Scorch (The MacKenzie Family Book 17) (7 page)

Mary enfolded her in a hug, and Lacey found she didn’t quite know what to do with herself. Had she ever been hugged by another adult in a non-romantic way? She didn’t think so. She put her arms around Mary MacKenzie awkwardly and patted the other woman’s back.

“Can I talk to you outside?” Declan asked her once his mother had released her.

“Sure,” she said with relief. She needed the escape as much as he did.

Once they were in the hallway she turned to face him.

“Is there anything you didn’t tell us?”

“No,” she said, lips quirking. “I figured you all could handle the whole truth. I meant what I said though. His chances are still iffy at best. And once he’s in the clear he’s got a long, long road ahead of him.”

“I’m going to ask you for a favor,” Declan said.

“You know I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“It’s a favor I have no right to ask of you, but I’m going to ask it anyway because I love my brother and I want him to make a full recovery. Physically and mentally. And you’re the best I know. You can relate to him on levels the rest of us can’t. You’ve been in combat. And you’ve dealt with issues that you might recognize in others. I want it to be you that sees him through recovery. He’s going to need you more than us. I know my brother well, and he’s not going to want his family. He’s going to be ashamed and angry. And when Shane gets angry the first thing he does is distance himself from the rest of us.

“It would mean rearranging your duties and schedule here at the hospital. It would mean being his nursemaid, his companion, physical therapist, and physician all rolled into one. He’s going to be angry with you too, but I know you can handle it.”

Lacey wasn’t sure what favor she’d expected Declan to ask of her, but this hadn’t been it. The hospital had been her identity—her purpose—for eight years. And in the blink of an eye, now she was something else. Declan had wanted her here for her skill, talent, and intelligence. Now he wanted her to be a nursemaid. Disappointment filled her at the turn of events. This wasn’t where she saw herself. But she didn’t let her displeasure show. She owed Declan the life she’d come to love. And she owed him the favor he asked of her. She’d do as any good soldier would and do what he asked of her.

“Whatever you need,” she told him.

S
ix Weeks Later
…

Shane listened to the conversation Declan was having in the next room with one of his agents and his heart thumped hard in his chest. His skin felt too small for his body as rage rolled like a wave over him. His fingers dug into the mattress and the blood pressure cuff on his arm tightened automatically, as it did when his body was under stress. The television his mother had turned on for background noise was just a low hum of annoyance.

“Be even more vigilant on this mission,” Declan said. “There are a lot of rumblings from private firms that aren’t as happy as we are that the government is giving us a majority of the contracts.”

“Fuck them,” Archer Ryan said. “What’s the threat?”

“Like I said, just rumblings for now. Maxim Petrovich is making a lot of noise with congress that we’re developing weapons and technology and not handing all the information over while the products are being developed.”

“What does Congress say?”

“Since they can’t even agree on whether they should all have cereal or toast for breakfast, I’m not too worried at the moment. But Petrovich puts a lot of money in a lot of politicians’ pockets, and he’s making noise. He’s demanding we make our developments an open book to Congress so they can make sure we’re not doing anything that will become a detriment to our country.”

“Oh yeah. Great idea,” Archer said. “Because politicians always keep such great secrets and won’t go straight to the media.”

“That’s part of it,” Declan said. “And it was part of the response I sent to Congress and Maxim Petrovich. Petrovich apparently failed to read our current contract, stating that all patents belong solely to MacKenzie Security as a private entity. They may purchase anything we develop, but they don’t own it or have any rights to it until they do.”

Shane shifted and reached for the TV remote to turn off the noise so he could hear better. He’d dealt with the Petrovichs on a mission a couple of years ago. Maxim’s brother had been one of the most dangerous arms dealers in the world, and it had been Shane and his team who’d taken him out while he was selling nuclear launch codes to Syria.

There was no way Petrovich’s motives for going to congress were altruistic. He wanted to either make trouble for Declan or he wanted something Declan had.

“What are you thinking?” Archer asked.

“Petrovich runs the Russian
mafiya
on the east coast. His loyalty has always been with Russia, even though he plays a good American game. He wants something specific, and whatever it is he wants will be something that plays to Russia’s advantage. Russia has gained considerable power over the last several years. Their bank accounts are full and we’re on the brink of another cold war. They know their power, and they’re not afraid to use it. Which is why I’m bringing in extra security as needed. And why I’m actively recruiting special agents, including the one you’re going to track down and convince to come back with you. I’ve got SEALs available when we need them, but it’s going to put a hell of a dent in the budget.”

