She knows how much help I needed getting out of this fucking bed this morning to go to the bathroom after the nurse pulled my catheter out. I'm almost mad at myself for insisting they take the thing out but at the time, I could no longer face the embarrassment of pissing into a bag with my teammate here.
I take a moment to look over her. She looks as exhausted as I feel. She's still hot as fuck. She's always been smoking hot. I can't let my mind go there. I can't picture myself doing all sorts of adult things with her. Getting involved with a teammate is messy. No matter how many times I've tried to picture us together, I knew I could never let it happen.
I wince as I turn over in bed, in an effort to keep her from seeing my face. I'm not the type of man that disrespects women. Hell, I'm not the type of man that goes out of my way to disrespect anyone, but I feel the nasty, vile things I want to say filling my mouth and tickling my tongue. By the time I turn over, shifting my body a little, she's already on the other side of the bed.
“Go on then,” she urges, once again pointing to the walker. “Get up by yourself and go piss. I'll report it back to Cerberus and maybe they'll let me leave. Since you're capable of doing this all by yourself, go to the bathroom.”
I close my eyes. She may be able to put herself in my field of vision, but she can't force me to look at her.
“Leave me alone,” I mutter. “I'm fucking tired.” I know Slick is the best choice that Kincaid and Shadow could have made. She's a psychologist and despite my desires to fuck her one day, I've always been able to maintain my distance.
I don't want her getting in my head. I didn't want her doing it at the clubhouse, and I sure as fuck don't want her there right now. If she were privy to the thoughts I've had since waking up from surgery, if she had any idea how I felt the second I looked down while the nurse was changing my bandages the first time, she'd have me committed.
“The sooner you get over this pity party you're throwing for yourself…” Slick says, despite my eyes being closed. “The sooner you can get on the road to recovery.” I take a deep shuddering breath without opening my eyes. “You have to realize how fucking lucky you are,” Slick continues when I don't respond to her. “Your injuries could have been worse. You have the entire Cerberus clubhouse supporting you,” she says. “And the sooner you wrap your head around what you need to do, the faster you can get back to the team.”
My eyes snap open, that tiny twinge of hope wanting to settle deep inside of me. “Did Kincaid tell you that?” I ask. “Did he say that I was going to be welcomed back at the clubhouse?”
Her silence is my answer. She didn't speak to him about it. She's speaking for him and that makes a difference. I still attempt to hold on to that hope looming in my chest. I know that if I fight hard enough and work through physical therapy and do everything the doctors and the medical staff tell me to do, that I will be capable of returning to service with Cerberus.
I'm well aware of the increasing number of injured soldiers that return to active duty even after an amputation like mine, but being capable and being allowed are two different things.
Chapter 7
Slick
Despite his attitude being expected, it makes it no easier to deal with. He has been in a constant sour mood since the minute he woke up from surgery. I'm no stranger to being around stubborn men. Every branch of the military is filled with them. Aro is no different, his pride getting in the way of everything.
We're technically on a medical transport plane with staff specializing in getting patients from one medical facility to the other, yet other than the pilot and copilot, no one else is on board. He refused to let the two hired nurses board the plane and when I say refused, I mean he threw a temper tantrum like a two-year-old child in need of a nap.
When it was time to board, I knew he didn't want anybody around to see him struggle, but it was like the man couldn't wrap his head around the fact that the team here to help him does this for a living. They have seen strong men, weak men. Their experience runs the gamut of people in need.
I know if his left leg wasn't sore from the physical therapy that started at the hospital in Houston, he would insist on hopping around on one leg rather than letting anyone see him use the walker provided. Stubbornly, he's almost perfected the ability to get out of the bed on his own, like I had insisted several days ago.