But now itwashim. His family. His problem.
Between the losses suffered by the JTT, and now Ko, he couldn’t do this anymore. Maybe he’d seen too much violence and bloodshed in his lifetime? Maybe he didn’t have it in him to continue fighting for the greater good? To fight for a country hellbent on self-destruction.
Whatever the issue, he couldn’t keep doing the same damn things, expecting a different outcome. He’d hit his proverbial wall, and there’d be no rebounding from the collision.
What did it matter anyway?
He couldn’t keep doing the same damn things even if he wanted to. The bullet to the knee precluded the possibility. The moment the career-ending metal had pierced his skin and shattered bone, he’d become an albatross. A liability no military unit would—or should—trust on mission.
As a medical sergeant, he’d seen it before. Even after rehabilitation, injuries like his were sideliners, rendering even the toughest of men incapable of performing their duties to the standards required.
Bottom line—he couldn’t be trusted to keep anyone alive and safe. Not in his current physical condition. Not after recovery.
His career as a member of an elite special ops anti-terrorism unit? Done. His usefulness to the Joint Task Team beyond dispensing narcotics? Zero. His desire to fight for the country trying to kill him? Non-existent.
So what the fuck did he do now?
His back sore from too many hours of lying flat, he attempted to sit, stifling a groan as the stitches beneath his ribs pulled, and his knee protested. Fists planted into the mattress, he made slow progress toward his goal, moving his ass a hair at a time until he had his shoulders pressed against the headboard.
Wiped out by the excursion, his hand trembled as he reached for the cup of water on the bedside table. Fingers searching, he found his target, and mission accomplished, he raised his arm and took a sip.
The cool liquid soothed his parched throat, and he realized Samuel must have gone for a refill not too long ago. Thoughtful and unexpected. His mother had always been the one who’d been there for him growing up. The one who’d bandaged his cuts and scrapes. The one who’d cared for him when sick, always making sure a cup of water sat nearby.
His father?
Too busy. Too important. Too wrapped up in the hospital to worry about his own kid.
“You okay?” Samuel asked.
“Just peachy.” He executed a round trip and managed to keep from spilling, his glass hitting the old wooden surface with a smack. “Didn’t I tell you to go home?”
“And didn’t I tell you, I don’t take orders from you?”
Jamie huffed. If his roommate wanted to stay, nothing he could do about it. Short of threatening to shoot the man if he didn’t leave, he didn’t have many options. Not like he could toss him out the door. Fuck, he couldn’t even lift his upper body without losing his breath.
“You want the light on?”
“No.”
“Jamie?”
“Yeah?”
“About Kosamina…” Samuel hesitated, waiting for a reaction. When he didn’t get one, he continued. “I’m sorry.”
“For which part?” Jamie demanded, his tone gruff. “Making her feel like she wasn’t welcome in our family? Trying to convince her our marriage was a mistake? For her finally deciding you were right and filing for divorce? Or for her dying in the street from a bullet to the head with another man’s child in her womb? Which part is it you’re sorry for? Because I’d really like to know.”
“All of it.”
“Yeah, well. Too little. Too fucking late.”
“I know, but I wanted to say it anyway.”
“Do you feel better now?”
“Not particularly.”
“Good.”
