AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I should escort you ladies back upstairs. Lots to do on the marketing front, I'm sure.” My tone leaves zero room for argument. Although I’m certain that Chad will not attempt to cozy up to Maddie anymore, I don’t trust the other guys.
We make our stiff pleasantries, and I usher them to the elevator at a pace just shy of an Olympic sprint.
Before Maddie steps into the lift, she pauses to give me an infuriatingly knowing look. One sculpted eyebrow arches as her lips quirk.
“Thanks ever so much for the thorough tour, boss,” she drawls, equal parts sarcasm and silk. Speechless, Amanda watches our exchange. As the doors slide closed on Maddie's grinning face, I punch the down button, silently swearing and wondering how long I will be able to hold back.
* * *
I slide into the buttery leather seat of my midnight black Mercedes, the engine purring to life. Weaving through noontime Manhattan traffic, I make the drive up to the Bronx VA hospital in less than forty minutes. A record time for a weekday.
The 1960s concrete beast of a building has never won awards for cheery ambience. Striding inside, the smell of bleach fails to cover the quiet despair that permeates the halls. Still, friendly faces greet me at the nurses’ station now familiar from months visiting Marc.
“He’s in VR therapy, phantom pain work today,” Nurse Kowalski updates me. I nod, my jaw tightening. Marc suffered severe nerve damage when the insurgents’ beatings crushedparts of his left leg, breaking his thigh bone and damaging his femoral and sciatic nerves. The limb survived, but chronic pain signals bombard his brain nonstop. Graded motor imagery should retrain his neural pathways, tricking the mind to expect a healthy leg again.
I find Marc sweating inside a virtual reality headset, teeth gritted in concentration as he practices coordinated motor tasks meant to mirror a healthy limb. Frustrated, he rips off the gear, attempting a pained smile once he notices me. But behind the fatigue, his eyes still glint with the trademark SEAL spark. My brother-in-arms is a fighter all the way.
“Supposedly, this gadget will rewire all the misfiring signals from my jacked-up nerves. But so far, it just gives me a new flavor of migraine.”
I clasp his shoulder. “I've seen research on similar virtual treatments making progress in healing chronic nerve pain. The tech is still early, but the approach is sound.”
I share details on the experimental simulation therapies and motor rehab programs my team have been exploring with NYU. Marc half-listens, scratching at his left thigh brace with shaking hands.
“I’m trying to be optimistic. The cutting-edge tech and the right mindset will fix this mangled mess for sure. I appreciate you being in my corner, brother.” He averts his eyes, pain carved into his face. The Marc I know always beamed sunshine, even during disaster relief efforts in the direst conditions. Now he is slowly regaining his old self, battling the painful aftermath of months held in captivity.
I crouch down, forcing his gaze to meet mine. “The biomed techs at Whitmore are consulting on advanced nerve interfaces. We'll have you tap dancing a two-step before long.”
That surprises a wheezing laugh from him. “No wallowing in the past,” I add firmly. “We will beat this. Supporting the vets is a Whitmore Tech priority now.”
The shadows behind Marc's eyes lighten just a fraction. “Look at you, CEO-in-training. Well, get me mobile, so I can walk out of here and get on with my life soon. I’ve got big plans, you know.”
I squeeze his shoulder, holding back on telling him about Maddie for now. “Focus on healing. The rest will come later.”
“So, how's that at-home VR simulation therapy working out for you?” Marc asks, rolling his neck with a wince. “I gotta say, willingly immersing into fun times down memory lane is brutal. I prefer the mobility therapy, to be honest.”
I let out a harsh chuckle. “It's no picnic. But facing it head-on reduced my nightmares quite a bit.”
“Whatever gets you through the night.” Marc grows thoughtful. “We shouldn’t have to bear these memories forever. We deserve some light after that fucked up ordeal.”
I clasp Marc's shoulder. He searches my face, and I keep it carefully blank. We sit in companionable silence then continue chatting through details of his rehab routine. I keep the conversation firmly rooted in the present.
But my father's demands from this morning sink back in, and I decide to share them with him.
“The old man is relentless about me settling down,” I grunt. “As if a wife could somehow exorcise the demons.”
Marc gives me a wry smile. “Don't trap some poor woman into eternal misery for your old man's sake.”
I give a noncommittal huff, though thoughts of Maddie's laughing eyes from our night on the trail keep popping up. She stirred something inside me I thought was dead after my return home. Pure, unabashed desire, for one, but also something more, long forgotten.
A damaged soldier like me has no right to a girl like her. The torture I endured—that we endured—seeing my team slaughtered in front of my eyes, has me clinging to darkness. I need to steer clear of her, let her enjoy a man who will appreciate her fully. But like a moth to her flame, I would give anything to bask in her glow, if only for a moment more.
Even though I try to push away the thought, the seed of an idea has formed. Maddie had mentioned she needed money. And I need to accelerate my standing as the Whitmore heir to allocate resources toward wounded veterans like Marc.
It would be a win-win.
If Maddie agrees to a temporary arrangement, a mutually beneficial contract of sorts, it could ensure us both getting what we need. And even though I have no right to selfishly claim her for myself, the thought of her with another man makes my blood boil.
“I should get back to the office,” I say to Marc. “And you should be getting back to your exercises. But keep your schedule clear. The first dance at my wedding might be on the books soon enough.” I throw him a pointed wink.
