MASON AND SAGE

Chapter 16 ~ Mason

Waking up in the hospital two days later was waking up to a lot of reality. Jake and Connor were alive, our team had made it out and we were all going to live.

Then the doctors threw words at me, and since none of the words was Sage, I didn't quite comprehend.

Transfusions. Blood loss. Surgery. Touch and go.

But not one word was Sage, so I drifted off where I could see her face in my dreams and promise myself I would get to kiss her.

The next day, the doctors looked grim and the nurses looked concerned. Again more words fell from their lips.

More surgery. Infection. Fever. Critical.

But they still weren't saying the important word, Sage, so again I drifted off and thought about my reward. A kiss from my Sage. A kiss. Kiss.

It was a few days before I woke again to more grim doctors and more concerned nurses. I still had a fever, my infection was still raging and I was still in danger of losing my arm.

"I'll get better," I told them through dry, fever-hot lips. Sage, I thought, Sage. I'll get better and come to you.

Then I'd passed out again.

A few days later, the fever broke, ending my fever dreams. Sage was with me in those dreams. We were married. Holding hands. Cashew was walking alongside our baby we were pushing in the stroller.

"Nice to have you back with us, sir," the nurse said.

I looked at him. "When can I get out of here?" 

My voice didn't even sound like my voice it was so raspy.

"Well, I'll let the doctor talk to you about that," he evaded. 

Coward.

"Let me get your vitals in the meantime. I have to say, your eyes look clear today. The past few days you've been pretty out of it when your eyes were open, talking a lot about herbs."

The doctor explained I'd be a guest of the hospital for at least a week, maybe two, until the antibiotics finished their work and my arm was deemed safe. Until I completely recovered from the blood loss. She explained that they'd almost lost me three times over the last couple of days, two of those times in surgery. 

I'd asked her about Jake and Connor, was told some bullshit about HIPAA, then I asked if she could get permission from the patients so I could be updated on their status. Fucking fuckety fuck. We had just survived hell and they couldn't tell me how my fellow Marines were doing. I was still too weak to make as much of a protest as I wanted, but I think I successfully conveyed my feelings of this is complete and utter bullshit through the look in my eyes.

An hour later, I was told Jake and Connor were doing well and their prognosis was good.

I already knew my special teams career was over. When the doctor had explained the damage to my arm, I could read between the lines. Surgery. More surgery, and possibly a final surgery once the infection was completely gone. Then rehab, rehab, rehab. And in case you missed it, rehab for weeks to get my hand and arm in working order -- and probably never as good as new, just in working order. It was the end of my career and I was surprisingly OK with that. Maybe I could find something else I could do in the military, but I was also, for the first time in my life, considering a career outside the military. 

I had the money to never work again, but that wasn't appealing in the least. If I took an honorable discharge, there were a number of possibilities for someone with my skills in the civilian world. My old college friend ran Hatcher Security, but I didn't know if I wanted to be a personal protection officer. I knew several people who ran civilian consulting firms that contracted solely with the military for specific jobs, but again, I didn't know if that was what I wanted. The important thing was that I had time to decide.