Tessa Teevan - Incinerate

“Gee, thanks. Now you tell me. You could’ve saved me a lot of wasted time if you’d enlightened me years ago,” I say sarcastically, knowing he’s right about my stubbornness.

Shaking his head, he disagrees. “And risk the wrath of you telling me to butt out and mind my own business? No, thank you. You probably would’ve been on a plane to Vegas ready to elope if I’d tried to talk you out of that relationship.”

Sighing, I know he’s right, yet again. It’s weird, but he really does know me better than anyone else. However, I still wouldn’t take his advice when it comes to my dating life. He stopped meddling years ago after I threatened to set up a dating profile for him online. Sometimes I still wish he’d go for it. I want to see him happy, but I don’t push the issue as long as he repays the favor.

We talk a little bit more about my volunteering and he tells me stories from the operating room. There’s no more talk about Drew, cheating, or the possibility of a rebound, and for that I’m thankful. Ever since Lucy brought it up, I’ve had a nagging feeling in the back of my mind, wondering what this new guy will look like. I hate the thought and try to push it away, but I can’t stop thinking that a convenient, casual hook-up with a hot soldier may just be what I need.

Knox

“YOU DID what?” I ask Cohen angrily with clenched teeth, hoping I didn’t hear him correctly when he told me that some dude has volunteered to help cart my broken ass around town for the next few weeks.

Cohen holds his hands up in surrender, knowing that I’m going to be pissed at having to accept a handout. “Look, Knox, I can’t take any more time off from school. Finals at UT are in a couple of weeks and I have to get back to studying. If I don’t pass my Analytical Chemistry class, I can’t get into the Advanced Inorganic Chem class I need to take so I can graduate next year. If I don’t graduate, I can’t get into med school, and I really don’t want to put it off for another year.”

I use my good hand to bring the recliner into a sitting position, wincing as a sharp pain shoots up my spine. “It’s fine, Cohen. I know you have to get back to school, but I don’t need another babysitter.” His eyes narrow as he takes in my appearance, the back brace and arm cast indicating otherwise. “Seriously. I can see if Jace can help me out until you’re done with school, and then you can take back over since you’re planning on spending the summer here.”

“Yeah, well, that was the plan, but Jace hasn’t been cleared to drive yet, and Lexi’s only here every other weekend. There’s no other way around it, bro. Look, I’m sure it’ll be fine. The woman from the center said to expect Charlie tomorrow around ten a.m. I know you don’t have an appointment, but they want to do an initial meet and greet so you can figure out how this is going to go.”

A rush of unnatural anger flows through me and my brother can barely duck before the glass I was drinking from flies past his head, smashing against the wall into tiny pieces the same way the bones in my arm did in Afghanistan. The thought pisses me off even more, and it takes everything in me not to throw something else.

“God dammit! I’m fucking tired of feeling like an invalid. And now some weird dude is going to be taking care of me? What the fuck, man?” I growl at him, even though I know he’s doing the best he can. I just can’t help letting the restlessness get to me. I know I’ve been a huge asshole ever since I was released from the hospital. Hell, even Jace has had to tell me to chill the fuck out, and he usually just lets me go on my tirades. I don’t know if it’s a combination of being stuck here, the shock of seeing Megan again, and the imbalance I’m feeling from the pain meds, but the only emotion I feel anymore is anger, and I’m taking it out on anyone around me. It doesn’t help that I feel exhausted every damn minute of the day, and I feel weak, a feeling that doesn’t sit well with me no matter what state I’m in. Weakness is something I haven’t allowed myself to feel since I left Belle Meade, so the memories it brings about do nothing but inflame my anger.

“I sure as hell hope you’re nicer to whoever ends up showing up, a weird dude or not. Knox, I know it sucks being laid up in here with nothing but your thoughts, but you need to rein in the dick a little bit. I’m your brother and I love your ass, but don’t go pissing off a stranger who’s just trying to help,” Cohen says, sounding more like the older brother in this case. Before I can respond, he starts to grin. “Or maybe you just really need to get laid. That’d definitely relieve some tension and put you in a better mood.”

“Oh yeah, help me out to the car and we’ll see how many chicks in the bar are willing to go home with a guy in a back brace and arm cast. I might get a sympathetic handy, but I’m sure I won’t be going home with anyone,” I scoff, knowing that a casual hookup isn’t going to happen anytime soon. The thought is painful because I know firsthand how much it starts to fucking hurt when you go too long without getting off.

Cohen leaves the room and comes back a moment later with a small broom and dustpan. He begins cleaning up the broken glass, and I feel even more like an asshole now that he has to clean up after me. Pausing, he looks up at me with a wide smile, and I’m suddenly nervous as to what he’s thinking.

“Why the hell are you grinnin’ like the Chesire, Coh?” I ask, wondering what’s gotten into him.

“That’s actually a perfect idea. You need to get out of the house, and I’m bound to score points with the ladies if I’m carting my injured brother around. Let’s go out tonight,” he suggests, but then he wrinkles his nose when he takes in my appearance.

I haven’t looked in the mirror, but I can only imagine what I look like. It’s been weeks since I shaved, and I’ve been restricted to sponge bathing until my appointment next week—unless I have help in the shower. And as much as I love my brother, that’s a no-go. The doc said I’d have the brace off in four to six weeks, and it’s already been three since I was taken out of the coma, so I’m crossing my fingers that I can stop using it very soon.

“Yeah, I don’t think so. I’d probably do more damage once the girls take one look at me. I’m not exactly the epitome of attractiveness right now.”

