Page 5 of How You See Me (You and Me Duology #2)

Hayes

I wake with a jolt. Beeping machines. Tubes of all kinds. Wires stuck to my skin. I rip out the IV before I realize what it is.

A nurse rushes over. “You’re in the infirmary, Staff Sergeant. You collapsed.”

The machine next to me sounds like an alarm.

“I need to stop the bleeding,” he says quickly. “Please lie still.”

“I don’t need an IV.”

“You do.” He grabs my arm and presses it into the mattress. “You’re severely dehydrated. When was your last meal?”

I can’t answer. I honestly don’t remember.

“Figured as much.” He glares at me until he’s sure I’ll comply before reinserting the needle in my arm with what feels like a dull ice pick. “Sorry. Thick skin. ”

“You have no idea.”

He raises an eyebrow and gets back to working on my arm.

My gaze drifts to the window, thinking of Ava, the promise Major’s forcing me to break, and the unknowns in the darkness beyond. How long have I been out?

He glances at the monitor, now beeping at an unhealthy speed.

“The IV will help the dehydration issue, but you need to find a way to keep your blood pressure under control.” He presses a button on the monitor to stop the incessant noise. “A healthy diet and rest would help some. I’ll get you started with dinner.”

He orders food and says the doctor will want it eaten before he’ll consider release. I gear up to argue that I’m fine, but after my body betrayed me, my mind went with it, and nothing populates.

I didn’t collapse because I’m weak. It happened because I’m alone in this. I’m stuck watching my family struggle through a screen—phone calls and video chats and texts I’m too scared to open.

“The doctor will be in shortly. If you want to get out of here, don’t do anything stupid like ripping out your IV again.”

“I didn’t know where I was.”

“Exactly.”

So I had a momentary lapse of clarity and hadn’t eaten in a while. I’m not a danger to myself or others. I’m frustrated. Not being able to get to my sister when she needs me, my absentee father poking in nose in where it doesn’t belong, and my overworked mother is what’s breaking me.

“Glad to see you upright,” the medical officer says as he enters, calm and precise in his white coat and military composure. He scans the machines. “You’re stable, but not going anywhere tonight. Let’s get that out of the way up front.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Want to tell me what’s going on?”

I don’t. But I do. “I’ve been distracted.”

“Too distracted to take care of yourself?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What's causing that?” He rolls a stool closer and sits beside the bed, glancing at the stupid heart monitor picking up pace and giving me away. “I’m here to help, son. I will not stand for an environment where our officers or anyone on base are worked so hard they pass out on the lawn.”

“It’s not the job. I could do that in my sleep.”

“Home, then?”

My fingers fidget with the seam of my T-shirt, now stained with dirt smudges down the front. “My little sister has acutelymphocyticleukemia.”

“How old is she?”

“Nine.”

He nods. “And you want to be with her.”

“More than anything, but she wants me to go on a road trip we planned. Alone.”

“Why? ”

I exhale. “For hope, I think. A distraction. I don’t know.”

“So go.”

“I can’t. My leave was denied. Twice.”

He frowns. “Are you on a mission? Preparing for deployment?”

“No. Just regular base operations.”

He crosses a leg and taps a pen against his chin, the clipboard balancing on his lap. “Do you not have any days saved?”

What’s with all the questions? “I lose leave every year. They’re usually denied.”

“Excuse me for a moment.”

He’s out of the room before I can ask my own questions, and ten minutes later he resumes his position at my bedside. “Eat, sleep, and stay put. I’ll handle your superior.”

My head lifts off the pillow. “Sir?”

“You heard me. Take care of yourself, Staff Sergeant. Our country is not the only one that needs your best.”

The smallest thread of hope weaves its way back in.

I close my eyes and hold on to it.

◆◆◆

Sleep never comes. I stare through the dark, mind rolling over on itself until morning filters in through the narrow infirmary windows. By the time the nurse wheels in a tray of food and starts unhooking my IV, I’ve counted every crack in the ceiling .

My doctor follows close behind, his presence as steady and unshakeable as it was last night. He drops into the chair beside my bed, and I notice his name stitched into the fabric of his coat for the first time—Keller. A name I’ll remember.

“You’re still pale,” he says. “Did you get any sleep?”

“Not really. This place isn’t exactly peaceful.”

He chuckles, nodding. “Fair enough. Still, I expect you to eat that breakfast and crash early tonight.”

“Is that an order?”

“Yes. And I’ve already spoken with Major Perry.”

