‘You’re leaving?’ she asked flatly.
‘I think it’s for the best.’ So why did the words stick in his throat?
‘What now?’ Her sad, wary eyes sought his.
He hesitated by the door. ‘My compassionate leave is almost over. I’ll be shipping out soon anyway.’
‘So we go back to the original marriage agreement?’ she asked urgently, as if seeking that security at the very least.
He wanted to say no, to tell her that he couldn’t go back to anything after what had just happened between them. He wanted to tell her that he wanted more from her, from their marriage. But what had happened between them had only cemented his fear that she was already under his skin and he’d never want to let her go. He owed her more than that. He was no more able to be the kind of man she needed now than he had been six weeks ago. On top of which, his guilt at not being someone she could trust weighed heavily on him. Until he was able to make amends for that he could never ask more of her. So he owed her what he’d originally promised.
‘Yes,’ he confirmed at length. ‘We go back to the original deal.’
She nodded once—a sad bob of her head.
Before he could say anything more—wreck things any further—Ben yanked the door open and escaped into the hallway. Forget a few more days. There was no way he could stay in this house with Thea for even one more night. He needed to get out of here. Now.
CHAPTER THREE
Present day
BEN WATCHED THE interns shuffle out of his side room. The habitual idolising smiles they gave whenever they saw him set Ben’s teeth on edge.
‘They annoy you, don’t they?’ Thea asked, suddenly appearing at his door.
He ruthlessly ignored the kick of pleasure at her presence. She shouldn’t have to be here. He wasn’t her problem.
‘They treat me like some kind of...’
‘Hero?’ Thea smiled.
‘I’m not a hero.’ Ben ground out the words.
‘Two weeks ago you were caught by two IEDs. The first one severed your left arm, yet you still managed to drag your men to safety before getting caught by a second IED. Geez, Ben, you were pinned under a Land Rover with a suspected crushed spine—it could have left you in a wheelchair for the rest of your life.’
‘It could have but it didn’t,’ Ben growled. ‘They couldn’t tell because of the swelling so they suspected the worst. They were wrong,’ Ben refuted flatly. ‘It turned out I’m fine. I just need to get out of here.’
‘You’re hardly fine,’ Thea scoffed. ‘You still suffered contusions of the spinal cord. You were lucky not to sever it. Not to mention you’ve dislocated and shattered a whole raft of vertebrae which have had to be pinned and bolted. Oh, and did I mention the replantation of your arm?’
‘Really?’ Ben arched an eyebrow at her. ‘I hadn’t noticed—other than the fact that my left arm is now two centimetres shorter than my right arm.’
If he’d thought to intimidate her then he’d thought wrong. If anything, she looked almost amused.
‘Then you’re damned lucky. I saw a girl last year whose right arm was not only severed, but crushed. By the time they cut away the damaged tissue and bone her arm ended up twelve centimetres shorter than the other. This year she underwent bone-lengthening surgery and she’ll be over the moon if she reduces that to a two-centimetre difference. And did I say that she’s right-handed, like you, but unlike you she’s now had to learn to be left-handed?’
‘Then, like I said before,’ he pointed out, ‘I’m fine.’
‘You’re lucky, Ben, but you’re not fine. And pretending you are is only making you push yourself far, far harder than anyone else is comfortable with.’
Before he could respond Thea advanced into the room, ticking off her fingers as she counted the days.
‘Let me break this down for you, Ben. Days one, two and three you were operated on, flown here, and put into traction until the swelling could go down and they could better assess the damage to your spine. That happened on day six. By day seven they were able to operate. By day eight you already had sensation in your lower limbs and were able to move your left big toe on command. Day nine your left toes and your right big toe. By day ten you could move both feet. By day eleven you could lift your left leg above the bed, and day twelve your right leg—’
‘Is there any point to this?’ Ben interrupted.
He shifted irritably in the wingback chair. He hated being in this thing almost as much as he hated being in the damned wheelchair. The sooner Thea left, the better.
‘Yes,’ she replied, unflustered. ‘It’s now day eighteen. By rights you should be up and about in a wheelchair, and you might be able to take a few steps around your room with the aid of a frame. Instead of which you’re pushing yourself around in gruelling laps of the hospital like you think you’re some kind of superhero.’