Chapter 1
The steady beep drifted into Arthur Hammond’s consciousness. He pushed it away, clinging to the peace in the dark, but like an incessant mosquito buzzing around his head, the noise refused to go away. As his mind refocused, he recognised the sound. A hospital monitor, the steady beep mimicking his heart.
His eyes flashed open as memories assaulted him. The click of the improvised explosive device, the crackle of the explosion, the excruciating pain in his right leg. He shoved at the white, starchy sheets, his hands hampered by tubes running into his veins. Finally, he uncovered his leg.
Or rather his knee and stump.
It was unbandaged and the scars had lost some of their redness.
He battled through the fog of wakefulness as more images attacked. The weeks in hospital, the myriad doctors and therapists, visits from his teammates and the pity on their faces. The never-ending nerve pain that made him want to cut off the rest of his leg.
His father’s order not to return to the army.
Filling his mouth with pills, not caring whether it was too many, just wanting to stop the pain, any way he could.
He’d failed.
Even as he stared down at his missing lower leg, the pins and needles began again.
Despair smothered him and he gasped for breath. No escape. This was his life—crippled, unemployed, useless.
If only the pills had rescued him from it.
His gaze lifted to the blue curtains surrounding his cubicle. The fluorescent lighting glared above, highlighting everything in a stark, jaundiced spotlight. The hospital bed with its thin, white blanket, doing nothing to provide warmth, the table designed to slot over the bed with a plastic jug and cup on it, and finally, almost behind him, the beeping monitor and some kind of IV fluid they were pumping into him.
Outside, people spoke, discussing a patient who had come out of surgery. “He’s stable, but we won’t know the effect of the pills until he wakes.”
“Poor bastard. Do you think he did it on purpose?”
“Only he knows.”
Arthur jerked. They were talking about him. Pitying him. Hadn’t he had enough pity?
Hurried footsteps on the linoleum floor; two, maybe three people. They stopped right outside his cubicle, the scratched, dark brown Blundstone boots covered in red dust showing below the curtain. He tensed and then a female voice said, “I’m looking for Arthur Hammond.”
He glanced left and right for somewhere he could hide. Stupid. He wasn’t moving anywhere. He’d avoided this meeting for as long as he could, and now there was no escape.
Sam had promised not to tell Amy and Brandon about the accident.
Liar.
“He hasn’t woken yet. Who are you?”
“I’m his sister, Amy.”
Arthur’s throat closed over. What was she doing here? Surely she didn’t want a bar of him. Not after he’d chosen to go on a mission rather than attend her wedding to his teammate.
The curtain opened. Behind his sister stood her husband, Brandon, and Arthur’s other ex-teammate, Sam.
His eyes focused on the small woman at the front. His chest squeezed. So much like their mother. Same frizzy blonde hair, same height, same green eyes.
“You’re awake,” Amy stated.
A male nurse hurried in behind them, pushed his glasses up on his nose and smiled. “Nice to meet you, Arthur. I’m Michael and I’ll be your nurse today. How are you feeling?” He checked the monitor.
What was Arthur supposed to say? “I’m alive.”
“Yes, you are,” Michael agreed. “Do you know where you are? Have you any blurry vision? Pain?”
