Page 79 of Sloane

That’s when I noticed the bandages down my arm that were wrapped around my pinky and ring fingers. I saw the rest of my hand was fine, but I couldn’t move my arm to use it.

The nurse tipped the cup for me, and I sucked on an ice cube while Major Branson spoke.

“Your Humvee was hit by an RPG, and your squad suffered four traumatic injuries and one fatality.”

I closed my eyes tight for a minute before I opened them back up and simply asked, “Who was the fatality?”

“Second Lieutenant Shawn O’Brien He was sitting at the point of impact and killed instantly.”

It felt like all the breath left my body, and I gulped for air.

I was still processing what the major had told me when Dr. Warneke said, “We assume, based on the severity of your injuries, that you were seated directly in front of Second Lieutenant O’Brien.”

I tried to think back, but I couldn’t remember where I’d been sitting. The entire events of that day were fuzzy. Then I thought, why the fuck does it even matter where I was seated? O’Brien was dead, not me.

“When is his funeral?”

I didn’t care if I was bandaged head to toe like a mummy, I was going to pay my respects.

All three of the men’s faces grew grave, which only added to my ire. I fucking hated not knowing what the hell was going on.

Finally, the major said, “His funeral was ten days ago,” and the doctor softly added, “You’ve been in a medically induced coma for almost three weeks.”

I’m sorry, come again?

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Sloane

It took a while to digest everything the doctor and major told me.

It must have been the morphine that had made me not even notice the bandages on my face and neck. My entire torso was wrapped, so I think I probably thought it was part of the hospital gown. But how the fuck I didn’t notice I was missing half my leg, I still wasn’t sure.

Then again, I had missed almost the last month of my life.

I’d wanted to see how bad the burns were—especially my face, but the doctor advised against looking in a mirror for a while.

“That bad?” I’d quipped. He didn’t return my smirk.

When I was alone, I felt my crotch to make sure my junk was still intact. I still had my dick, so there was that.

Then I saw the condition of the flesh on my body when the nurse changed the bandages, and the gravity of my situation took hold.

In addition to being fucking legless for the rest of my life, I was going to be disfigured.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” the pretty blonde nurse—the one who’d been in the room when I initially woke up, said softly with her German accent.

Was I?

I didn’t feel lucky. In fact, I would have gladly traded my life for Shawn’s.

Fucking twenty-six years old with his whole life ahead of him. Gone.

As I stared at the ceiling, bits and pieces of that day popped into my head.

I remembered when the RPG hit my vehicle, time had felt like it slowed, although I wasn’t able to recall what happened next. But I’ll never forget the searing pain and the smell of burnt flesh as I lay pinned under the twisted metal of the Humvee. The other thing that stood out in my mind was how I had repeatedly asked if my men were all right while a unit worked to extract me. The memory of the utter frustration at not being able to move and find out for myself when no one would give me a straight answer had been almost suffocating.

Lying in my hospital bed, I played the what could have I done differently game. I knew it wasn’t healthy, but I didn’t give a shit. One of my men died under my watch.

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