Fight to the Finish (First to Fight #3)(80)

She studied him, while she had the chance. His face was slack, mouth open just a little. The man was gorgeous, and looked like a little boy while he slept. His left leg was extended straight out, and a pair of crutches propped up in one corner. His hand held hers, fingers entwined as much as they could through the gauze wrapping around them. More than once, a nurse had come by and had had to ask multiple times for him to let go before they could check vitals. He was so worried, even if he didn’t say it. She saw it in his eyes. He didn’t want to let her go.

“Knock, knock.” Reagan’s voice came through the thick curtain, and she stuck in one hand to wave. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, but shh.” There was no way for her to make herself more presentable, so she just looked down to make sure the hospital gown covered everything it could, and smoothed her hair from her face. “Graham’s sleeping, finally.”

“You’re worried about him? Oh, honey.” With a tsking sound, Reagan came in and pressed a tender kiss to the top of her head. “You’re such a mom.”

“Guilty.” After a moment, she asked, “Has anyone called the Cooks? Or Zach?”

“Marianne called her parents to explain, and asked them not to mention it to Zach. We figured you would want to explain what happened after you get home, when he can see clearly you’re okay.”

“Thank you.” Starting to tire, Kara let her eyes close for a moment. It felt soothing to her brain. Like spreading cool aloe over a sunburn. “What time is it?”

“Seven.”

“AM or PM?”

“Wow, you really were out of it. Only PM.” Reagan’s hand rubbed her forearm a bit. “How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted, which is ridiculous since all I’ve been doing for the past, I guess, eight or nine hours is lying here and sleeping on and off.”

“Hospitals aren’t restful places. Even if you were asleep, it probably wasn’t a good deep REM,” Reagan pointed out. “But let’s ignore that. Have the MPs come to speak with you?”

“Yes, and the Feds, which shocked the hell out of me. But I guess it’s looking like it might be considered a terrorist threat, in the legal sense. I don’t think that’s what it is, though.”

“It’s crazy, is what it is.”

“No doubt about that.” Kara opened her eyes briefly, took in her friend’s less-than-pulled-together look. Her skirt was rumpled, her shirt half-untucked, her hair was falling from its formerly tidy chignon, and her eyes were rimmed in dark circles. “You look like hell.”

“Hey, at least I’m wearing real clothes.”

“Touché. What’s going to happen with the event?”

“It’s still going on, just at a new location. The first one, most of the damage was contained in the storage room, but the fire folks don’t want anyone going in there for a few days while they do a thorough check.”

“Sensible.”

“Sensible, but inconvenient. Luckily, Hood is big enough that we can change to a different gym. It’s tighter, not as nice, but it’ll suffice. These guys spend months in tents and little metal boxes in the desert. Competing in a boxing tournament in a second-rate gym is hardly going to stop them.”

“But he burned . . . something.” She tried to remember. They’d told her. What had they told her? “Something.”

Reagan’s voice softened as she said, “He burned their uniforms. No problems there, though. The Army and Air Force teams stepped up and are loaning our guys their practice gear so they can continue.” She paused a moment, and Kara closed her eyes again to let her friend’s voice drift over her. “It’s interesting. There’s this insane rivalry, almost like high school all over again. You know, two football teams from across town meeting up on homecoming night. Everyone’s got blood lust. But, you know, the adult version of that.”

Kara smiled, but kept her eyes closed.

“And yet, the second there’s trouble, when they could have said, ‘Aw, too bad, so sad, Marines. Better luck next year,’ everyone scrambles to help instead. Because everyone knows how hard everyone else worked to get here, and nobody wants to win by default.”

“Brothers in arms,” Graham said in a gravelly voice, waking up in inches. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, as if worried he might have drooled. He sat up and rubbed a thumb over Kara’s cheek, and she smiled at the caress. His touch erased so much pain.

“How you feeling, baby?”

“Tired.”

“We’ll get you out of here as soon as we can.”

“Graham, Greg and Brad are out in the waiting room. They didn’t want to come back in case she was sleeping, or not up for it. Why don’t you go keep them company while Kara and I chat a bit?”

He looked at her, uncertain. But Kara knew he wanted to hear how the matches had gone on in his absence. He simply wouldn’t admit it in front of her.

“Go.” She pushed weakly at his arm. “Go away so we can have girl time.”

“If you’re sure . . .”

“Very. Shoo. And call Zach for me, would you? I can’t handle it right now; it would give me a headache. He’d love to hear from you, though.”

“You got it.” He brushed a kiss gently over her forehead, then stood, grabbed his crutches and hobbled out.