Forever (Always & Forever 2)

His moment of glory sure as hell had bit him on the ass. He had an arm filled with pins and screws holding it together and a deeply bruised body as his reward for being the bravest of his squadron. He’d scrambled his way to the top of the old rotting tower. The fucked-up part? Even now, he had a small amount of pride in the fact he had made it all the way up those rickety old steps as far as they went before climbing the rest of the way on a decaying wood ladder. Landon had proudly carved his name alongside those of the other brave soldiers who had conquered the tower before him.

Heights had never been a fear for him. And even drunk, he’d had no issue climbing so high. The complication came from the hard, unforgiving earth below—German dirt had no give, and the pain radiating through his bones was a testament to that fact.

Lying on this hospital bed, Landon still refused to take full responsibility for the situation. Maybe he was being arrogant, maybe he wasn’t. One thing he knew for certain, though, was that he wouldn’t be laid up in the hospital if the guys hadn’t feared disciplinary action by calling for help. After carving his name at the top, he’d made it about halfway down when the steps gave out underneath his weight. His instincts automatically kicked in and he’d grabbed onto a somewhat sturdy support beam. He had dangled there for a good long time waiting to be saved. His buddies had fucked it all up. Helpless bunch of pansy-asses. Every last one of them had tried to be the hero and climbed up after him.

He shook his head as memories of that night flooded his thoughts. Of course, the old decayed structure couldn’t hold all their combined weight and shimmied and shook as they attempted to ascend the structure. He’d tried to stop them, but they’d ignored his warnings. The beam he was hanging on snapped. He swore he hit every single board holding that tower together on his way down. How he’d been the one to hit the ground first was beyond him, but somehow those dumb motherfuckers had even found a way to use his body to break their falls.

Idiots. And he was supposed to trust his life to those men? Only a few days had passed since the accident. Irritation with the whole incident still burrowed deep under his skin. Now, instead of him walking away with a reprimand, he was stuck in the hospital, feeling helpless, hurting like a motherfucker, and to add insult to injury, they were all going to be disciplined anyway.

He wasn’t sure what bothered him the most, the multiple injuries that were going to require extensive physical therapy to get him back on his feet or the fact he literally couldn’t wipe his own ass without help. He guessed neither of those superseded his bruised ego. These things didn’t happen to Landon Russo. He always found a way to land on his feet, but not this time.

He clenched his jaw in frustration and tightened his hold on the paperback weighing on his chest—the same book he couldn’t quite manage to turn the pages of in order to read. This was seriously some fucked-up shit. What he wouldn’t give for a distraction.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Adams.”

From the first syllable uttered, Landon knew exactly who the voice belonged to, which was damn odd because he’d never expected to hear it again, especially not in a German military hospital thousands of miles away from the United States. That deep rich timbre had been imprinted on his heart almost a year ago while performing an honor that would remain in the forefront of his memories for the rest of his life.

When Landon glanced toward the door, his gaze locked on Dr. Robert Adams, world renowned heart surgeon and son of a United States vice president.

The doctor stood about six foot two, thick blond hair, and just as handsome as Landon remembered. He scanned the man’s face and his heart began to race as his stomach filled with uncertainty. As much as Landon admired Vice President Adams, he could find no good reason for Dr. Robert Adams to be standing in front of him right now. The smile that had automatically lifted the corners of his mouth, fell as he wondered if the heart surgeon’s presence indicated something far worse about his condition. How much damage had the fall caused?

He quickly ticked off his known injuries, trying to remember a mention of anything remotely close to a heart complication. They said surgery had gone well. His arm would require healing time and some intensive physical therapy, but he’d been told he was lucky he hadn’t been hurt worse. He could expect a full recovery. What hadn’t they told him?