The air shifts around me. “You what?” I ask before I can catch myself. “My apologies, Sir. I didn’t mean—”

“You’re allowed to react. In here, you’re not a Marine. You’re human and my patient.”

“Thank you, but . . .” I sit up straighter, bracing myself. “Why did you talk with Major?”

“The military has policies in place for a reason. A commanding officer must consider a leave request when there are signs of physical and psychological strain, including evidence of deteriorating health because of lack of rest from duty.”

“Sir, I—”

“Your collapsing outside checks all the boxes. You haven’t been allowed to take respite and you’re paying the price. I’ll argue that your family is too.”

I can only stare at him, my stubborn pride sabotaging my ability to appreciate the precious gift. I desperately want some time off, but his labeling me a liability hurts the Marine in me. Selflessness is in every job description on base.

I run both hands over my face, the usual load settling back on my bones. “What did you tell him?”

“I recommended medical leave.”

“I’m not sick.”

“No, but you’re burnt out. You’re exactly who these policies were written to protect. You’re valuable, dedicated, and relentless. You give too much, requiring someone to intervene to protect you because you’re too damn dedicated and selfless to do it yourself.”

“I—”

Resolved, he pats my arm like my grandfather would do after laying some wisdom on me. “Two weeks, Staff Sergeant. Use it to rest. Visit your family. Get your feet under you again and figure out what you want your future to be.”

“This is all I know,” I admit. The words surprising me.

“I get it. I’ve been in this game for nearly thirty years. But even a lifer knows that when the service stops filling your cup and starts taking from it, it’s time to decide if that sacrifice is all you want.”

I go to respond, but he stops me by holding up a hand.

“You can’t answer that now. Not honestly anyway.” He rises and pushes the stool out of the way with his foot. “Just promise me you’ll think about it.”

I nod, unsure of what to say .

“Relax for a bit longer. I’ll take care of the paperwork.” He flashes a crooked smile on the way out. “You can thank me when you get back.”

◆◆◆

An hour later, I’m back in my apartment, functioning on instinct again. I need to shower, change, and prep for the drills I planned for after workouts. There’s only twenty minutes before my squad shows up, and every second seems to move faster than I do.

Steam still clings to my skin as I leave the hall bathroom and spot someone standing outside my door.

“Corporal,” I call out, slinging the towel around my neck. “Can I help you?”

He pivots sharply. “Good afternoon, sir. Major Perry has been trying to contact you.”

Shit. My phone. “I don’t have a phone at the moment, and I’ve been . . . out.”

The corporal nods, sympathetic but still stiff. Discipline doesn’t take time off. “He requests your presence in his office. Immediately.”

“Understood. Let him know I’m en route.”

He hesitates, glancing at the bruises on my arm from the IV.

“You good, Hayes?”

The question isn’t protocol. It isn’t polished or military. It’s human. And that makes it harder to process.

I force a nod. “Everything’s fine, Corporal. ”

With a quick dip of his chin, he slinks away, hard footsteps clicking down the hall behind me.

At least my comrades respect me.

I dress quickly, then open my laptop to send a message to my lieutenant—basic instructions in case the meeting runs long. Not that I expect it. Major and I both prefer action over words—the only thing we have in common.

◆◆◆

Major Perry sees me enter his office and stand at attention but doesn’t acknowledge me. He makes me sweat it out, finally gesturing me forward minutes later.

In front of his desk, I resume my formal stance—posture straight, expression unreadable. I know this game. Know he’ll refuse to set me at ease to punish me for undermining his authority, even though I had nothing to do with it.

“The NMO recommends medical leave for you,” he begins, his usual irritated sharpness cutting into his tone. “Funny how that happens right after your request was denied.”

Protocol keeps my mouth shut.

“This,” he continues, jabbing a finger at the desk, “is why your promotion took so long. I’ve had doubts about your readiness for the pressures of command.”

There it is. A confirmation of what I’ve always suspected. He doesn’t see me or what I’m capable of.

He sorts through a stack of paperwork, then pushes it aside. “I’ll approve two and a half weeks of leave. When you return, I expect you to act like the leader you claim to be or submit your discharge papers. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” It's the only possible response. Anything more would fuel the fire he already thinks I lit.

“You’re dismissed.”

Pivoting, I march out of the building, each step abrupt and measured, carrying me straight to the training field.

If there’s one place I can let go, it’s with my team, doing what I do best. I’m an honest person and an even better Marine.

I’d kill and die for my country and my squad.

Having someone doubt that, especially my commanding officer, cuts deeper than any wound I’ve ever taken in the field.