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Maddox was silent a moment. “She needs counseling.” He didn’t say more, but that was enough.
Trace throttled the rage boiling in his gut. His rioting emotions wouldn’t help either of the women navigate this crisis. “Hook her up with Marcus Lang.”
“Planned to. How serious are things between you and Bridget?”
“I’m going to marry her as soon as I convince her to say yes.”
His boss smiled. “Shouldn’t take long based on what I’ve seen the past few hours. She waited outside the operating room door every minute you were in surgery and refused to leave your side once Sorenson moved you to recovery.”
His hand tightened around hers. “I’m blessed, sir.”
“That, you are. I’m happy for you. Now, rest and recuperate so you can return to the field with your teammates.”
Trace grinned. “Yes, sir.”
Maddox stood. “I’ll be on watch in the hall. Sleep if you can.”
As soon as his boss closed the door, Trace glanced down to see Bridget watching him.
“How do you feel?”
“With this much heavy-duty pain meds in the IV, I feel great.”
“I’ll bet. What happens now?”
“We go home in a day or two where I’ll spend time recuperating and enduring physical therapy.”
“How long will that take?”
“Three months, maybe less if I heal fast enough.”
“And after that?”
He studied her. “What do you want to happen?”
“A wedding.”
“Isn’t that my line?”
Bridget sat up, eyes sparkling. “You’re not running away?”
Trace scowled. “And let some other schmuck have you? Not in this lifetime.”
That brought a delighted laugh from her. “Good to know.” She kissed him, careful to avoid touching his injured shoulder. “Hurry up and get well.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
A month later, Bridget walked in the door of her Freeport home and paused in the doorway to stare at the vases full of flowers that dotted every flat surface. Her living room looked as though the local floral shop had delivered every arrangement known to man to her doorstep. Courtesy of her sister? “Ruth?”
“She’s having dinner with Adam and Veronica tonight.”
The beloved masculine voice brought a surge of pleasure and drew her gaze to the doorway between the kitchen and living room. “What are you doing here? I thought Attila the Hun had painful plans for you today. I planned to treat you out to dinner to celebrate surviving your first week of rehab.”
Trace’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “The torturer’s daughter had a dance recital so I conned the substitute therapist into cutting short my rehab.”
And that was why Maddox had insisted Brickman, aka The Torturer, head up Trace’s physical therapy. He wanted Trace back with his team as soon as possible and that wouldn’t happen if the physical therapists let the sniper slide on rehab. Brickman wouldn’t do that.
“You can still take me out to dinner. We should celebrate.”
