Page 5 of Pieces Into Place

He’s not wrong. You have to be a certain kind of person to do what we do for a living.

“Well, I hope it was worth it. You have another concussion,” he says, with a shake of his head.

“Fuck!” I drop my head back and stare at the ceiling of the green canvas tent.

“How long am I out?” I ask.

Doc looks up from where he is making notes. “Depends,” he says. “Do you have a headache?”

“No,” I lie.

His eyes squint as he studies me. I’m certain he knows I’m lying, but he continues. “How about nausea or dizziness?”

“No, and no,” I continue to answer dishonestly. I might as well steer straight into the skid at this point.

His lips are pursed as he looks at me with disbelief. Eventually, he stands and rubs his chin in thought. “Three days,” he says.

I nod in understanding. He’s doing me a favor here, and I know not to push my luck. I stand too fast and nearly fall over as the dizziness threatens my equilibrium. I manage to correct my stance with a quick step back.

Doc places his hand on my shoulder and looks me in the eye, so there is no mistaking his serious tone. “You get one more concussion, Kane, and you’re on your own. I won’t look the other way next time.”

“Understood,” I say, briskly walking away before he can change his mind.

Chapter two

Kane

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. I’m confused as I try to open my eyes. The loud ding is vibrating through my ears and making my head pound with each jarring note. My eyes painfully roll around while briefly observing the bright lights before closing automatically. I hear shuffling and anxious voices but can’t open my eyes.

“Kane, can you hear me?” A disembodied voice calls. “Kane, open your eyes.”

The voice is familiar, but I can’t do what it asks. Everything is so heavy. My body is being pushed into the bed by an invisible lead weight. I can’t move or speak, but I am acutely aware of the voices around me.

I struggle to remember something, anything, but it’s a dark, blank canvas. Before I can take my thoughts further, the black, viscous space pulls me under again, and everything goes peacefully quiet.

I’m not sure how much time has passed when the voices call me back again, but they are sharper now. A warm hand touches my face, causing me to lean into it. It’s soft and familiar with a scent I recognize. My head is no longer pounding, but the accompanying heaviness remains.

“Kane,” comes the feminine voice. “I’m right here.”

Then, her face forms in my mind. It’s Kathrin. She’s here. Why? How did she get here? I lazily open my eyes and see my girlfriend staring at me with wide, concerned eyes, her red hair wild and messy while tears stream down her cheeks.

“Kathrin,” I choke out. It’s barely a whisper as it crackles through my dry lips. “How are you here?”

“Sshh,” she says as she kisses my temple. “Don’t talk. The doctor will be here soon.” Her familiar scent washes over me and calms my rapidly beating heart as my sluggish brain comprehends what’s happening. Her soft fingers thread carefully through my hair, making me want to close my eyes again, but I force myself to focus and assess my situation.

As I slowly scan the room, I realize I’m in a hospital. A shiver runs through me as I acknowledge my current reality. The machines that have been screaming in my ears are attached to a blood pressure cuff, an oxygen cannula, and an IV running into my left arm that pumps clear liquid into my veins. A tube runs thick, tan liquid nutrition from my nose into my stomach.

The doctor saunters in, looking pleased about something. “Petty Officer Hudson,” he starts, “it’s nice to see you awake.”

“Where am I?” I ask with a shaky breath.

“You’re in Bethesda, Maryland,” he replies as if being here is the most normal and natural thing in the world. But it’s not normal because my memory is beginning to return, and the last thing I remember is heading out to an operation six thousand miles away.

He approaches, looking at the IV bag hanging behind me before continuing. “Are you in any pain?” he asks.

I quickly determine that I’m not in pain; the IV is doing its job well. “No,” I reply. “But I’m confused.”

“That’s normal,” he replies. “I would expect you to feel like you’re in a bit of a fog after what you’ve been through.”