Sweet One (Titan Book 8) (4 page)

“Easy, cowgirl.”

Nicola jumped.
Sugar.
“I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s because you were manhandling your husband.”

“God.” She climbed off the bed, running her hand over her face and into her hair, wanting to rip it out in frustration. “He moved.”

“Didn’t they say it would happen?”

“But I was talking to him, and he, like… responded.”
To talk about our family.
“You know what? He needs to come home. He needs out of this hospital and to have his normal stuff. Like his hat. Where’s his hat?”

“He’s in bed.”

“It should at least be in the room.”

Sugar bit her lip then nodded. “Jared can find it. Or Roman.”

“And I want to take him home,” Nicola said.

Sugar’s eyes went wide, and Nic spun toward Cash. His head pushed back, almost as if he were stretching without using his arms.

“Talk about home. I’ll go… find someone.”

It didn’t matter who Sugar would find or how stunned she sounded. Nicola pounced on the bed. “Are you going to wake up?” she whispered. “Because that would be super cool if you did.”

He wasn’t moving again—back to the relaxed state of nothingness that was Cash.

“We’re going to have a baby.” She curled back into his arms, wrapping his hug around her. “A little bitty family.”

It was a quiet lullaby, soothing her to sleep and letting that dream of his hug come and take her away. Minutes ticked by, and her eyelids felt heavy. She wanted to stay awake…

“Nic.” The raspy, gravelly sound whispered in her dream, just loud enough to pull her awake.

She blinked, not believing because as her eyes opened, his body was just the same—unmoving in the silence. Just a sleeping Cash. So handsome, so perfect. “I love you too much; you know that.” Her eyes sank shut as her heart and mind warred over whether or not to lose hope. “But I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

Scooting up, she kissed his soft lips, and—she felt movement. His lips didn’t part, but they didn’t stay the same. Nicola reared back and stared, scrutinizing. “You’re waking up.”

Nothing.

She cupped his face. “
Please
. Wake up.”

As staring contests went, this one would kill her. It lasted minutes or hours, and he was the most beautiful and heartbreaking thing she’d ever watched.

Her thumbs swept over his cheeks, ignoring the occasional nurse who wandered in. “Today, baby. You’re coming back to us today.”

His eyelashes fluttered.

God, yes.
They did, and he would.

“See, there you go.” She curled in close. “You said my name earlier. I know it.”

But when she touched his hair and cheeks and the outline of his lips with her fingertip, nothing changed.

A knock at the door pulled her attention, and regretfully, Nicola looked up. Beth and Roman hovered close together with an unmistakable new-couple glow, fingers touching then quickly dropping and eyes locked a few seconds too long before they said their hellos. They looked happy and in love but as if they were trying to hide it lest Nicola have some pregnant-woman meltdown. “I’m fine. Chill out.”

“Thank God.” Beth bounded toward the bed, Cash’s cowboy hat in hand. “You’re looking for this?”

“Yes.” It was one piece of the puzzle. For ten minutes, they shot the shit, and then Roman and Beth escaped,
holding hands
. Clearly, they were now
publicly
a couple. That was good—Nicola wanted them together almost more than anything else.

Though not as much as Cash waking up. “Get up already!” She stomped over toward him, put the hat on his head, and glared. Pregnancy hormones were making her Mood-Swing McGee, but all Nicola knew was that at the moment, she wanted to shake him awake.

Instead, she gave him a hug. Then bit his shoulder. Hard.

Cash groaned. His shoulder jumped. His hand moved as though he wanted to brush her away, and Nicola smiled in triumph, kissing where she’d almost drawn blood. “That got your attention, didn’t it?”

His eyelashes fluttered, and Nicola watched as the most beautiful blue eyes that she missed more than she could believe stared back at her.

“Hi.” The word barely choked past her lips.

He didn’t respond and drifted back to sleep. A total letdown.

Then his shoulders bunched. His eyelashes fluttered again. Hesitantly, Cash’s eyes opened, and he looked around the room. He didn’t show any recognition, but he didn’t seem uninterested either. So that was okay? Her worry spiked.

“You were hurt, but it’s okay now,” she said, hoping to soothe him as much as her.

