PATTI ANN COLT

Homecoming

◊ Seven Weeks Since Injury ◊

 

Travis Hunter, U.S. Navy Lieutenant, SEAL Team Three, had days like everyone else where he mentally beat himself up for things gone wrong. At this moment, he climbed the stairs to his San Diego apartment with his new wife, Army Captain Cait Michaels Hunter, in his arms.

Fifteen steps.

Each one forced a worry his new marriage was headed for another crisis. They’d already survived more than one disaster since Afghanistan. Without all their ducks in a row, the reality of their quick marriage was about to be tested.

His apartment.

He had a bed which Cait needed desperately. The long day of travel had left her shaky, in horrible pain, yet soldiering on.

His place had power and water. Maybe. Payments were on auto-withdrawal, but best laid plans sometimes went awry.

The coffee pot worked. There was no coffee or food in the fridge or cupboard. The used kitchen table had one chair. It was all he needed when he cleaned his gun.

No sofa.

His gun safe and foot lockers decorated the bedroom.

Because he was never here. He stored things here. Slept here when necessary.

But he didn’t want his new wife thinking he would toss her aside like some broken part of his non-existent personal life.

Consider this: thirty-five years old and he finally had a personal life.

That stopped him cold. He was a SEAL. He could adapt to anything. But this? A life with someone who mattered? It was new ground.

Life could go wrong. Fast.

He wanted Cait as part of life, and he would never accept how close he’d come to losing her.

Anger. Guilt. Fear. All scraped his guts raw, knocking him off balance.

“Would you stop pausing and get up these stairs, please?” She rubbed her face against his shoulder and hissed. “My face still hurts on that side.”

“Must have been the brick wall you hit,” he muttered. Hunt closed down any idea of tracking the group that executed the suicide bombing. He’d chosen to stick with Cait. She needed him.

Cait laughed softly. “Was that supposed to be humor, Hunter?”

“Yeah. Bad humor.”

She didn’t answer him. Testy pain spoke in the hiss from her lips.

Hunt tightened his arms around her, trying to transmit how precious she was to him without stumbling over the emotional words jammed in his throat. He took the remaining steps in gentle, smooth succession. Awkwardly balancing her, he pulled his keys from his pocket and juggled to get the key in the lock. “Don’t expect much, honey. I haven’t been here in four months.”

“Hunt, my household goods are in storage. My car is at my sister’s house. I have no home. This will be fine. Please, babe – I need a bed. I’m over this…”

She tried hard not to let tears fall in front of him. He faced tough shit all the time, but Cait crying hit him hard.

He kissed her forehead and opened the door. “I’ll get you there, honey. Give me a sec.” He pocketed his keys and shifted through the doorway, bride in his arms – which was not as romantic as it should have been. He flipped the switch, and the ceiling light in his small living area came on. The empty room, with its stretch of beige carpet, felt hollow.

But Cait sighed, soft and sure. “Home.”

“Yes, we are.” He maneuvered into the bedroom and flipped the light switch there, too. The apartment smelled fresh, so the cleaning lady had been here. But the bed’s bare blue, name-brand queen mattress looked bereft in the small room. “I’ll get the sheets. Let me set you in the chair.”

Her lips settled against the throbbing pulse in his neck. “Thank you.” Her whisper washed over him with a familiar spark.

The brown leather recliner sat lonely in the corner. He’d bought the chair on the spur of the moment and never regularly sat in it. The blinds were drawn over the window leaving the afternoon light on the opposite side. He never noticed how dark the room could be. His life needed to undergo some serious adjustment. He didn’t want this for Cait. He eased her onto the chair’s padded seat, wincing when she groaned.

Thank God the sheets were clean. So were the blankets. The cleaning lady had earned a bonus. He made quick work of making the bed.

She slumped back into the chair and inspected the room. Her lips quirked and broken laughter floated in the quiet. Her blue eyes, minutes before drowning in misery, danced with amusement.

As much as he loved hearing her giggle, Hunt assessed to see what he’d missed. There wasn’t anything laughter worthy. “Cait?”

“Is that a gun safe?” She pointed across the bed.

“Yeah.” Confused, he dropped to his haunches in front of her. “What did I miss?”

Cait rubbed her face. “Cave. Weapons cache. Bedroom. Gun Safe. The similarities are hilarious.” She giggled again, then gave a sharp gasp. “Darn ribs.”

Hunt grinned and swore in equal measures. That fucking mountain mission should have been a humanitarian-only action but turned into something violently different. Not to mention the part where she nearly froze to death. He grimaced. “Similarities to be sure. Not one I did on purpose, though.”

“Of course not.” Her smile lingered, and the tension leaked out of him.

He rose to his feet and pulled back the covers.

