Page 8 of Handling Haven
“Shall we try the gym tomorrow?” asked the therapist, Hannah Burke, as she returned Haven’s legs to their original position, then pulled the blankets back over them.
“Nope.” She’d flat out refused to go to the gym for therapy. She didn’t want the pitying looks from other people when they saw her at her most vulnerable—in a wheelchair. Each morning, a nurse and orderly helped get her into the bathroom to use the freaking toilet. Then, as they stood outside the door, she had to do the Kegel exercises they’d taught her, while sitting on the toilet bowl, so she wouldn’t shit and piss herself during the day. And it didn’t always prevent that, so she was stuck wearing an adult diaper of all fucking things. Nope, there was no way she was leaving this room until McDaniel found her someplace to live with a fucking caretaker they could trust. Dealing with one person seeing her at her worst was preferable to abunch of people.
Sighing loudly, Hannah stepped over to the box of antibacterial gel that hung on the wall and cleaned her hands. “You know, after a while, these four walls are going to come crashing down on you.”
“I should be so lucky,” she mumbled, turning the television back on loud enough to let the other woman know she was dismissed. As soon as Haven was alone again in her private room, she lowered the volume, then dragged the bedside table over her hips and thighs, and booted up her laptop. She trolled the news sites aimlessly, not sure what she was even looking for. She’d give anything to have a secure internet connection so she could look around in the Dark Web, but that hadn’t been possible. Maybe when she got out of here. Something had been niggling her brain about what’d happened before the mission had gone to hell, but she couldn’t figure out what it was. Most of what she remembered was coming to her in brief flashes with large gaps of nothingness.
Her hand froze over the keyboard. “WhenI get out of here,” she said out loud to the empty room. “How the hell is that ever going to happen?”
Haven had no family left, like most of the operatives at Deimos, and outside the walls of headquarters, she didn’t really have any friends. She’d neverbeen in one place long enough to make any. And wasn’t that just ducky—thirty-four years old, a fucking invalid, with no family or friends, and no longer employed. Well, that last part wasn’t completely true. Her superior, Gene McDaniel, had assured her several times that she’d always have a job with the covert agency. They’d get her set up with a secure computer system, with all the bells and whistles, and she’d basically be an information specialist. While she wasn’t on the same geek level as Kenny and the others back in California, she knew enough she’d been able to do her own research most of the time. If she hit a wall she couldn’t climb, she’d called HQ. Haven still had contacts all over the world she could access, it just wouldn’t be face-to-face anymore.
As much as she wanted to get the hell out of the hospital, she also feared it. Here, it was easy to rely on the staff to help her. But out there, she’d have to hire someone to cook her meals, help her get dressed and showered, get her on the damn toilet, and drive her around. And if that person failed to show up, then what would Haven do? At least, whoever it was had to be cleared by Deimos. She’d never been needy, far from it, but now she couldn’t do most things she’d always takenfor granted.
Her legs twitched as they now did several times a day, and her left knee hit the bottom of the tray, rattling it. The impact, while slight, still sent stinging pinpricks through her nerves, and she gritted her teeth until the pain eased again. She refused to take the narcotics or other analgesics anymore—they just made her sleepy and nauseous.
Surfing the net, she didn’t look up when the door to her room swung open. The nurses, technicians, food servers, and janitors were in and out all day long and half the night. How the hell anyone was supposed to sleep in a freaking hospital wasn’t a thought worth analyzing.
Whoever had come in cleared his throat. Haven ignored him while reading the latest news article, and the speculations within, about what had really happened at the “Royal Wedding of the Year.” Same old bullshit. No one had a fucking clue, so they just made stuff up.
“Haven?”
His voice was deep and rumbling, and she was surprised and irritated when it sent a shiver down her spine. “Just leave whatever it is on the dresser.”
“Excuse me?”
“Who the hell are you and what do you want?” She still hadn’t looked up from the computer screen,but she could see the guy out of the corner of her eye. He was dressed in tan BDUs and a green T-shirt that had “ARMY” written across it. His hands were empty. With her experience, she knew the man could be deadly, if the situation called for it, but his body language said he wasn’t a threat to her. She almost wished he was. Jordyn and Carter had refused to give her a loaded gun for protection—they were afraid she was going to eat a bullet. There was a twenty-four-hour, armed guard outside her door, instead. The only way this guy could have gotten in was if he was on the approved visitor list or verified he worked here with a scan of his thumb print. Either way, Haven wanted him gone.
