His devilish smirk when he banged his gloves together before declaring war on my heart.
Our shared smile over that poker table, the brush of his finger against my hair as he was drug past me in the bunker. The look in his eyes the first time he said my name. Our goodbye at the airport. The moon dancing off his skin when he made love to me.
“Can’t you see I’m still fighting for you?”
“Fight, Chris,” I sob into my hands. “Please keep fighting,” I beg from the back of the car as I shatter in our memories.
I relive every minute until the brakes squeak at the entrance. It takes an agonizing hour and twenty minutes to get cleared before I’m rushing down the halls of a place that’s still all too familiar.
Fear of every kind paralyzes me as I pause a few rooms away from his door, too afraid to take a step further. The void calls me, and I bat it away. I need to be present.
He’s mere feet away, and I’m too terrified to know what reality I’m going to have to live with.
Chris’s words from the plane the day we parted wash over me, elevating my panic.
“There’s a reason we were thrown into that bunker together. I have to believe that. You were destined to be a part of my life. You’ve changed me. I need you to know that. For you to know how incredible you really are. In another lifetime, I know we’d have been perfect together.”
“Please, God, I don’t want to wait for him in the next life. I need him in this one.”
Taking a deep breath, I exhale it all in a gasp when I hear the rumble of a familiar drawl.
“Full house, ladies, and I’ll tell you now, the key to executing a good body shot is the use of a little tongue.”
What. The. Fuck.
Mixed emotions race through me as I freeze where I stand, sure I’m imagining that voice.
“You know, Ingrid, a little more ingenuity with your next shot, you could be the front-runner in my dreams tonight.”
Jealousy surges through me as I poke my head into his room and breathe a sigh of relief. A few much older female nurses throw their heads back with a laugh as my heart bursts with gratitude.
Briggs’s smirk turns into a weak smile as the ladies toss back their paper cups with the hooch he just poured them from a Listerine bottle I’m certain he had smuggled in. I stand at the door and attempt to calm my heart. He’s shirtless, with a large amount of padding taped to his chest next to his right arm. His grin lights up the room as he shuffles the deck. He doesn’t have much in the way of color, and I can tell he’s struggling a bit to entertain, but that’s his way. He’s always been the center of attention, his gravity pulling everyone within radius straight to him. It’s the way he stole my heart.
“I’ll give you ladies a wild card this round, but if you lose this hand”—his dimple pops—“you strip.”
These women have to be in their late fifties, and he’s got every single one of them giggling like teenage girls. I cough out a sob at the door, and his eyes shoot straight to me.
“You son of a bitch,” I sob out with relief as I cover my forehead with my hand and crumble where I stand. His eyes widen, and disbelief mars his features briefly before he schools them.
“L-ladies, if you’ll excuse me, it looks like I have one very beautiful, and very pissed off Texan to deal with.”
The nurses all turn my way and are instantly on their feet after taking one look at my face. Tears falling rapidly, I allow him to see me break. I let them all see it, because I’m done hiding.
They file out with quick goodbyes as I stand there in shock and awe.
“You’re okay.” My voice cracks as I shake my head and fist my eyes, my body shuddering with relief.
Briggs repeatedly swallows before he speaks, as I take a step into the room. “H-how are you here?”
“I have always been with you. Even when you couldn’t see me.”
He nods. “I know that.”
“Jesus, the news made it seem so—” I can’t control my relief as I shake in front of him. “So, you’re okay?”
“Just a flesh wound.” He shrugs, his lips curling at the edges. “The fucking news,” Briggs mutters, shaking his head. “You know better than to listen to that bullshit. They moved me from ICU to the penthouse last night.”
I walk over, lifting his padding to inspect the damage. It’s a lot more than a flesh wound, but it’s already healing nicely.
“Thank God,” he whispers below me. “Finally, a hot nurse.”
“This isn’t funny,” I scorn, as tears fall from my chin to his chest.
He grips my restless hands in the warmth of his. “I agree; it’s been hard getting sponge baths from a woman who can grow a better beard than me.”
He doesn’t let go of my hand as I take the seat next to him. “You know you’re the prettiest when you’re pissed, right?”
“You have full range of motion?” I ask, ignoring him.
“Yep,” he whispers, giving me a wink. “Wanna try it out?”
“What in the hell is wrong with you?”
He gives me a lopsided smile. “Xanax and painkillers, maybe a shot of hooch.”
“Jesus,” I rasp out. “I guess it’s a good thing you have your sense of humor.”
“It’s come in handy,” he whispers, as all the humor falls from his face.
“Yeah,” I agree. “Yeah, it has.”
I nod as tears I can’t stop drain me. I’ve been running so long on adrenaline, and I’m crashing fast.
“Katy,” he growls low, kissing my hand as reverently as he did the first time in the hospital. “Why are you in Germany?”
I look up at him, and our eyes lock. “I love you, Christopher Paul Briggs, with all the pieces left of me, and that’s why I’m in Germany.”
He regards me with caution before his eyes fill. He puffs out a breath, his voice cracking. “So, you’re going to torture me this way every time I piss you off? Because, you know, I can do much worse.”
“I came to ask—to beg—for you to give this hero stuff up now.”
“Sounds like a good idea. I’m thinking I may suck a little at this, seeing as how this is my second time here in a year.”
“You’re serious?”
“I figured out a thing or two while I’ve been here myself.”
Relief floods me.
“Then do you mind pissing me off a little less, war hero?”
“Happy to oblige, but I think we both know I’m not the hero.”
I draw my brows. “What?”
“I know, Scottie.”
“Know what?” He sits up further on the bed, a wince flitting over his features. I move to object, and he shakes his head before cradling my face. Golden brown eyes implore mine as his thumbs whisper a caress over my chin and lips.
“How long was I out?”
“What do you mean?”
“How long was I out before you pulled me out of that Humvee?”
It dawns on me then, and I move to pull my face away because I don’t know how to tell him I failed him. He refuses my retreat, gripping me tighter while his fingers roam, soothe, intoxicate me.
“How long was I out, Katy?”
“Five minutes, maybe more.”
“Sergeant Scott, can you please recall the events of the day of September 26th?” I take a sip of water and clear my throat.
“We were en route to a humanitarian mission.”
“You were in the rear passenger seat?”
“Yes, sir, Sergeant Briggs was driving. Corporal Mullins was in the front passenger, and Specialist Jones was in the back with me.”
“You volunteered for this mission?”
“Yes, sir, I did.”
“Please proceed.”
“We were about an hour into the drive when the first Humvee exploded. Sergeant Briggs turned the wheel to try to avoid the collision, but it all happened too fast. We tapped the bumper and got the backlash.”
“Did you at any time lose consciousness?”
“No, sir, I was jarred pretty hard. When I realized what happened, I was the only one awake.” My voice cracks as I recall the sheer terror of realizing I might be the only one who survived it. I swallow hard.