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I let her work, answered her questions, and when she was done, I opened my eyes again and was surprised to find her standing over me, a puzzled look on her face. “What?”
“Oh, nothing,” she brushed a lock of her brunette hair behind her ear. “Is there anything you need?”
I started to shake my head, but then stopped and rolled my gaze back to her. “Can I have coffee?”
She smiled. “Sure. I think that would be all right.”
“I’d offer to be a gentleman and go get us a couple of cups, but, you know,” I dropped my eyes to my side that was still sore and bruised, making anything longer than the walk to the latrine impossible.
Gemma laughed. “I’ll go see what I can find.”
She returned a few minutes later, a Styrofoam cup in each hand. She handed me one and then dragged the plastic chair at the foot of my bed up to the head of the bed and sat down. I took my first sip of the steaming beverage and groaned. “Oh my God, that’s good.”
Gemma leaned in conspiratorially. “Nurse’s lounge always has the good stuff.”
I laughed and took another long sip. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” She leaned back and took a drink off her own cup. “So, can I ask, how you’re doing with everything?”
I found her eyes and couldn’t bring myself to feed her the line I’d given everyone else. Her steady gaze silently demanded the truth. “Honestly? I feel like shit.”
She nodded. “Was the woman in the crash your…girlfriend?”
I shook my head. “No. Just a friend. We hadn’t really known each other that long. I was helping her get out of town for a little while.” Gemma tilted her head but didn’t ask whatever question was brewing in her mind. “It was the first time—outside of war—that I’ve seen someone die.”
“Navy, right?”
I nodded. “Not anymore, obviously, but yeah. I was a fighter pilot. Just like Boomer.”
“Boomer?”
“Jack McGuire.”
“Oh! Right. I don’t know why I didn’t make that connection. So you were a fighter pilot, and now you run the museum?”
“Actually, I own it. It was my father’s business. He started it after his own Navy career ended. He passed away a little over two years ago.”
“I’m sorry.” Gemma placed a hand on the top of my fingers that stuck out from the hard cast around my broken wrist. Her touch was soft, almost like a tickle, and yet, it sent warmth all over my body.
“Thanks. Uhm…when he passed, Boomer and I were overseas. I flew home, buried my father, took over the museum, and moved into his house. Kinda took over his life, I guess.”
“I think that’s really admirable.” Gemma kept her hand on mine. “I can relate actually. My old man was Army, and so I followed his steps too. Well, kind of. I spent four years as a trauma nurse with an aviation unit. I did two tours in Iraq before I got out. Spent a year after that in an ER up in Chicago.”
“Wow. Impressive. How’d you get from Chicago to Holiday Cove?” I asked with a laugh. I couldn’t think of two more opposite cities.
“To be honest, I finally figured out that while I thrive under the pressure and chaos, it was taking more out of me than I was willing to give. At least, long term.”
“Makes sense.”
“What about you? Do you miss being in the Navy?”
“Yes and no. I miss my buddies. That feeling of belonging is hard to replicate. Or at least that’s been my experience. When Jack lived at the base, about an hour from here, it was a little easier. But now, he and Holly, his girlfriend, live in Germany for another two and a half years. They promise they’ll come back and stay in California after that, but who knows. People change their minds on stuff like that all the time.” I paused and shrugged at her. “But it’s all good. The museum keeps me working like a dog, so I usually don’t have enough downtime to get too bored.”
I left out the part about how I usually spent all my free time…in between a different pair of thighs every other night. And hers were looking pretty tasty.
“I haven’t been up to check it out yet,” Gemma confessed. “I’ll have to remedy that soon. Maybe you can take me up, when you’re all healed up,” she said, pointing at my wrist.
My chest tightened at her suggestion.
Gemma must have noticed my dark expression because she quickly added, “I know that right now you’re probably thinking you’ll never fly again. But, from experience, I’m sure you will.”
“Yeah.” I dropped my attention to the swirling contents of my cup.
Gemma patted the back of my hand. “I see it all the time with people involved in traumatic car crashes. They get out of here, and the last thing they want to do is get behind the wheel. I mean, sure, there are probably some that’ll never do again. But I think that’s a small percentage. Most of them drive again once they get over that initial fear.”