“Speaking of SEALs, how’s Shane?” Archer asked.

“His body is healing,” Dec said. “The doctor said the area where they amputated is doing well. They were able to save the knee, which will be helpful when he’s ready to wear a prosthetic. His other leg has had two surgeries and pins were put in, but everything is looking fine there. They don’t think he’ll have to have any more surgeries on that leg, just a couple of skin grafts. The ribs are still giving him a little trouble, but the doctor said that was to be expected since they were cracked. His last brain scan was clear.”

“But?”

“He still isn’t speaking. To any of us. He’s shut himself off, just staring at the TV or the wall.”

Of course he wasn’t speaking, Shane thought. What the hell did he have to say that anyone would want to hear? All he heard inside his head were screams. He was afraid if he opened his mouth that’s what would come out.

“My mother is in and out,” Dec went on. “She went to the café to grab a bite to eat while he’s sleeping. She reads to him and talks to him. We all do. But he never responds. He won’t talk to the trauma psychologist that keeps coming by or the doctors who monitor his progress.”

“It’s understandable, Dec. He’s had his whole world taken from him. Commanding that team was his life. And he’ll never lead them again.”

“I know. And he’s so fucking angry I just keep waiting for him to blow. You can’t see it by looking at him, but I know my brother. His eyes are dead. I’ve seen men who had eyes like that, and nothing good came from it. And that terrifies me. His rage is festering beneath the surface, and until he lets it loose he’ll never start to heal. At least on an emotional level. I don’t know what to do for him.”

“You know I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

Shane almost snorted. Everyone wanted to help. People he knew and people he didn’t know. All of a sudden, everyone was interested in Shane MacKenzie. As if they really gave a shit.

And as far as he was concerned, he wasn’t alive. His life had been the SEAL team he’d commanded. The men who’d become as close as his brothers. The men he’d have died for. What good was he now? Half a man and useless at that.

Now Brady had taken his place as commander and they were out of the country on a mission Shane would never know about. He’d been discharged. Honorably and with valor. But what fucking good did medals do when all he wanted was to get up and walk again—to lead again?

Weakness invaded his body. He could barely move. Couldn’t even take a piss without someone there to help him.

He turned his head and stared at the opposite wall. The machines continued to beep, but he noticed the one that monitored his pulse was moving faster than normal. Maybe he was a little angry after all.

* * *

F
our Weeks Later
…

Doctors came in day after day, asking him how he felt, asking him to get up and move. Telling him that movement would help him heal faster. He just stared straight through them, wondering which one of them had removed his leg. Wondering which one of them hadn’t had the guts to let him die instead of being half a man.

Even better was the psychologist who kept stopping by—
Doctor Earns
. The fucker. Listening to his bullshit almost made Shane want to speak, just to tell the guy to go to hell. What did some polished prick with a bunch of initials after his name know about what he was feeling? The guy had never even served. He didn’t look old enough to have served. He’d never put his life on the line or had others depend on him to get them home to their families. He was a government puppet and nothing more.

He was finished. Finished with hospitals and the nurses who looked at him with sympathy instead of the flirtatious glances he was used to getting from women. He might as well be a eunuch. No woman would want to fuck half a man. And he wouldn’t tolerate a pity fuck from anyone.

He was sick of the doctors and the blood tests. And most of all, he was fucking
sick
of physical therapy. They had him up and moving around, whether he’d wanted to be or not. They gave him pats on the back and pushed him on with excitement-tinged voices filled with false encouragement, like he was a fucking kid learning how to ride a bike for the first time.

The humiliation of having to be lifted from the bed into his wheelchair and propped up and coddled every step of the way burned in his guts until he wanted to put his fist through the damned wall. They told him he’d have to use the crutches until he was ready to be fit for a prosthetic. The swelling in his leg hadn’t gone down as they’d hoped, so the process had been delayed. His other leg was whole, but every time he put his full weight down it felt as if someone was driving a hot poker through the bottom of his foot and up his leg.

They kept pushing for the prosthetic. For him to meet with the R&D team to see the latest technology in prosthetics. They told him he’d be able to run again. To do whatever he wanted to do. But that was a lie. He’d never step into uniform again and he’d never lead his team. He’d never rappel out of a building or jump from a Black Hawk into the water.

