15
Washington, DC
10:27 PM Thursday, January 15
Did anyone love hospitals? Brynn sat against the cold plastic chair in the stark, sterilized room of Washington General. Ears still ringing, ribs aching, she glanced down at the palms of her hands, which bore angry red abrasions from being hurtled to the ground.
A bomb.
Brynn could hardly wrap her thoughts around that—or maybe her brain was still disoriented from the explosion. Or the weight of Jack’s body covering hers as metal and glass from the destroyed SUV rained down on them. He’d protected her. Not that it surprised her. No, of course not. Jack was doing his job. Doing his job. Doing. His. Job. The pounding in her head ramped up, nearly folding Brynn over her knees. How in the world did soldiers handle this? She imagined Jack’s head felt the same, or worse. Given that he’d used his body to shield hers, leaving him completely exposed to the brunt of the impact. Fear tore into her once she realized what had happened, unwilling to turn and find Jack’s lifeless body over hers. She nearly cried when Jack began gently shaking her, asking if she was okay.
As a result of Jack doing his job, he was rewarded with bruises and cuts along the backs of his legs, the worst being a three-inch gash on the back of his thigh caused by a piece of metal.
A knock sounded at the door, and the noise reverberated like a gong in her head. “Ms. Taylor?” A male doctor walked in, her chart in his hands. “I’m Dr. Payne and—”
Brynn blinked to clear her thoughts, held up her hand. “Wait, I think my brain is a little fuzzy. I thought you said your name is Dr. Payne.”
He smiled, a nice one that showed perfectly straight teeth. “I did. Ironic, huh?”
“Or frightening.”
“Don’t worry.” Dr. Payne grabbed a rolling stool and swung a leg over it to sit. “I have access to all the fun meds. Now, I hear you’ve been playing with explosives.”
His comment made Brynn think about Lyla’s teasing remarks to Garcia from earlier . . . Had it really only been that morning? The day seemed to stretch into a hundred more unanswered questions, leaving her anxious to find the answers if she could get out of there.
“Do you know how much longer I have to stay?”
Dr. Payne set her chart aside with a chuckle and pulled a penlight from his pocket. “Not a fan of hospitals, huh?”
He flashed the light in both of her eyes.
“Is anyone?”
“Oof.” He put his light away. “I keep telling the cafeteria they should bring in better food, make this place a bazaar of flavor, and then people would be dying to come here.”
This close, Brynn had the best view of Dr. Payne’s light-green eyes. A wave of sandy-brown hair fell across his forehead, which was furrowed in an expression of expectation for her to get his very bad joke.
“Does anyone appreciate that joke?”
He smiled, gave a shrug, and stood. “Not really, but we’ve got a running bet in the doctors’ lounge how many patients we can get to laugh at it. I’m behind by six patients thanks to you, but I might get half a point if I mention you have a brain injury—”
“You don’t, which is good and maybe a little surprising considering what you went through. I’ll have a nurse print out a sheet on concussion symptoms. If you get a headache worse than the one you probably already have or you begin vomiting or your words become slurred or your balance seems off—go directly to the ER. Do not pass go and do not collect two hundred dollars.”
There was a purposeful pause, and Brynn gave in with a smile and a shake of her head. Good thing Dr. Payne had his looks going for him. He reminded Brynn of the doctors on the soap operas her mom used to watch. Brynn used to believe all doctors were dreamy and hunky until she arrived at the hospital after her father’s injury. Waiting inside the chaotic New York hospital for news about her father, the only doctors she remembered were ones with panic-stricken and horrified faces. That day in September, terrorists turned the World Trade Center into a war zone and hospitals into something out of a horror movie.
“Will that work, Ms. Taylor?”
Dr. Payne’s question shook her back to the present. The smooth skin around his eyes no longer crinkled in humor but worry. Great, now he’ll for sure think I have a brain injury.
“Sorry. I was wondering about my, um . . . colleague. Jack Hudson. How’s he doing?”
“I believe another doctor is checking him, but I can pass along a message if you’d like.”
“Yes.” Brynn clamped down her lips. “I mean, that’s okay. I can go check on him when we’re done here, right?”
Dr. Payne finished typing his notes into the computer. “Yes, but you’ll have to wait your turn.” He turned to her. “There’s a limit on visitors.”
Jack had visitors? Then it hit her—his team. Of course they’d be by his side. Nausea that had nothing to do with a head injury made her insides feel wobbly.
“The nurse will bring in your prescription with your discharge paperwork.” Dr. Payne paused at the door. “Do you have someone to give you a ride home?”
“Yes.” The lie came out on a whisper. She cleared her throat, fighting the unwelcome emotion balling there. “Thank you.”
The second Dr. Payne left, Brynn swiped against the moisture in her eyes, angry. Exhaustion was taking its toll, bringing with it a wave of melancholy. And it was silly.
