Forever

he wasn’t. One thing he knew for certain, though, was that he wouldn’t be laid up in the hospital if the guys hadn’t feared disciplinary action by calling for help. After carving his name at the top, he’d made it about halfway down when the steps gave out underneath his weight. His instincts automatically kicked in and he’d grabbed onto a somewhat sturdy support beam. He had dangled there for a good long time waiting to be saved. His buddies had fucked it all up. Helpless bunch of pansy-asses. Every last one of them had tried to be the hero and climbed up after him.
He shook his head as memories of that night flooded his thoughts. Of course, the old decayed structure couldn’t hold all their combined weight and shimmied and shook as they attempted to ascend the structure. He’d tried to stop them, but they’d ignored his warnings. The beam he was hanging on snapped. He swore he hit every single board holding that tower together on his way down. How he’d been the one to hit the ground first was beyond him, but somehow those dumb motherfuckers had even found a way to use his body to break their falls.
Idiots. And he was supposed to trust his life to those men? Only a few days had passed since the accident. Irritation with the whole incident still burrowed deep under his skin. Now, instead of him walking away with a reprimand, he was stuck in the hospital, feeling helpless, hurting like a motherfucker, and to add insult to injury, they were all going to be disciplined anyway.
He wasn’t sure what bothered him the most, the multiple injuries that were going to require extensive physical therapy to get him back on his feet or the fact he literally couldn’t wipe his own ass without help. He guessed neither of those superseded his bruised ego. These things didn’t happen to Landon Russo. He always found a way to land on his feet, but not this time.
He clenched his jaw in frustration and tightened his hold on the paperback weighing on his chest—the same book he couldn’t quite manage to turn the pages of in order to read. This was seriously some fucked-up shit. What he wouldn’t give for a distraction.
“Hello, I’m Dr. Adams.”
From the first syllable uttered, Landon knew exactly who the voice belonged to, which was damn odd because he’d never expected to hear it again, especially not in a German military hospital thousands of miles away from the United States. That deep rich timbre had been imprinted on his heart almost a year ago while performing an honor that would remain in the forefront of his memories for the rest of his life.
When Landon glanced toward the door, his gaze locked on Dr. Robert Adams, world renowned heart surgeon and son of a United States vice president.
The doctor stood about six foot two, thick blond hair, and just as handsome as Landon remembered. He scanned the man’s face and his heart began to race as his stomach filled with uncertainty. As much as Landon admired Vice President Adams, he could find no good reason for Dr. Robert Adams to be standing in front of him right now. The smile that had automatically lifted the corners of his mouth, fell as he wondered if the heart surgeon’s presence indicated something far worse about his condition. How much damage had the fall caused?
He quickly ticked off his known injuries, trying to remember a mention of anything remotely close to a heart complication. They said surgery had gone well. His arm would require healing time and some intensive physical therapy, but he’d been told he was lucky he hadn’t been hurt worse. He could expect a full recovery. What hadn’t they told him?
The blood pumping through his veins was the only sound he could hear as he watched Dr. Adams’s mouth move. His fist tightened around the paperback still on his chest as he interrupted whatever the doctor was saying, “Just give it to me straight.”
Wait. If he did have some untold heart problem, he certainly didn’t rank high enough on the food chain for someone of Dr. Adams’s caliber to fly here and look after him. He wasn’t even a military doctor.
It still took a second to rein in his runaway imagination. Judging from the look on Dr. Adams’s face, he was still processing Landon’s sudden outburst.
“Give you what straight?” Dr. Adams asked, crossing his arms over his chest, a small spark of amusement lighting his eyes.
Well hell, now Landon didn’t want to answer that question. He’d jumped to conclusions, a stupid side effect of being confined to a hospital bed for so many days, but he was still completely confused. He figured it was best to just keep quiet. He didn’t want to embarrass himself any more than he already had. Silence filled the next few seconds. Neither man looked away from the other.
Landon noticed the fine lines of worry and the deep look of exhaustion etched on Dr. Adams’s face. The lines deepened when the doctor furrowed his brow. Landon knew that look—he himself had worn it many times throughout the years.
Landon’s heart did a twist for an altogether different reason.
Dr. Adams glanced over at the monitor next to the bed when the steady beep suddenly grew faster. “What just happened?”
This time the doctor gave him a practiced smile, cocking his head to the side as he studied Landon. The scrutiny had Landon instantly wanting to pass whatever inspection he was under and earn a real grin. This smile was only meant to encourage Landon to explain himself.
The strange tension running through his body intensified as the weight of Dr. Adams’s gaze moved down his body, then quickly back up before stopping at the paperback on his chest. Dr. Adams lowered his hand, using a single finger to edge the