White lies (Page 21)

Frank was there the day they took the trach tube from Steve’s throat, and he waited in the hall with Jay, holding her hand. She looked at him questioningly, but he merely shook his head. Several minutes later a hoarse cry of pain from Steve’s room made her jerk, and Frank’s hand tightened on hers. "You can’t go in there," he said softly. "They’re removing his stomach tube, too."

The cry had been Steve’s; the first sound he’d made had been one of pain. She began to tremble, every instinct she had screaming at her to go to him, but Frank held her still. There were no other sounds from the room, and finally the door opened and the doctors and nurses exited. Major Lunning was last, and he paused to talk to Jay.

"He’s all right," he said, smiling a little at her tense face. "He’s breathing just fine, and talking. I won’t tell you what his first words were. But I want to warn you that his speaking voice won’t be the way you remember it; his larynx was damaged, and his voice will always sound hoarse. It will improve some, but he’ll never sound the way he did before."

"I’d like to talk to him now," Frank said, looking down at Jay, and she understood that there were things he wanted to tell Steve, even though Steve didn’t remember what had happened.

"Good luck," Major Lunning said, smiling wryly at Frank. "He doesn’t want you, he wants Jay, and he was pretty autocratic about it."

Knowing just how autocratic he could be, Frank wasn’t surprised. But he still needed to ask Steve some questions, and if this was his lucky day, the questions just might trigger some return of memory. Patting Jay’s hand again, he went into Steve’s room and firmly closed the door behind him.

Less than a minute later, he opened the door and looked at Jay, his expression both frustrated and amused. "He wants you, and he isn’t cooperating until he gets you."

"Did you think I would?" a raspy voice demanded behind him. "Jay, come here."

She began trembling again at the sound of that rough, deep voice, so much rougher and deeper than she remembered. It was almost gravelly, and it was won- derful. Her knees felt rubbery as she crossed the room to him, but she wasn’t aware of actually walking. She was just there, somehow, clinging to the railing of his bed in an effort to hold herself upright. "I’m here," she whispered.

He was silent a moment; then he said, "I want a drink of water."

She almost laughed aloud, because it was such a mundane request that could have been made of anyone, but then she saw the tension in his jaw and lips and realized that, again, he was checking out his condition, and he wanted her with him. She turned to the small Styrofoam pitcher that was kept full of crushed ice, which she used to keep his lips moist. The ice had melted enough that she was able to pour the glass half full of water. She stuck a straw into it and held it to his lips.

Gingerly he sucked the liquid into his mouth and held it for a moment, as if letting it soak into his membranes. Then, slowly, he swallowed, and after a minute he relaxed. "Thank God," he muttered hoarsely. "My throat still feels swollen. I wasn’t sure I could swallow, and I sure as hell didn’t want that damned tube back."

Behind Jay, Frank turned a smothered laugh into a cough.

"Anything else?" she asked.

"Yes. Kiss me."

Chapter Five

When she opened the door to Steve’s room the next morning, he turned his head on the pillow and said, "Jay." His voice was harsh, almost guttural, and she wondered if he’d just awakened.

She paused, her attention caught as she stared at his bandaged eyes. "How did you know?" The nurses were in and out, so how could he have guessed her identity?

"I don’t know," he said slowly. "Maybe your smell, or just the feel of you in the room. Maybe I recognize the rhythm of your walk."

"My smell?" she asked blankly. "I’m not using perfume, so if you smell me from that distance something’s wrong!"

His lips curved in a smile. "It’s a fresh, faintly sweet smell. I like it. Do I get a good-morning kiss?"

Her heart gave a giant leap, just as it had the day before when he’d demanded that she kiss him. She had given him a light, tender kiss, barely brushing her lips against his, while Frank, in the background, had pretended to be invisible; but it had taken her pulse a good ten minutes to settle down afterward. Now, even while her mind shouted at her to be cautious, she crossed the room to him and bent down to give him another light kiss, letting her lips linger for only a second. But when she started to draw away, he increased the pressure, his mouth molding itself to hers, and her heart slammed wildly against her rib cage as excitement shot through her.

"You taste like coffee," she managed to say when she finally forced herself to stand upright again, breaking the contact.

His lips had been slightly parted, with a disturbing sensuality, but at her words they took on a smug line. "They wanted me to drink tea or apple juice–" he made it sound like hemlock "–but I talked them into letting me have coffee."

"Oh?" she asked dryly. "How? By refusing to drink anything until you had your coffee?"

"It worked," he said, not sounding at all repentant. She could imagine how helpless the nurses were against his relentless will.

Despite the fact that she no longer needed to communicate with him in their old way, her hand went to his arm in habit, and she was so used to the contact that she didn’t notice it. "How are you feeling?" she asked, then winced at the triteness of the question, but she was still rattled from the effects of his kiss.

"Like hell."

"Oh."

"How long have I been here?"