Cait used her toes to slip out of her shoes. Her new phone chimed. She fished it from her pocket. “Jackie. Checking on us.”

Jackie Shay was Cait’s sister by choice, and she couldn’t have been a better one. Geez, he now had not only a wife, but a sister, too. One of these days the edge would be off his disbelief.

Hunt smoothed the white blankets on the bed, bemused. Only his team checked on him. “She’s making sure I got you here.”

“No, she can track my phone. She knew we were here.” He turned his head to hide his expression. Security issues reared. “I only allow tracking with her and her with me.” As if she read his mind.

Not something he wanted to argue about because he wouldn’t mind being able to track her either. He couldn’t allow Cait to do the same thing with him, but she’d understand. Besides, Jackie had become trusted family for him, too. “It’s fine. If you’d let me, I’ll add you to my phone so I can check on you, too.”

She nodded. “But if I go to Texas to visit Jackie sometime while you’re gone, you’ll know why. Cause that’s the only place I’d go unless my commander gets demanding. Thanks for replacing my broken phone, by the way.”

“You’re welcome. What are you going to do about your Commander?”

“I’m going to let the disability leave days expire first.”

“Still planning to get out?”

“Yes. The conversation with him didn’t change the situation. But I’ll do as he asks and take some time to think about it. I’m not changing my mind. We can’t work our marriage with two commands, and I’m not going to be in any shape to take on the kind of missions they’ll need me to. It’s going to be months, not days, before I’m solid again.” Her bland verbalization tugged at the anger he kept locked tight inside. Damn fucking terrorists.

 She struggled with her gray, zipped hoodie, and he stepped forward to help her. “Let me go to the truck and get our bags.”

Cait shook her head. “Help me get undressed. I need to lay down.” The humor had left her eyes and all that remained was deep suffering. “We are alone here, right? Just us?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Get me naked, and not in a good way, dammit.”

“You want a T-shirt?”

“You have one?”

Hunt didn’t answer. He lifted the lid of the black footlocker near the closet door and pulled out a gray Navy shirt. “I think this will work.”

Cait took a deep, careful breath. “Yes. Can I have it?”

“Have?” He smiled at her. “Are we bargaining?”

“You aren’t getting much of a bargain.”

Hunt threw the shirt on the bed and helped her shed the sling keeping her shoulder and arm immobile. He unbuttoned the white shirt and shimmied her out of the black yoga pants, white undershirt, and black panties. If she hadn’t had red marks, surgical scars, and fading scratches and bruises reminding him too starkly of her injuries, he would have stripped and joined her. But she moved like every bit of her hurt. He struggled against helplessness.

“Don’t look.” Her pale face only made the misery in her blue eyes stand out.

“You are beautiful, and I’m so lucky you’re here with me. Don’t you forget it.” He eased his gray Navy T-shirt over her head, slowly shifted her broken arm and damaged shoulder into the sleeve, and put the sling back in place. “Need the bathroom or any pain meds?”

“Yes, on the first, and then some Tylenol and water. I am not starting the pain medication route. I’ll have to learn to deal another way.”

“I’ll get you those right now.” If he missed his guess, she’d hold on to use the facilities but would be asleep before the Tylenol. He would reverse the order to get the meds in her. He hustled to the kitchen for Tylenol from his stash and a glass of water. She swallowed the meds with no protest, then he swept her into his arms.

She was a tough cookie and didn’t ask for a thing – which made him want to give her everything.

 The small bathroom space was a constrained construction of white on white, but with the two of them in the space, it was ridiculously compact. They might need a new apartment. He opened his mouth to mention the idea. Her eyes went shut. He shoved the idea to a remember for later note in his head. The list was longer than traffic in the exit lane for the naval base.

“Come on, honey. Sleep time for you.” He carried her to the bed and laid her gently on the sheets. “I’m going to bring our bags up from the truck. I’ll be right here, though.”

“Mmmm, okay.” She burrowed the non-sore side of her face into the pillow, her body giving into the need for comfort and sleep.

He hadn’t any more than tucked the covers gently around her than there was tap on the front door.

She stirred a bit, but he laid a gentle hand on her head. “Doogie. No worries.”

She sighed again and her tension eased, asleep in seconds. Thank God. The pain would reach out and bite her later but couldn’t prevail against exhaustion.

He quietly shut the bedroom door behind him.

A quick peek in the peephole confirmed the visitor. He opened the door, awash in relief. Chief Warrant Officer Two Warren Dugan stood on the other side with two bags of groceries.

“What did you buy? I said coffee.”

Doogie snorted his opinion of the idea. The muscular, Black man wore cargo shorts and a gray and silver etched Mardi Gras t-shirt. He powered his way through the door only to stop short in the kitchen doorway, his expression torn between horror and gleeful judgment.

