Grace's stomach clenched, competing with the tightness in her chest, and she feared the pecan bars might make a reappearance.
Damon loved to run. To ride horses and four-wheelers. This was going to devastate him.
"Oh no!" Charity's face crumpled.
"He is in good hands and receiving the best possible care." Captain Moore spoke again. "You will receive updates from his medical team as more information becomes available. If his condition changes, you will be notified immediately."
"Wait," Grace said in desperation. "What—what are we supposed to do? When will we get to see him?"
"You will be notified when he's transferred from Germany to the states. His injury is serious enough that you're eligible for travel through the Department of the Army. A representative from the Casualty Assistance Center will contact you within the next 24 hours to help coordinate arrangements."
Captain Moore ended the call, and Grace was left feeling like she'd been sucker punched.
Charity continued to sob while muttering things like "I always feared this would happen," and "How could this happen to my baby boy?"
Grace wanted to fall apart right alongside Charity, but she needed to be strong for this woman who'd stepped in as a mother figure to her. She'd help Damon's mom through this. And she'd stand by his side no matter what.
Scooting her chair closer to Charity's, she placed her hands on the other woman's shoulders. "Damon is alive. That's all that matters. He's going to be okay."
Grace had to believe that. If she didn't, she'd spiral too.
"You're right." Charity nodded. "We should be thankful." Then her bottom lip trembled. "He lost a leg, Grace."
"I know. And that's going to devastate him. But we'll be there for him. We'll help him through it." Grace forced all the confidence she could into her words.
"You're right. He's my son. Nothing changes that." Charity sniffed one last time. "And he's alive. Thank you, Lord." She looked up at the ceiling, muttering a prayer of gratitude.
Grace said one of her own.
The front door opened. "Sorry I'm so late, ladies. I hope I didn't miss anything important." Faith walked into the kitchen.
Charity's tears started again, and because Grace was so worried about Damon, she joined her.
CHAPTER 23
Light pierced Damon's consciousness followed by the murmur of distant voices and beeping machines. A click sounded nearby, and a band tightened around his arm.
Still in the hospital. But which hospital?
Hazy images filled his mind of a medevac chopper kicking up dust. Durrant swearing repeatedly as he worked on him. Pain engulfing his body as Doc D put a tourniquet on Damon's left leg. He'd blacked out again at that point.
He later came to in a chaotic and rudimentary field hospital that reeked of blood and burned flesh. Then he was shipped to the slightly less chaotic medical facility at Al Asad Air Base that smelled of antiseptic. The only constant was the ringing in his ears and the excruciating pain in the lower left side of his body.
Amid the haze of morphine, Damon recalled snatches of conversation. Emergency evacuation. Amputation. Germany. Medical Discharge.
Wait? Amputation? Were they talking about me?
He struggled to open his eyes, needing to know. But his lids were so heavy, they refused to cooperate.
No, not me.
Then why was he in the hospital? And was he still in Germany or was he stateside now? For the life of him, he couldn't remember.
How long ago was the explosion? Two days? Three? Two weeks? Confusion filled his mind. Trying to find answers to the questions racing through his brain made his head pound.
He succumbed to the darkness that pulled at him. It felt safer than reality.
Minutes or maybe hours later, female voices pulled him from sleep.