He knew these things for a fact, and so did they. But still they lied, yelled encouragements, and made him push himself to the limits to strengthen the leg he did have, as well as his upper body. And because he didn’t want to disappoint his family—who always managed to show up when he’d prefer to be alone—he gritted his teeth and did what he was told instead of laying a path of waste to the doctors at Declan’s precious hospital. He hated it. Hated each and every one of those people smiling at him and pushing him forward.

In fact, he was done with the whole fucking place. He wanted to be alone. He wanted twenty-four-fucking hours without someone checking on him and giving him a fake smile.

He ripped the medical tape from the back of his hand and pulled out the IV, tossing it on the bed. He pulled off the pulse monitor on his finger, not caring that the little machine by his head started the incessant beeping that drove him insane.

He lowered the bed rail and tossed back the covers. It still took him by surprise to see empty space where his leg should have been. They’d cut one leg off of his sweats so he wouldn’t trip on the flapping cloth during PT, and a white-bandaged-stump was all that could be seen. His heart pumped a little faster at the reminder, and the anger that had been festering the last couple of weeks since he’d started physical therapy made his hands shake with rage.

His crutches rested against the wall near his bed, not close enough to reach out and grab, but surely he could manage to hobble a few steps to reach them. And then he was going to put clothes on and catch the first cab out of this place. He was done.

He tossed his legs over the side of the bed, and already beads of sweat were breaking out over his skin at the exertion. God, if his fucking SEAL team could see him now they’d probably laugh their asses off at how weak he was.

A sock covered his remaining foot and he placed it on the floor, putting a little bit of his weight on it. His fingers dug into the side of the bed but he pushed through and stood, wobbling like a newborn colt as he tried to manage his pain. That’s what they kept telling him, over and over again. That he just needed to learn how to
manage
his pain. Well, it was a lot fucking easier to manage the pain with the Percocet they doled out so stingily.

He held himself steady using the bedrail for support and held his other hand out toward the wall, stretching to see if he could reach the crutches without having to move. Sweat dripped from his brow with the exertion and his skin felt as if it were being stretched over a hot flame.

He hobbled on his good foot, each bounce making the pins in his leg feel like knives. He tasted blood and realized he’d bitten the inside of his cheek to keep quiet through the pain. His fingers brushed the top of one of the crutches and he almost laughed with relief.

“Come on, come on,” he whispered. His fingers nudged the crutch again, pulling it forward so he could catch it. But just as it fell forward his leg gave out. There was no warning. One moment he was standing and the next he was on the ground, the crutches falling to land on top of him as if by some cruel joke.

“Goddammit!” He threw the crutch closest to him at the wall, taking out a lamp and a potted plant that the nurses insisted on watering every damned day. Tears of frustration and pain filled his eyes and he rolled to his side. He took the other crutch and slammed it against the equipment placed around his bed, toppling carts and stands to the ground. At least he still had strength somewhere in his body.

“Oh God. Shane.”

The voice of his mother had him pulling back his temper, but
God
, he wished she’d just
go away
. She gasped and he realized he’d said the words out loud. He immediately felt shitty for saying it, and it wasn’t like he could take the words back.

“Go away. Leave me alone,” he said softly.

“Mom,” Declan came in the room behind her and put a hand on her shoulder, holding her back from rushing to her youngest son. “Go grab a cup of coffee for a minute or two.”

“Dec.” She shook her head in warning, looking back and forth between her boys.

“Go, Mom. It’ll be fine. I promise.”

“Both of you just get the fuck out!” he screamed, rolling to his stomach so he could prop himself up, though he probably looked like a fish out of water, flopping around on the damned floor.

“Don’t you talk to me like that, Shane MacKenzie. I don’t care how hurt you are. I raised you better than that.” His mother’s voice was like a whip against his skin and he could hear the hurt he’d caused.

“I’m sorry, Mom.” He dropped his head to the floor and tried to catch his breath. “I really am. But please, just go away for a little while.”

He heard the door close and used his arms to push himself up to face his brother. He knew Dec well enough to know that nothing would budge Dec from that spot unless he wanted to move. Nothing and no one pushed Dec around, especially his brothers. Well, maybe Cade, but that’s only because Cade was the oldest and had a head as hard as a rock and a temper to go with it. Though he’d mellowed considerably since he’d become a husband and a father.