He took a few steps closer. His stature and body language screamed military confidence, but the expression on his face was one of uncertainty. “You ... um ... you don’t remember me, I guess. I’m Frisco ... I mean, my name is Lucas Ingram, but everyone calls me Frisco. It’s the nickname my team gave me ... from the Army.”
“Well, good for you. Now that that’s settled, get out.” She yanked out the elastic tie holding her hair in a ponytail, ran her fingers through the strands, and put it back up again.
Seconds ticked by, but hedidn’t move. Haven used to have the patience of a saint—in her business, it was vital—but since she’d become incapacitated, she didn’t have tolerance for anybody. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore and spared him a glance. “What do you want?”
He shrugged. “I’m sorry if I’m bothering you, but I just ... I just wanted to see if you were okay.”
Her eyes narrowed at him. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him. Standing about six feet tall, he had a sculpted torso most men wished they had and most women wanted to touch. Through the thin, snug tee, she could see the hard curves of his pecs and shoulders. His arms were just as nice. Brown hair, that could use a trim, a beard and mustache that had to be a few days old, and wicked hazel eyes completed the tempting package. She’d always been drawn to the military type, even if they had the undercover look going for them. Bad boys didn’t do it for her—she dealt with too many of them in her line of work ... her old line of work.Damn it. “Why would you care?”
“Well, I was there that night ... when you got shot. I’ve been wondering how you were doing.”
As Haven glared at him, images raced through her mind too fast for her to grasp onto one for more than a second or two.Pain. Screams. Total chaos. I can’tmove. Oh, God, I want to die. Those eyes. That voice.Anger flowed through her veins. “You son of a bitch. You’re the one who picked me up, aren’t you? I told you to leave me! Look at me!” She shoved the table with her laptop on it to the side, sending it crashing into the wall, and pointed at her immobile legs. “I’m paralyzed, you piece of shit! You should have left me there! I should be dead! But no, you had to be a goddamn hero, didn’t you? Well, fuck you, asshole! You want to know how I’m doing? I’m stuck in this bed for the rest of my miserable life, that’s how I’m fucking doing! Now, get the hell out of here!”
She was shouting so loudly her throat hurt, but didn’t care. The guards had apparently gotten used to her temper tantrums because they no longer came running when they heard her yelling. As long as “help” wasn’t part of her rant, they wisely stayed outside.
As Frisco stared at her, the blood drained from his face, and guilt filled his eyes.Well, good, he should feel guilty. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be facing the rest of my life in a wheelchair. I’d be six feet under, which was a lot more preferable than this fate.
His gaze dropped to the floor as his shoulders slumped. He took several deep breaths, before reaching behind his back. Haven knewit was useless to hope he was drawing a gun to shoot her, but, damn, she wished he would. Instead, he pulled something else from his waistband, took a few steps closer to her, and laid it on the bed next to her right thigh. She didn’t look at it. Her fists and jaw clenched as she glowered at him.
He bit his bottom lip and lifted his gaze to hers again. And, God help her, all she saw was sorrow as he said, “I’m sorry you hate me, but if I had to do it over, I still wouldn’t have left you there. I hope someday you can forgive me. Goodbye, Haven.”
The man turned on his heel and strode across the room. Without a backward glance, he yanked open the door and walked out, letting it close again.
Moments passed before Haven’s gaze slowly fell to the object he’d left. It was a rolled-up, black T-shirt. Her hands shook as she reached for it. Holding it by the shoulders, she let it unravel. She swallowed hard, and her stomach sank as she read the white lettering that said, “WAKE UP, KICK ASS, REPEAT.”
CHAPTER 8
Myriad emotions coursedthrough Frisco as he strode out of the room and right smack into two people who’d been standing outside the door with the guard who’d let him in earlier. It was evident from their frowns that Carter and Jordyn had overheard Haven yelling at him—hell, the whole floor must have heard her. His eyes narrowed. “You knew she was going to throw me out, didn’t you?”
Carter sighed. “I had a feeling she would, yeah.”
