With a grunt, Trevor pushes to his feet, grabs the empty cans, and limps off towards the kitchen for another of the caffeinated drinks. “Not really. I got a single blip on the radio an hour ago. But all I heard before he cut out was the passphrase and him saying “twenty-four hours.”
“You’re hurt.” I eye his gait as he heads back with a fresh can. “What happened?”
Focusing on me, as if he didn’t realize I was even here until just now, he shakes his head. “Just my ankle. It’ll heal. You okay?” His gaze lingers on my arms, but rather than focusing on the scars, he seems to be more concerned with the bruises.
With a roll of my eyes, I point to the couch. “Sit. Take your shoe and sock off. I’m a doctor, remember?”
Trevor arches a brow at Ford as he drops down. “I’d do what she says, Trev.” Ford chuckles as he opens the fridge and rummages around inside. “You hungry, buttercup?”
“Yes. Very.” For the first time since this whole ordeal began, I feel…comfortable. Like I could eat. Sleep. Laugh. Even though we’re still trapped in Afghanistan, Faruk is probably hunting for me, and too many people have died, there’s something normal about Ford offering to cook for me and examining a patient, checking for injuries.
“You sure you want to do this?” Trevor asks as he prepares to pull off his boot. “My last shower was a while ago.”
“Unless you’ve suddenly developed gangrene, I’ve seen worse. Actually, scratch that. Even if you have, I’ve seen worse. Off.” Patting my knee, I wait for him to strip off his sock and put his foot up. His entire ankle is swollen, but there’s little to no bruising and as I manipulate the joint, he only winces a little. “Just a mild sprain. I can wrap it for you. Let me get the first aid kit.”
When I’m done, he flexes his toes, stands, and eases his weight onto the foot. “Damn good wrap job, Doc. Ford, I’m going to catch a few hours. The encrypted connection on the laptop’s a little spotty, but you should be good to contact Dax and have Joey message her family. Just don’t tell anyone where we are or when we’re coming back.”
“Do we even know when we’re going home?” I ask.
“Soon,” Trevor replies. “We’ll give Nomar until twelve hundred tomorrow, then we’re getting the fuck out of this country. If he doesn’t show by then, we’ll call in Ryker. You might want to give him a heads up.”
With a nod to Ford, Trevor limps off to the second bedroom, shuts the door, and a few seconds later, there’s a dull thud like he literally fell over onto the bed.
“I don’t think he’s slept in thirty-six hours,” Ford says. As I join him in the kitchen to wash my hands, my stomach rumbles. He’s already diced fresh fruit and portioned it out into bowls, and buttered bread for grilled cheese sandwiches.
“We can really get in touch with my family?” I ask. “It’s safe?”
Ford wraps his arm around my waist and buries his face in my hair. “Email only, but yes. It’s safe. Wren—she works with us at Second Sight—is a tech genius. No one goes into the field without her equipment.”
“There’s so much I don’t know about you.” Resting my cheek against his chest, I listen to his heartbeat, the strong, steady thumping easily my new favorite sound. I fell asleep to it last night—or this morning. Whenever he held me. And now…it’s like my touchstone. This is real. He’s real. And he’s mine. My throat tightens, emotion threatening to steal my words, but I tip my head up to meet his gaze. “Tell me about Second Sight.”
15
Joey
Outside the windows, darkness shrouds the quiet neighborhood. I spent the afternoon in Ford’s arms. Curled on the couch talking about…everything and nothing. His job. His coworkers and friends: Dax, Wren, Clive, and Ella. How much he loves helping people. My time with St. Jude’s. The kids I’ve helped save. The ones I’ve lost.
Trevor emerges from the second bedroom, and I jerk at the sound, but it only takes me a few seconds to relax now. It’s amazing how reassuring it is having two lethal men with guns on my side for a change. “I slept all day,” he says as he sinks onto the sofa and grabs his laptop. “I’ll keep watch tonight. You two can get some shuteye.”
Apparently I look as tired as I feel. Despite the rest I found in Ford’s arms when we arrived, I haven’t had more than an hour at a time since I was taken, and though it’s only a little after 8:00 p.m., I’m exhausted. Also…nervous. We talked so much, even kissed a little. But what happens now?
Ford links our fingers and helps me to my feet. The look he gives me…his hazel eyes are so intense, my insides clench—a subtle warmth creeping all the way down to my toes, and I want more. More than I’ve ever wanted since we were last together.
Staring at the bed as he shuts the door, I fumble for the shirt still tied around my waist. “Do we…need to be ready to run?” I ask.
“There’s been no sign—”
When his answer comes from right behind me, I yelp softly and whirl around, my hands slapping against his strong chest hard enough to send him stumbling back a step. “Oh God. I’m sorry. I…” With a shake of my head, I shrink away and focus on my breathing to get my heart rate back down to something close to normal.
“What’s wrong, buttercup? What did I do?” Ford’s so apologetic, so worried, but to his credit, he doesn’t follow me. Just stands still and watches me with concern.
“I…I can’t stand anyone coming up behind me. It’s stupid. I knew you were in the room. I asked you a question. But—”
“You can’t reason with PTSD, Joey.” Ford sinks down onto the mattress, choosing the side closest to the door. “No coming up behind you. Noted. You don’t have to explain unless you want to.”
Now I feel even worse. “I do. But I don’t know how. Not without…going back there. And I can’t…not yet. Not here.”
Nodding, he reaches for the edge of the blanket. “Can I hold you tonight?”
