together and fumbled with more errors than first time little leaguers.

“May have to move Fin from the outfield to first base. Jace thinks he has to beat Fin to the ball for some ass backward reason.” He should be out there working with them right now, but he’d turned the team over to Damon for the day. The chef may specialize in spicy foods, but he knew his baseball. Zach was where he wanted to be.

Mostly
.

Considering where he really wanted to be was nibbling on the inside of Jasmine’s thighs and licking up the sweet cream of her pleasure as she orgasmed into his mouth. His cock hurt.

Baseball just wasn’t enough to get his mind off her.

“We need a plan, Logan.”

“We have a plan.” His best friend gave him a stern look. “We keep our schedules rotating so one of us is always with her. She does her PT. She sees Doc. She makes her neuro visits. We help her put herself back together.”

“Okay, that covers about two or three hours of her day, what about the rest of it?” On their one long weekend, they watched a lot of movies and had a lot more sex. Sex wasn’t on the approved list of activities and there were only so many movies a body could watch.

“Man, she’s gonna sleep. A lot, maybe even more than in the hospital. Physical therapy is going to take it out of her.” In that, Logan was the expert.

Zach didn’t remember Logan sleeping all the time, but once he’d been discharged from the hospital, he’d spent hours at the apartment while Zach worked. “Maybe I can take her to the field for practice some days. You know, get her out. Set her up in the shade.”

“Maybe. Does she even like baseball?”

The two stared at each other and Zach frowned. He had no idea. “Guess we’ll find out.”

“Twenty says she’s an Astros fan.” Logan preferred the National teams and their refusal to allow designated hitters.

“Rangers.” Jazz grew up near the Metroplex. She had to be a Rangers fan.

“Fifty says she hates the Cowboys.” Logan grinned. The man was a Redskins fan through and through.

“Done.” They shook on it and the door opened. The laughter drained out of Zach as Jazz eased her chair out the door. Exhaustion etched every pale line of her face. He stood still while she struggled.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Gunny.” The Doc’s expression remained neutral, betraying nothing of the session. “Logan, got a minute?”

“Sure.” Logan circled the coffee table, caressing Jazz’s cheek before following the Doc back into his office and closing the door.

“Hey.” Zach strangled the rioting urges in his body. “How you doing?”

“Tired. I wanted to try and go for another walk—roll—whatever.” She smacked her hand lightly against the chair. A glimmer of tears flashed in her eyes, but she blinked so rapidly and looked away that he wasn’t sure.

“Sounds like a plan. You want to wait for Logan or let him catch up?” Her refusal to meet his gaze hurt, but what the hell did he expect when he’d practically mauled her in the shower.

“We can wait.” She pulled her upper lip between her teeth. Her right hand drummed a cadence against the chair arm. “Is there water?”

“Yeah.” He closed the distance between them and tugged a pack off the back of her chair. They’d stuffed it with energy bars, water bottles, and a change of clothes—anything she might need while on the move.

She stared at the bag in confusion. “Did you tell me that was there?”

He shook his head slowly. “No. I was going to or maybe Logan was, but I don’t think we mentioned it.”

“Oh.” Relief crawled over her face.

“Oh, shit. Babe, I’m sorry. No, you didn’t forget it. We just wanted to make sure if you needed something, you had it.” He pulled a bottle of water out, and twisted the cap off before handing it to her.

She stared at the bottle cap and her expression emptied. She glanced down at the bottle and lifted it to drink. It shook a little in her hand, sloshing the liquid onto her already sweat-dampened shirt. He fisted the bottle cap and the hard plastic dug into his palm. The door opened behind her.

Logan’s face was tight with worry following his chat with Doc. He stared at Jazz before clearing his throat. “We ready to go?”

“Yes.” Her response echoed his right down to the dregs of relief. He lifted his brows in silent question while slinging the pack over his shoulder. Jazz kept her water bottle.

Logan shook his head at Zach and mouthed, “Later.”

Fuck. What’s wrong now
?

Logan watched Phillips lean on Jazz’s right leg, forcing her to push him away to strengthen it. Her face was a mask of concentration. Tension tightened the lines around her mouth and squinted the corners of her eyes. Three weeks of the absolute same routine—physical therapy in the morning from five a.m. ‘til nine a.m, her appointment with James ten until eleven, lunch ‘til twelve. Then she napped or at least retreated to her room for the rest of the afternoon.

They were losing her. She’d pulled back on every front.

Her right leg extended, shoving Phillips upward, and the therapist’s legs began to slide. The grueling control on Jazz’s face gave way to satisfaction.

“Oorah, Gunny!” Phillips broke into applause that echoed around the room.