Without answering me, he walks over to the coffee table beside my recliner and picks up my phone. He goes through the numbers before clicking one and bringing it to his ear. I groan when someone picks up on the other end and he begins to speak.

“Hey, McAllister. I’m heading back to UT tomorrow and I’ve gotta get cranky-ass over here out of the house before he turns all Hulkinator on me and starts smashing things. Want to catch the game with us at The Lodge tonight?” he asks, mentioning one of the best local sports bars in the area. It’s twenty-one and up, so you don’t ever have to worry about offending some little kid and his mom when you’re swearing as an ump makes a bad call.

Cohen talks for a few more minutes, highlighting how much a pain in the ass I’ve been over the past few weeks, even though Jace already knows this. He hangs up the phone and takes one more look at me.

“Okay, dude, the doc said you can shower as long as you’re extremely cautious and have help. I know you took that to mean that you can’t, since refusing help is your forte, but since yours is a walk-in shower and you don’t have to lift your legs, I think you’ll be okay to do it just this once. I’m sure you’re going to get clearance to stop using the brace next week. One night won’t kill you.”

Knowing I’m not going to get Cohen or Jace to let me say no, I allow him to help me out of the chair and into the bathroom, where he turns on the hot water as I go to pop a pain pill just in case I tweak something. Stopping myself right before I swallow, I spit it out, knowing I shouldn’t mix the pills with alcohol, and I want a damn beer.

I feel like such a tool because my little brother has to help me do the easiest of tasks. He helps remove my brace and my t-shirt and covers my cast with a plastic bag, but I start to draw the line at that. Unfortunately, I can’t shake out of my shorts, so I sigh, and he looks at me with an amused expression on his face.

Turning around, I face my back towards him. I can hear him laugh as he walks up behind me and in one swift move pulls my shorts down to my feet.

“Relax, Knox. Just pretend it’s like high school and you just got pantsed in the locker room,” he tells me, reminding me of the juvenile pranks we used to pull.

“Whatever, man. Get the hell out of here so I can do this in peace.”

Leaving me alone, he exits the bathroom, saying he’ll be right down the hall if I need him. Shuffling into the shower, I close the glass door behind me. The warm spray feels amazing on my skin, and without even using soap, I’m already feeling refreshed. Sponge baths not performed by a sexy nurse just don’t cut it.

It’s not the easiest trying to open the shampoo bottle with one hand, so I directly squeeze the liquid onto my head, massaging it into the hair that’s grown too much since the accident. I make a mental note to take my electric razor to it, figuring that buzzing it will be the easiest way to maintain my appearance. Doing the same with the liquid body wash Lexi put in here for me, I spread it over my skin, careful not to bend or twist. I’m momentarily thankful that I have long arms and can clean my dick, but then a wave of depression washes over me when I feel how soft it is. Although I got a little wood from the nurse, the pain pills I’ve been on coupled with the pain I still feel have made it nearly impossible for me to get it up—and I’ve fucking tried. Not even Carrie Underwood could help get me hard enough, and that chick is fucking hot. She has legs for days, and I’m a total legs man. But nope, still soft. It fucking blows.

After rinsing off, I’m not ready to get out, and I spend an unknown amount of time letting the water flow over my body. Then I remember Cohen’s words. You need to get laid.

Sighing, I realize that it’s been over four months since I’ve been with a woman. I know that doesn’t seem like a long time, but in my world, it kind of is. I don’t date, and I haven’t since Megan took a scalpel to my chest and cut my heart out. So I fuck. And that’s it. No cuddling, no pillow talk, no candlelit dinners. The women know it, and I make sure to never let them get mixed up with feelings and shit. The last girl in my bed was more than happy to give a soldier a rousing American farewell, and I’m pretty sure she damn well saw fireworks that night. For me, it was another means of getting off without any emotional attachment.

Don’t get me wrong—it was good. But the more I think about it, the more tired I am of random lays. That doesn’t mean I’m going to start a profile on Match.com with visions of romantic picnics in the park in my future. I don’t fucking know what I want, but it’s not this anymore.

Shaking the thought out of my mind and knowing I’m not going to be able to jack off, I turn the water off and carefully get out of the shower, toweling off my upper half.

For the first time in what seems like weeks, I look at my reflection in the mirror. Grimacing, I study the yellow bruising that mars the right side of my face. Normally hating facial hair, I’m disgusted by the beard that’s grown in the weeks since I left the hospital. Immediately I find my razor and shaving cream, desperate for smooth skin again.

Moments later, I’m relieved as I spread moisturizer over my face. Grabbing my electric razor, I make quick work to buzz my hair, not wanting to deal with it grown out. Eventually, I’m satisfied with the guy looking back at me. Short hair and clean shaven. My eyes are dark, even though I feel like I’ve done nothing but sleep for the past three weeks. Due to the lack of appetite I’ve had from the pain medication, my normally strong jawline seems sunken in. I make a quick vow to wean myself off the pills and to get back into my protein shakes.

Taking one last look in the mirror, I head towards my bedroom, where I’m going to try to get dressed by myself. Standing in front of my dresser, I realize that there’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to get my boxer briefs on without assistance. I’ve been going commando, which I normally hate to do, but it’s just easier wearing nothing but basketball shorts that I can easily slide down when I have to piss. Now that I need to put jeans on, I’d rather not catch my dick in the zipper.

“Cohen, get your ass back here!” I yell down the hall, cupping my junk so he doesn’t get an eyeful. Yeah, he’s my brother, but still.