“Oh, my man. We gotta do something about this. You have a woman in the house now! You have nothing here. Do you even have a frying pan?”

Hunt pressed a hand to his face, half in shame, half trying not to laugh.

“She’ll need chocolate and healthy stuff, and something besides coffee to drink, and have you two even eaten anything not in a restaurant or a fast-food place in the last couple months?” He shot Hunt a look that said how are you still alive?

Hunt stepped back and pulled out the chair from the table, sinking into it with as much fatigue as Cait. “It was a bit of a grueling trip, and the answer would be no.”

 “Well, good news. I brought the fixings to make you homemade tacos and guac.” Doogie flicked on the kitchen light and settled the bags on the counter. “If I can find a frying pan.”

The plastic grocery bags bulged with milk, cereal, fruit, toilet paper, and a host of not yet identified other things.

Hunt groaned. “I have one. In the cupboard. Not that I ever eat here.”

The man turned with mock alarm, scanning the room like he expected disaster in every corner. “You do have a bed, right? She’s not in there curled on the floor, is she?”

Hunt took the hit of sarcasm. “She’s curled on a queen size bed fully made and sound asleep.”

He stood, stretching to wake muscles.

Before he got too comfortable, he needed to do a couple things. “Stay with Cait. I need to go to the apartment office, get my wife added to the lease, and unload the truck.”

Doogie’s eyebrows lifted. “You have too much satisfaction in your tone saying the wife word, and how much could there be to unload?”

“Only our bags. Won’t take me long.”

“Take your time, bro. I must find things in your kitchen.” The man would face a ten-day seek and destroy mission with more enthusiasm.

Hunt got to his feet and grabbed his keys.  “Asshole.”

“I’m not the one without even a potholder.”

“Make a list and take care of my wife, please. That’s the one thing I do have that you don’t.” Hunt smirked and went to the door.

“Rub it in, mister.” Doogie froze and gave Hunt the eye. “You’re not getting any, are you? Because if you are, I’ll beat you to a pulp. Let the woman heal.”

Hunt flipped him off. “I can take care of my wife. No worries there,” he promised, softly.

He did have certain urges, but what he wanted wasn’t sex. He wanted her whole again. The feisty woman from Afghanistan. Not this pale, hurting version of her he cradled like the teddy bear he never had.

Hugs had never made things right in his young world.

Maybe now they could.

“You know I’m kidding, right?” Doogie came in behind him. His friend had been at his back so long he didn’t even jerk when the hand hit his shoulder.

“Yeah, keep it up. I need some normalcy. So does Cait.”

“Her I can handle. A few phone calls to my mama, and we’ll get her squared away.” Doogie’s mama, Adele, was a diva of the finest order. If she was in Cait’s corner, they would have no worries. “Get your errands done. I’ll text you if she wakes.”

“She won’t. She’s bone tired. I’ll tell you the rest when I get back.” Hunt left.

Even with Doogie on watch, it wasn’t easy to walk away – but that was being her husband now.

Halfway down the iron stairs, his phone rang. Scott.

He pushed the button to answer while walking. “Commander.”

“Welcome back to San Diego. I trust all is well.”

“Yes, sir. We made it safely.”

“And Doc? How is she?”

“Tired. But holding on.”

“Good. I wanted this to wait until you come back to work next month, but I don’t think it should. I don’t want you to hear it anywhere else.”

“Hold, Commander.” He stopped at the bottom of his stairs and nodded at a neighbor entering her apartment. He moved quickly across the freshly paved parking lot to his truck and slid into the seat, closing himself in the quiet, private space. “Neighbors, sir. I’m in my truck.”

“Not staying home?”

“A couple errands to run. Doogie’s staying with Cait. What happened?”

Scott didn’t waste words. “The explosion that killed the service member and injured Doc at the Bagram health center was IQS connected. Not enough left of either suicide bomber, but there’s info tracing to his group. There’s other tendrils intelligence is still tracking.”

IQS. Ibrahim Qurban Sadozai. A terrorist famous for attacks across Asia into the Middle East. The activities had pushed the man to the top of the Department of Defense most wanted. His favorite target – U.S. military.

 Hunt’s team had found him. Ordered the drone strike that killed him a few weeks ago. Right before Cait had been injured in a bombing. She’d looked IQS in the face during a medical mission.

Hunt took the punch and ground his teeth against strong emotion. “Do we know who executed it? Have they connected the action to our presence in the mountains? To Cait seeing him?”

“Undetermined. The drone killed many of his upper people. The Afghans are checking their sources, but so far investigators are sticking with the idea it was planned prior to the drone strike.”