The sound of laughter pulled her attention to the door of her room, which Dr. Payne had left ajar. Brynn moved toward it, then peeked into the hallway. To her left, she spotted Kekoa, Garcia, and Lyla. A female nurse, a male nurse, and a female doctor were chatting with them, and Brynn took a step forward, concern rising in her chest. Was Jack okay?
“Jack joined when he finished his treatment.” Lyla’s comment was going to haunt her until she found out what Jack had needed treatment for. It was hard to imagine Jack as anything but healthy and strong. The latter she felt in the security of his grip over her body when the bomb exploded.
More laughter erupted and she paused. Certainly they wouldn’t be laughing if Jack’s injuries were serious? Another peek at the team and realization pushed her back into her room.
A heaviness stole over her. The events of the day flashed through her mind with enough speed it made her dizzy. A symptom of a concussion? Brynn sank into the hard plastic chair, taking in the emptiness around her. Or was it the haunting reality that after everything she’d been through, she was all alone?
No visitors. No one to drive her home. No one who would ask her how her day went or let her cry into their shoulder over the painful memories brought on by being back inside a hospital. Director Peterson hadn’t even sent anyone to check on her. Did the CIA even know what went down? Or where she was?
Tightness grew in her chest and Brynn stood. No, she didn’t have anyone to drive her home or to check on her, but that didn’t mean her life was empty. She had a job that fulfilled her, the freedom to make choices without worrying about anyone else. At least she did now that her father had passed. Emotion rose to her throat as a deep ache settled in her middle.
She needed to get out of there.
A quick peek around the corner, and Brynn slipped out of her room and made her way to the nurses’ station.
A woman in lavender scrubs looked up. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, my name is Brynn Taylor. I’m waiting for my discharge papers and a prescription for pain meds. I know you all are busy, so I thought if you could get me my paperwork, I’ll grab my meds from the pharmacy myself.”
The nurse shifted, revealing her name badge, Mallory Greene, and a smile of appreciation. “Let me check your chart really quickly.” She typed on the computer. “Okay, sure. Dr. Payne is giving you a prescription for pain medication that you can pick up from the pharmacy.” She moved to a printer and grabbed several sheets of paper. “Sign here, and this is the concussion paper.”
Brynn quickly signed.
“If you have any—”
“I know.” Brynn’s eyes shifted to the group down the hall, the ache growing more painful with each passing second. “Go to the ER or call 911.”
Nurse Greene eyed her for a second, looking like she was second-guessing her decision to release Brynn.
“The pharmacy is this way, right?” Brynn pointed to her right.
“Yes, do you—”
The phone on her desk rang, pulling Nurse Greene’s attention away and giving Brynn the perfect opportunity to leave.
Without a second look back at the people who she’d inexplicably allowed to weave their way into her life, Brynn hurried down the hall. They weren’t her friends. They weren’t her team. They were a means to doing her job—find Riad and get out of Washington, DC.
And as far away from Jack Hudson as possible.
“She’s gone.”
Jack stared at Lyla. “What do you mean she’s gone?”
“I went to her room, and she wasn’t there. I asked Mallory, and she said Brynn signed her discharge paperwork about fifteen minutes ago.” Lyla’s blue-green eyes softened. “They wouldn’t have released her if she wasn’t okay.”
He swallowed. “I know.”
But he wanted to see for himself. To soothe the unease residing in his chest, which was proving to be more painful than the cut on the back of his leg.
Lyla walked over and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “There’s a woman in your life who’s not going to run away from you, Jack. You deserve that at least.”
Jack shifted, uncomfortable with Lyla’s sincere but forward observation. Or maybe it was the fact that he was still wearing a thin hospital gown with his team only feet away. In the hallway, their presence imposed on the medical staff at Washington General, which should’ve gotten them all booted, but Lyla’s friendship with his nurse, Mallory Greene, allowed them to stay.
“I mean it, Jack.” Lyla stepped into his sight line. “Amy is pretty much the complete package, and I’m not just saying that because she’s my friend. If you overlook the whole traveling part of your jobs, you guys are pretty much perfect for each other. And don’t tell her I said this, but I think she might be ready to give hers up, you know, for the right reason.”
Lyla lifted her left hand and wiggled her fingers, the gesture reminding Jack of his lunch with Brynn when Asha did the same thing. Marriage. There was only one person Jack had once considered marrying, but how could he marry someone he didn’t trust? Marriage was a partnership and required trust, something Brynn severed a long time ago.
When Lyla lowered her hand, a heaviness pulled at her smile. “Jack, there’s something I need to tell you.”
His stomach, which was already a bit woozy, clenched. “What is it?”
“Don’t be upset because I didn’t say anything . . . really.” She bit her lip. “But Brynn was asking me about when I joined SNAP and when you did, and I might’ve mentioned something about your treatment, but I didn’t tell her why.”
