Page 94 of Sloane

I let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry. I haven’t made a decision about whether to tell Sloane, and I’ve been paranoid I’m going to run into one of his friends. Then you drop that you’re dating Josh, and I hadn’t even considered something like that, and it freaked me out a little.”

“First of all, I’m not dating Josh. He had an extra ticket to the beer festival and invited me along, that’s all. And second, you’re my ride or die. My loyalty lies with you. No questions asked.”

“You’re my ride or die, too.” My eyes welled with tears. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The corners of Tammy’s mouth turned up.

“You know the thing I’m looking forward to most about you having this baby? Other than actually holding Peanut, of course, is you not bawling over every damn thing.”

“God, me too.”

No one was more tired of me crying all the time than I was.

“I’m just glad it’s not because you’re sad anymore.”

“Nope. I had to let that go.” The second I read that my emotions could affect the baby, I made a concerted effort to find reasons to be happy.

“So maybe you should just let sleeping dogs lie.”

“You’re probably right. Besides, he’s got enough to deal with; he doesn’t need to add being a dad to the mix.”

“I don’t give a shit about what he has to deal with. The minute he did you dirty, I was done with his ass. It’s you I’m worried about. I don’t want you opening that wound again.”

“So why did you tell me he’s being moved to San Antonio?”

“Because I know you’d want to know. And even if I have an opinion about what you should do, it’s ultimately your decision, and you deserve to have all the information available.”

I teared up again.

“Goddammit, stop being such a good friend!”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Sloane

“Good news, Captain Davidson,” Dr. Warneke said when he walked in my room. “You’re healthy enough to be transported back to the States.”

Finally! I’d been a big enough pain in the ass that they were sending me home. I’d told Ryan on our last call I expected it would happen soon.

Then the doctor added, “The Army’s Burn Center at Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio had a bed open up.”

Cue record scratch.

“I’m not going back to Camp Pendleton?”

“No. They’re not equipped to handle how extensive your injuries are. You’re in for dozens of more skin grafts before you can even think about beginning physical therapy and getting fitted for a prosthetic. Not to mention, Sam Houston has an excellent mental health team.”

“So, what are you saying, Doc?” I said dryly. “I need mental help?”

He raised one grey bushy eyebrow at me but didn’t say anything.

“Look, this”—I gestured from the left side of my face down my body—“is taking some getting used to. But I’m coming to terms with it.”

“I’ve been straightforward with you about your need for emotional therapy, Sloane. Yet, you stubbornly won’t work with the therapists here or take part in any support groups. I’m hoping once you’re back on United States soil, maybe someone will be able to get through to you. You’ve been through a lot, it's understandable that you’re struggling emotionally, too.”

“I’m not struggling emotionally,” I retorted defiantly.

“Is that why you only allowed one visitor, for one weekend, and returned dozens of your girlfriend’s letters? Because you’ve got it all together?”

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