Hunt straightened in his seat. His thoughts rolled one over the other. “Results classified?” He went silent for a second, at war with his conscience. “Never mind. I’m not going to tell Cait anyway. It serves no purpose, and she’s got other things to worry about.”

Scott’s tone stayed neutral. “I agree. The results don’t change things.”

Hunt wrestled strong emotions bubbling to the surface. He killed people for a living and lived in gray areas where some died and others would not.

Cait’s injury twisted his gut.

The weeks he’d sat by her bed, willing her to survive, still wove through fragile emotions.

He wasn’t currently some invincible SEAL.

He was a man trying to be a good husband with no clue how to handle the wreckage.

If he saw the bastard again, he might go at him and ignore the consequences.

But that would get him killed.

And Cait would still be hurt and alone.

“Thanks for the info, Harrison. I appreciate it.”

“See you at work soon?”

“Yes, I’ll be in within a couple weeks to update paperwork and get oriented. We have a lot to work out.”

“Let me know if I can help. Talk soon.” Scott disconnected.

Hunt needed a minute in the silence of his truck to argue with his need to be an honest partner in his relationship with his wife and his protective reaction that said shield Cait.

She didn’t need this information. It would not help.

She didn’t talk about IQS.

But she dreamed pretty bad stuff. PTSD and TBI headaches leveled her.

Hell, he dreamed fucked up stuff, too.

So far, he’d been there to wake her, talk with her, and hold her. Conversely, her hand on him could spring him from his brand of bad.

Was he justified in keeping this secret compartmentalized when she had clearance for it?

Or was he being too protective and destroying trust before they even got to their three-month anniversary?

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#Saga of the Red Sofa#  (Partial Scene)

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Carter kept the sofa steady while Doogie powered up the last few stairs. Hunt moved into the apartment and got out of the way. Standing on end in the doorway, the red monstrosity was worse for wear.

“Oh my!” Cait’s soft voice from behind him expressed her dismay, too. She leaned on her crutch in the bedroom doorway, her hair tousled, his Navy shirt hanging on her frame. Her eyes wide, she gazed around. “Hey, Bax, Tommy. Carter, what’s this?”

“Surprise, Doc.” Carter’s neutral face gave no clue to his feelings.

“We brought a sofa for the living room.” Tommy’s shit-eating grin pretty much covered the whole deal.

“I can see that.” The red velvet sofa rocked in the doorway. Doogie on the other side shoved it past the doorstop.

Hunt slipped to her side. She seemed stable for the moment, but he’d spent weeks covering her shaky movements. He wasn’t ready to let go. He crossed his arms and stood ready. “Um, it’s Doogie’s spare sofa from his game room.”

Wide-eyed, Cait innocently smiled. “Oh, I bet there were games on that thing. He shouldn’t have.” Said with all sweetness, Hunt rubbed a hand over his mouth to cover his snort.

Baxter didn’t cover anything. His deep laugh rolled through the empty room. “That’ll teach you not to have a sofa, LT.”

Tommy and Carter hovered in the doorway helping Doogie tip the sofa into the apartment. With a bit of maneuvering, they got the heavy furniture through the doorway. Tommy turned to the two of them. “Where would you like it, ma’am?”

“Ma’am? Seriously, Tommy.” Disgusted Cait was an improvement over struggling Cait.

Tommy grinned, his eyes sparking like a demon on Halloween. “Still Army, ma’am. But I’ll switch. Lucky Charm, where do you want it?”

She pointed at the one long wall in the apartment. “That’s one huge piece of furniture for a tiny room, isn’t it?”

Hunt moved behind her to wrap an easy arm around her waist and rested his chin on her head. “It’s comfortable, so I guess it could be worse.”

She chewed her bottom lip. “I have nothing that matches this, but it’s an excuse to shop.”

Doogie was the last in the door. “Don’t just stand there, you slackers, the rest is in the truck backseat, and the table still needs brought up.” Doogie shifted and shoved the big furniture every direction until he was satisfied with where it was.

Baxter, Tommy, and K-Rock shuffled out.

“The table?” Cait’s whisper wiped all attempts to maintain decorum out of his mind. He laughed.

She stared at him over her shoulder. “This is funny?”

He raised a hand to put himself in the innocent category. “I didn’t do this.”

Carter stopped in front of her and studied her eyes and her stance like the medic he was. “Gotta let family do. We thought you were dead.” He paused for a moment, then nodded as if satisfied. He went out the door, following the charge to the truck.

She sobered and twisted in Hunt’s arms. “Please don’t tell me the table is red, too.”

“Nope.” He held his silence for as long as he could. For a spec ops warrior who knew how to keep secrets, he caved too fast.

“It’s green.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh Lord, help us.”

He kissed her hair, grinning. “Don’t worry. It gets worse. Doogie brought pillows.”

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