The rush of words spilling out of Lyla’s mouth was disorienting, and it took Jack a few seconds to put them in order. He swallowed. “So she knows about my cancer?”
“No.” Lyla shook her head, and he saw the remorse. “I told her if she wanted to know why you were in treatment, she’d have to ask you.”
Nurse Greene entered the room, paperwork and a pair of scrub pants in her hands. Her interruption was perfectly timed. “You ready to get out of here?”
“Yes.” Jack nearly jumped off the hospital bed and winced at the sharp pain in his leg.
She handed him the scrubs. “You can put these on. They’re loose so they won’t press on your wound.” Pulling a curtain across the window, she paused by the door.
“Thanks.”
“Come on, Lyla.” Mallory pointed to the door. “Give the man some peace.”
Lyla looked at him like she was waiting for a pardon for spilling the news to Brynn. He smiled. “It’s fine, Lyla.”
It was all the grace she needed. She smiled with a wink. “How about you introduce me to that cute doctor you were talking to earlier?”
Jack caught Garcia’s raised eyebrows, clearly having overheard Lyla’s flirty remark that he had no doubt she’d said loud enough to be overheard. He gave his friend an empathetic shake of the head before Nurse Greene closed the door on him.
Alone in his room, with only the hum of the fluorescent lights, Jack released a sigh. So Brynn knew something about his past. Did it bother him if she knew about his cancer? What difference did it make now? None.
Then how come his head was swimming in confusion that had nothing to do with the impact of an explosive? What was he going to do about Brynn? About Amy? Lyla was right, Amy was wonderful and the complete package . . . but for him?
Jack shook the questions aside, anxious to get out of his peek-a-boo hospital gown and away from the emotions that were troubling him almost as much as a bomb nearly killing him and Brynn.
Carefully changing into the scrubs, he was grateful the cut on the back of his leg wasn’t worse. He didn’t need any stitches, but the skin around the cut burned like the anger he carried for the men responsible. When he was dressed, Jack grabbed the bag holding his belongings and met his team in the hallway.
“Yep, that’s it.” Lyla gave Jack a once-over before looking up and down the hallway. “A man in scrubs is hot. I need to find me a McDreamy.”
“This isn’t Grey’s Anatomy, Lyla,” Garcia said.
“Brah.” Kekoa chuckled, punching Garcia in the shoulder playfully. “You’re a fan of Grey’s too?”
“No.” Garcia’s face held all the emotion of a man about to go in for a colonoscopy. He jutted his thumb at Lyla. “She made me binge an entire season. Worst twenty-one hours of my life, and I once spent twenty-three hours in a hole outside of Fort Benning with snakes, ants, and red bugs eating my flesh.”
“Ew, Nicolás!” Lyla wrinkled her nose.
A doctor eyed them, and Jack knew it was time to get his crazy crew out of there. “I think we should head out.”
Garcia turned to Jack. “I spent a few hours with the Virginia Fire and Explosives team. I’ll work with them tomorrow at the scene and keep you posted.” His lips pressed into a tight line for a second. “I’ve seen that kind of explosion before. I’m glad you and Brynn are okay.”
“Thanks, brother.” It didn’t take the seriousness in Garcia’s eyes to remind Jack how close it could’ve been for him and Brynn. A twinge of regret pinched at his conscience. He’d wanted to check on her, make sure she was okay, but the constant flow of doctors and nurses, the MRI—at Lyla’s insistence—had distracted him.
“Me too, brah.”
Kekoa started to come in for a hug, but Jack held up a hand, fearing what the crush of strength would do to his tender cuts and bruising. “A little sore, bro.”
“Right.” Kekoa held out a meaty fist for a bump and Jack obliged.
“Boys.” Lyla called for their attention. “Jack needs to get home and get some rest.” She eyed Garcia. “That means no shoptalk tonight.” She turned to Jack. “Doc says you need someone to drive you home, and Garcia volunteered.”
“And I’m going to see if Nurse Greene”—Kekoa smiled—“needs a date for Lyla’s party on Saturday.”
Lyla backed toward the nurses’ station, shaking her head. “Get some rest, and remember what I said.”
Jack’s cell phone echoed from his coat pocket. He pulled it out and felt his cheeks flame with heat at the name on the caller ID. Amy.
Conflict filled his soul as he silenced the call. He’d only tried to call her back once and hated the sense of relief when she didn’t pick up. What did that say about him? About them?
Was Amy a woman who wouldn’t run from his side? He didn’t know. Their careers kept them apart more than together, and they’d simply settled into a rhythm that felt more platonic than romantic. And if he were being honest with himself, Amy didn’t spark the same flame of—what? The only thing Brynn sparked was confusion. And old feelings that he didn’t need a map to know where they’d landed him. Heartbroken and unable to trust or commit to another woman.