He focused back on her. His tongue darted out and licked his lips. With a jerky switch, he shifted, and his cowboy hat fell over his face. Nicola grabbed it, noticing that he didn’t react.

“So…” She should call the doctor or page the nurse, but they said he’d wake up, and that it wouldn’t be a ten-alarm fire when he did. She wanted to take it slow, just as they’d advised, and give him a moment before she pressed the call button.

His eyes stayed glued to hers.

“You can hear me?”

His lips twitched, then a smile flickered before it stayed.
God.
There was that Cash Garrison lazy-boy grin before it gently faded.

“Good. You have this IV, and you’re peeing in a bag. All things super awesome.” She laughed, hoping to make him smile again, but his intensity scared her. “Do you know who I am, Cash?”

His head tilted in a slight nod.

“God. Thank God.” Nicola launched into his arms. He barely moved, and she didn’t care. She took hold of his arms and wrapped them around her. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Practically in his lap, she pulled back, half-praying, half-ready to kiss the ever-loving snot out of him. “If you know who I am, say my name.”

Cash rolled his bottom lip into his mouth. His eyes bounced from her to the wall, the IV, and back again, and with it went her stomach and her hopes. All her fears came back.

His chest expanded as he drew in a breath, and she watched, waiting, knowing it would be a slow road, knowing she needed to chill. She wanted to tell him it was okay, that he shouldn’t rush. The words would come, and he wasn’t scampering to get away from the crazy woman crawling all over him. So it was all good.

Nicola dropped her inquisition and laid her head on his chest then propped her chin to stare up at him, still with his arms manhandled around her.

Cash licked his lips again, his face drawn as though he were almost pained. “Sweet girl.”

Then he gave her his perfect smile and, slow seconds later, that Cash Garrison wink.

That was all it took. All the tears that she’d had before came back, but this time, it was complete, consuming, absolute rejoicing. “Yes, I’m your sweet girl.”

CHAPTER SIX

“I’m holding your hand.” Nicola held tight, and Cash’s heart squeezed as hard as his hand did.

So did his frustration. What a fucking double-edged sword. He could literally feel how much she loved him, but at the same time, he was crawling out of his skin in a need to be normal again. He had a shit-ton to say, but there were moments his lips took an extra second to form the words.

How did that make him one of the world’s best snipers? It didn’t. In what way was he the best of the best when it came to special ops now? There was just no way.

And how could Nicola look at him as an equal partner—in marriage, at Titan, in life? His stomach turned, and he wanted to vomit.
Fuck.
Or really, he wanted to get his ass down to a firing range and blow something up. Blow
everything
up. He was angry in a violent, raging, out-of-character way.

She leaned into him but didn’t let him take her weight. That he had to think about lifting his arm and pulling her in was a problem, but he did it anyway.

“I like being tucked under your arm,” she whispered as they walked toward the medical center’s conference room.

“I hate…”
That you narrate everything… that I can’t find the words to say this… that it’s all stuck in my brain
. “You’re talking to me like a kid.”

“Doc said to say everything.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Always the good student.” He opened the door, and they were the first ones in the little room. It was cold, and the table sat eight. His operative training should’ve kicked in to assess the scene in a blink of an eye, but he found that he counted the chairs.
Fuck
. Then he lifted his gaze to check for the entry and exit points. Vents, lights. Where should he sit? Where should Nicola sit? Everything was always strategic. But for the moment… he plopped into a seat.

“Doing okay?” she asked.

Cash forced a smile, and hers registered that she knew his grin was fake.

Dr. Lobani came in. They did the handshake thing, everything uncomfortably forced and awkward as though Cash was readying for a death sentence.

“So let’s hear it. What do I need to know? If you could hit me with bullet points, cut the—” His mind stuttered for too long a second. “BS. I’d like that.”

The doctor agreed. “You tell me when you have questions.”

They nodded.

“Closed-head injuries like yours, due to the combination of explosive blast waves, concussive forces, and blunt-object impact, create contusions. Or rather, bruises in the brain. You’re lucky that there were no skull fractures, no hematoma—”

“Thank God,” Nicola murmured and squeezed his hand. They’d both read up on what went down when Cash had been injured.

