Page 50 of Luck Be Mine
“The nerves aren’t healed, yet.”
“It’s closer, though. The feeling is channeling as it should. Pain killers? You still have some?”
Cait straightened in her chair. “I have a prescription from my neurologist. He was more optimistic than me.”
“Let’s get it filled and give him a call.”
She looked into the eyes of the man who always stood by her. His green eyes steady, she snagged hope. “Let’s do it.”
Chapter Eight
◊ Back to Life ◊
The bustle in the Operations building told Hunt something was afoot the moment he walked in the door. Another ping hit his conscience for taking duty hours to go with Cait to the neurologist.
But they’d waited a week to get in.
He had to go with her.
He was home. No excuses would work.
The conflict between his job and his wife many times jabbed him with unrelenting guilt. He could have all the logical conversations with himself about important matters, but the Navy had a differing definition.
Mission first.
He violated the standard and went with Cait.
He had to hear in real time the doctor’s prognosis.
He skipped main operations, knew Doogie would have monitored whatever mess was in the making. He should visit his office first and check in, but he wasn’t going to do it. This mattered, too.
He approached the workroom and hesitated. Should he knock? It wasn’t his workroom anymore, after all. He’d emptied his cage right after promotion.
Hunt skipped the debate and entered the room, noting the usual chaos. They were cleaning cages and reorganizing, reviewing equipment and talking shit.
“LC,” Baxter called.
Brennan shook his hand. “Good morning, sir.”
“Jack, you can drop the sir in here.”
“Sure thing, LC.” He grinned. “What’s up? New mission?”
Hunt shook his head. “Ask Doogie. I’ve been out. Which is what I wanted to talk to everyone about.”
Doogie moved to his side. “Answers?”
“Yep.” Hunt shifted so he could see all the men.
They’d gone silent.
He cracked a smile. “I’d like to announce…” He paused to draw it out. “Cait has the feeling back in her left hand.”
Whistles and clapping erupted.
“Thank God,” Tommy offered, coming to shake his hand. “Give her our best.”
Doogie crossed his arms and looked him square in the eye. “What’s the word from the neurologist?”