Belatedly, Logan saw that he wasn’t the only one staring at the strength contest between his woman and her therapist. The gym played host to any number of recovering servicemen and women. Her right leg hadn’t cooperated with her since the first of two strokes she’d suffered after arriving home. In the beginning, Logan put it down to the trauma and the brain surgeries. But her neurologist and neurosurgeons both confirmed that strokes were partially responsible for the loss of feeling and control in her arm and leg.

Jazz sat up, refusing Phillips’ assisting hand. A green baseball cap covered the spiky growth of her hair—a hat she insisted on wearing at all times. Whether it was the need to be in uniform or what, she refused any civilian clothes whatsoever, relying on her MARPATs and her standard Marine workout gear. She wrapped the colors around herself like a barrier against the world.

He understood that desire, maybe better than she realized. But the sturdier she built the barrier, the more she shoved them to the outside. Both of them. That morning had been the last straw. Her cutting dismissal of Zach, the phone call to Phillips and request for a lift to physical therapy effectively shut Logan out as well. His jaw tightened.

Last. Fucking. Straw
. It was time for a come-to-Logan meeting.

James’ words from his last session echoed in the back of his mind. “You know, you can talk about this. In fact, I think all three of you should.” He didn’t mind Doc talking about Jazz, even though James refused to, more often than not, beyond initially telling him she would need a prescription for antidepressants. He didn’t want to talk to James about Jazz—he wanted to talk to Jazz.

And today, we are going to talk. You and me, babe
, he told her silently.

She fixed the hat back over her head. In a smooth, practiced motion, she worked her way to her feet, resting her hand steadily on the locked down wheelchair. She hated the device, despite the limited mobility it granted her, but walking still eluded her press for recovery.

Sweat soaked her green T-shirt. A faint tan warmed her pale skin. Muscle tone began to fill her legs back out. She’d put back on ten of the thirty pounds she lost during her hospitalization. She needed to gain more to return to the curves he was familiar with, but he didn’t care if she was as skinny as a chicken wing. If she was healthy enough to push him away….

She was healthy enough for the push back.

Phillips nodded to him. Their session was done. Tamping down his innate desire to get his hands on her, Logan marched across the room and took hold of her chair. “Good job. You in?”

She glanced up at him, wariness shuttering her expression. He gave her an easy grin, the same grin he gave her after every session. She wanted to retreat? No way in hell would he let her do that.

“Yeah, I’m in.” Her guarded tone warned him she wasn’t interested in being pushed around.
Good, maybe it means she’s ready to push back
.

He unlocked the wheels, gave Phillips a wave, and guided the chair out of the building. He was silent all the way to the apartment. At the foot of the stairs, he locked the chair and lifted her out of it. She weighed next to nothing. Mutiny pinched her lips, and he allowed the barest hint of a smile.

He strode down the landing, aware of every feminine curve pressing into his side. The frailty she’d exhibited during her initial weeks hardened during her workouts and physical therapy. She may not have mastered walking yet, but she was close.

He would be damned if she was going to just walk away from them.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked. The question dropped into the oppressive silence clouding their trip to the door. He balanced her and unlocked the apartment. The maneuver might have been tough a month before, but practice made perfect.

He could handle anything, even while carrying her.

“Hmm?”

Normally he paused for lunch. Not today. She’d resisted showers with either of them after that first day. Her statement that she preferred her privacy in the bath smelled of a need for independence. He understood the body shyness, but they should never have backed off on them. That was Zach’s plan and he’d insisted. Zach wanted to coddle her, to keep her safe, and make her feel safe. But that wasn’t working either. If anything, the more they catered to her need to push the away, the further she retreated.

Retreat’s over
.

“You seem pissed.” The faintest quaver of doubt crept into her words, and she wasn’t ‘not looking’ at him anymore.

Yes, Gunny. Pay attention to the terrain. This is about to be a bumpy ride
. He shrugged a shoulder and pushed open his bedroom door with a foot. He closed it the same way. No swift escape for her. She stiffened in his arms and he ignored it. Setting her down on the bed, he rolled his head from side to side, battening down the hatches on his temper. This wasn’t about anger or rejection. It wasn’t about withdrawing from the front lines or pressing the advantage.

He tossed his keys onto the dresser and made quick work of stripping out of his clothes. Once upon a time, he wouldn’t have done that right in front of her. The thick scars from the fire in the vehicle mottled his skin from his face to his thigh. His left leg wasn’t a pretty picture either, crisscrossed with surgical scars. But she never shied away from his body, never made him feel like less of a man—not even when she had Zach to compare him to.