“No two brain injuries are ever alike, meaning that no two recoveries are ever alike. The most important part of treatment…” Dr. Lobani narrowed his gaze on Cash, and he knew a bombshell was coming. “You must relax and give yourself time to heal.”

“I can relax,” Cash grumbled, and that was a lie. Or at least, he couldn’t relax in the way that a brain-trauma specialist would approve.

“Relaxing might mean different things to us.” The doctor knew this game well, Cash could tell. “Until you’re fully recovered, you’ll have a range of effects: headaches, mood swings, irritability, ringing in your ears. Stay away from percussive forces. For example, no rock concerts.
No time on the range
.”

“I’m a sniper. That’s how I chill.”

The doctor gave them both a pointed yet sympathetic stare. “Exercise falls into the category of
not right now
. As does any vigorous action, including some sexual activities.”

As Cash shifted in his seat,
that
caught him off guard, and he wasn’t sure how or why taking his wife had to do with healing his brain, but he wasn’t going to ask a follow-up—

“Until when?” But apparently Nicola
was
.

“A few weeks downtime, followed by playing it by ear,” Dr. Lobani said plainly as though reporting the weather prediction. “I’d suggest holding off.”

“Right,” Cash grumbled. “And getting back to the fact that I’m a sniper, I need time on the range.” And
vigorous activity
with his woman would happen when they wanted…

“I understand your concerns, and I deal with your type. So I’m going to lay it out there so you understand this in no uncertain terms.” Dr. Lobani leaned forward, clearly familiar with hard-asses. “If you want to continue as a sniper ever again, you have to take care of yourself
now
.”

Ever again
. Acid bit the back of Cash’s throat. “Right. Okay.”

“No caffeine. No alcohol. Your body needs time to find its baseline, and stimulants slow the process.”

“Easy. That’s fine.” Cash shrugged. “Nicola’s on a decaf kick; I can be too.”

Nic coughed.

“You okay?” Cash asked.

“Yup.”

He turned his attention back to the doctor. “No drinking. No shooting for a limited amount of time.”

“For however long it takes. And we need to get you in to see a vision specialist. Ophthalmology will see you today and—”

“I’m sorry, what?” Panic. That was panic. Brain bruises were one thing. No beer—that was another. But his vision? That was his meal ticket.

“Traumatic brain injuries, what we call TBI, directly affect vision. We need to see how it’s affected your sight.”

His chest puffed out. “
It hasn’t
.”

“And we’ll know when we have the exam. Balance is also a concern. We have—”

“Nothing has changed.” If it had, his career was over. The bile at the back of his throat climbed higher. His hands clammed up, and Nicola’s grip tightened until he realized he was hanging on to her with everything he had. “My eyesight is perfect. Give me a week or two, and I’ll belly-crawl a tightrope.”

Dr. Lobani nodded. “To ensure that, let’s stay on the safe side for now. No high visual stimulus: no TV, limit your cell-phone usage unless you need to make the call, and don’t stare at the screen. No tablets, no movie theaters.”

“Well, jeez, Doc. What is it that you suggest I do?”

“Relax with your wife. Take a vacation before—”

Nicola sputtered into a coughing fit. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Sorry. We can do that.”

The doctor nodded. “Go lie on a beach.”

Peachy… from action hero to a lump of nothing in the sand.

***

“What aren’t you telling me?” He tugged her closer. It was enough to feel like a damn invalid, shuffling around the hospital, having his wife treat him with kid gloves, having the entire damn team act as though his mind would turn to mush if he so much as sneezed, but there was more, and he was done with the dance.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit, Nic.” They pushed into the cafeteria. “Everyone’s got an eye on me.”

“You’re lucky to be alive.”

They grabbed two chairs and settled down. “Are you hungry?”

Her face twisted. “No. But you have to be. What do you want? I’ll get it.”

“Nic. Sit.”

She flitted and doted to the point where she might as well have donned nurses’ scrubs. “Seriously. I’m going to take care of you.”

“Sit down, Nicola.”

“Cash—”

“I can get my food. I can get yours. Nothing like that is going to change because I was hit on the damn head. Christ.”