‘I do not think I’m some kind of superhero.’
‘Really? Then let me check your chart.’
She was right about one thing, though. He was desperate to get out of the room, away from Thea, and push his broken body to try another circuit of the floor. Even the pain was a welcome distraction from the nightmares which haunted his darkest thoughts. Nightmares of explosions and of IEDs, of flying debris and vehicles. The old nightmares too, of Daniel screaming out to him. And now, this last fortnight, inexplicable new nightmares—of Thea, looking on as he lay helpless and weak. In his nightmares he could never work out whether her expression was one of satisfaction or sympathy. Vindication that he’d finally got his comeuppance? Or pity?
No, the pain was good—it meant that he was alive.
So he forced himself to stay still, trapped as he was in the too-soft seat, and tried to the let Thea’s words wash over him. He studiously averted his gaze from the detestable hospital bed—in which he tried to spend the very least time he poss
ibly could—and attempted to conceal his frustration.
‘Aha, nothing to indicate a problem on your read-outs. However...’ She glanced up at him before reading the notes. ‘“Visual assessment suggests breathing seems shallow, cheeks flushed and feverish—query possibility of infection.”’
‘It’s wrong,’ Ben dismissed it.
‘Of course it is,’ Thea snapped. ‘Since you know, and I know, and fortunately even Dr Fields knows enough to note that any potentially concerning visual indicators are nothing more than a result of the fact that you got up at around five a.m., and then spent the last couple of hours pushing beyond your body’s limits in completing circuits of the hospital before hobbling here—probably in considerable pain—to beat Dr Fields and his interns back on to the ward before they started their rounds.’
‘It’s called recovery.’ He gritted his teeth. ‘I need to push my body to help it heal.’
‘You need to rest!’ Thea cried out. ‘Ben, in all seriousness, you have done incredibly well—in no small part due to your grit and determination. It usually takes five weeks to get where you are now, and you’ve done it in under three. But you need to take things easy.’
‘The sooner I recover, the sooner I can get out of here.’
‘Ben, you have to know that’s not going to happen. Not whilst you still refuse to come home with me. You need someone to take care of you during your recuperation.’
‘I don’t need anyone,’ Ben snarled. ‘Least of all you.’
He didn’t want to hurt her, but it was the only way he could think of to chase her away. She shouldn’t be here—he wasn’t her responsibility. Not when he’d treated her the way he had. But, really, what choice had he had?
There’s always a choice. The thought crept into his head before he could stop it. You just made the wrong one.
‘That’s why I need to push my body. Recover. Then I won’t need to be discharged into anyone’s care,’ he spat out.
‘That isn’t going to happen, Major.’ Dr Fields strode into the room, one of his interns by his side.
Dammit, that blasted smile of adulation again.
‘Ben, this isn’t just about your physical recovery. Even if your rehabilitation continues on this fast track you’ve put yourself on—and I highly doubt that it will, since I think you’re pushing yourself far too hard and will end up doing your body more harm than good—I would still need to know you had someone to stay with during the last part of your recuperation. Someone to support you, talk to you, observe you and make sure they’re on hand if there happen to be any unforeseen complications.’
‘If you’re talking PTSD, Doc, just come out and say it.’ Ben shook his head. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You might not want to admit it...’ the doctor spoke gently ‘...but the nightmares which wake you in the night, have you screaming out in a cold sweat, are a symptom of PTSD. It’s still relatively mild at this stage, and only natural after all you’ve been through, but the longer you refuse to deal with it, the worse it will get.’
‘There are men out there who have suffered a lot worse than me,’ Ben growled, not wanting to be having this conversation. ‘Buddies of mine who lost limbs or didn’t even make it. I’m already back on my feet. I’ve nothing to complain about.’
‘Which is the problem.’ Dr Fields sighed. ‘Still, we’ll save that for another day.’
No, they wouldn’t. Ben gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. He was fine, even if he didn’t deserve to be. But he needed to get out of here.
His eyes slid to Thea. For all her bravado now, he could still remember her standing by his bedside in those first few days, her face white with fear and concern for a man she hadn’t seen in five years. He clenched his fists; she’d been dragged into this out of some misplaced sense of obligation but it had nothing to do with her. There was no way he was about to let her take responsibility for his care. Her unfailing loyalty was her downfall.
He could only imagine how much she must have resented being summoned here. How much she must hate him—dragging her into a marriage in order to fulfil his own need to honour his promise to her brother. Only to give in to his baser desires, his long-standing attraction to her. So what if they had both shared the attraction at one time? He’d had no right—it hadn’t been part of the plan. And, anyway, what kind of man bedded his dead best friend’s grief-stricken sister?
‘Ultimately, Ben, your body still has a lot of healing to do, and I am concerned that you’re driving yourself too hard. You need to back up a little, or you risk doing permanent damage.’
‘I hear you, Doc.’ Ben nodded flatly. No chance. He was out of here as soon as they all left him alone.
Dr Fields turned away from Ben to the intern. ‘Dr Thompson—since Major Abrams isn’t feeling compliant, I suggest you run those tests after all. Time-consuming, yet non-costly,’ he added pointedly. ‘I may not be able to stop Major Abrams from destroying the body I worked so hard to repair, but I can slow him down. At least for a few hours.’