Hard Beat(77)

“Tanner Thomas.” My body vibrates with so many emotions that I find it hard to stand still as I wait for her to look for my name on the approved list. And then when her brow furrows, I immediately start to panic. “I’m approved. I know I am.” I pound a fist on the desk, an action that jolts up my shoulder and causes me to wince.

She puts her hands out in front of her in a “calm down” gesture. “I’m sure you’re on here. Just give me a moment please, sir.” Her eyes meet mine, trying to calm me just like the soothing tone in her voice. I don’t think she gets the only thing that is going to calm me down is seeing Beaux.

But I turn around and walk a few feet away from the desk, my hands kneading the back of my neck as I try to contain the frustration while I wait yet again to see her.

“Mr. Thomas?” Eyes wide, I’m at the desk in a second, leaning forward and ready to take off in whichever direction her room is. “Sorry for the wait, but since you aren’t immediate family, I had to make sure you were approved by the chain of command.” My audible exhale of relief fills the space between us. “Ms. Croslyn’s room is three hundred seven, and I —”

I don’t hear anything else she says because I grab my bag and am already taking off, searching for her room number. And when I finally find it, in my mind I hesitate for the slightest second before barreling through the doorway to face what I fear head-on.

The immediate sight of her staggers me. She looks ten times worse than I ever imagined and a hundred times better than my fears had her looking. I expect my feet to falter when I see her bruised face, the cannula in her nose for oxygen, her small body dwarfed by the white, imposing bed, but they don’t. And I don’t pay an ounce of attention to the two doctors off to the other side of the room as I take her in because nothing and no one matters right now but her.

I’m at her bedside in a second, bag dropped to the floor, and my hand immediately finds one of hers while my other hand reaches out to cup the side of her face. And ironically I don’t know which of us I’m trying to reassure more with the rub of my thumb over her cheek. And Christ, even like this, that zing when I touch her skin ripples through me in that indescribable and unmistakable connection between us.

I can’t help myself, even though a small part of me worries I might hurt her more, but I sense that I won’t. I lean forward and press my lips so very gently to her forehead, tears stinging the back of my closed eyes as we stay like this for a moment, allowing myself to feel the warmth of her skin, know she’s still alive, still fighting, and that I haven’t lost her now that I’ve found her. I draw in a shaky breath, my heart at an uneven pace, and my lips needing to tell her the one thing I can’t hold back any longer.

When I draw in a deep breath, despite the medicinal scent of the room, I can still smell the underlying scent of her shampoo, and I hold on to that little piece of normalcy as I lower my mouth to her ear with my hand still on her cheek. “I’m here, rookie. I’m here and you’re going to be okay and we’re going to get through this. I’m so sorry I couldn’t get to you fast enough. I…” My voice breaks as I’m overcome with the emotion of everything that has happened, especially finally being with her again, skin to skin, heart to heart. “I fought my way to you, Beaux, and now you’d better fight as hard as you can to get back to me because damn it, I love you. Did you hear me? I love you.”

Leaning my head against the side of her face, I draw in comfort from her as I let my heart hope for the first time since the ricochet of the blast froze it with fear. “I was stupid and didn’t tell you that night on the rooftop and I’m sorry and regret it but I’m saying it now. And I’ll say it to you every day until you open those eyes of yours and hear me say it to your face. I love you, Beaux Croslyn. You’d best get used to that.”

As I press one more kiss to the side of her cheek, my heart feels a little lighter after my confession, but my soul is a bit wary of the road ahead. When I lean back, my eyes still trained on hers, I become cognizant that one of the doctors who’d stood in the corner of the room is now on the opposite side of the bed. But when I switch my focus from Beaux to him, ready to ask a zillion questions about her status and prognosis, I realize he’s not a doctor at all, not even in uniform as are most of the people in this hospital. My gaze trails up the Levi jeans, muscular arms crossed over his wrinkled T-shirt, unshaven jaw, and then stop when I meet tired but demanding blue eyes.

“Name’s John,” he states.

Unsure why the man feels like a threat on my testosterone radar, I rise to full height to meet his eyes, pissed that he’s ruining this moment between Beaux and me. “Is there a problem, John?” I ask, irritation prevalent in my voice because I’m more concerned over finding her actual doctor so that I can get an update on her condition than wanting to deal with whoever this guy is. He’s already rubbing me the wrong way before he even says anything of relevance.

He clucks his tongue before pulling his lips tight as he nods his head, eyes never leaving mine. “Yes, I believe there just might be,” he says in a slow, even drawl.

It immediately gets my hackles up, and I feel like I’m back on base with Beaux when she was surrounded by all the soldiers who were teaching her how to play darts. “How so?” My gaze flickers momentarily to the doctor in the corner of the room whose attention we’ve piqued before returning to the man across from me.