Once a Hero.... Jillian Burns
don’t mind,” he said softly.
She peeked between her fingers and looked up at him. One side of his mouth was curled up. Wow, an almost smile.
She glanced at the ocean. “You want to walk along the beach?”
His gaze followed hers down to the surf. “Even though there’s no moon to worship tonight?”
She jerked her gaze to his face, but saw no ridicule there. Only a hint of a smile on his mouth and in his eyes.
“Guess I’ll be forced to act like a normal person.” With a grin, she bent to unbuckle and slip off her heels, rebuckling them around the bike rack.
He stooped to yank off his well-worn Nikes and then plopped them on the concrete beside hers. The socks followed. He’d barely set his foot down when she took his hand and tugged him down the grassy slope into the sand and all the way to the edge of the surf.
“Mmm,” she moaned. “The sand feels wonderful squishing between your toes.” Waves surged around her ankles. She turned to face him. He was staring at her. Hard. Piercing.
He didn’t move, but she could feel something between them, pulling her to him. Something raw. As primordial as the ancient volcanoes.
The instinct was strong to step close, cup his jaw tight in her hands and kiss him. But common sense kept her immobile. She barely knew this guy. How could she be so rash? There was living life to the fullest, and then there was just plain reckless. She swallowed, frozen in indecision.
And the moment passed. He dropped her hand and glanced away, across the dark ocean and then over his shoulder down the coast, and stuck his hands in his pockets. He took one step away, splashing through the waves.
Drawing in a deep breath, she followed, glancing up at the millions of stars so clear in the sky. They seemed so close, she felt as if she could just reach up and grab one. She felt again that joy of just being alive. How very lucky she was to be on the earth to taste and smell and see and touch all the beautiful things around her.
After she’d walked beside him for a hundred yards or so in the surf, foam tickling her ankles, she couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his mind. “You’re lucky to have a condo with a balcony facing the ocean,” she said.
“It’s not my condo. It belongs to a buddy of mine.”
“Wow. Everyone should have buddies like that.”
He shrugged. “He thinks I …”
When he didn’t continue, she glanced over and studied him. His jaw hitched to the left just a fraction. He’d done that last night when he seemed to be wrestling with himself over something.
“I haven’t been sleeping very well lately.”
That did explain his presence on the beach at 2:00 a.m. Why did she suspect that was an understatement? “Has staying on a picturesque tropical island helped?”
He grimaced. “Not so far.”
Her mind was churning with ideas. “How long do you have before you go back?”
“Three weeks.”
“What all have you tried?”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
She clasped his arm and came to a halt. “I assume you’ve already talked to a psychotherapist, but, what about massage therapy? Aromatherapy? Hypnosis? Um … What else … Oh! Yoga!”
He got that deer in the headlights look again. “I—I work out.”
“Or what about hiking? Have you been to see the Alelele Falls? They’re my favor—” She noticed his hardened expression. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m not some head case you have to fix.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean—”
His eyes narrowed. “Did John put you up to this?”
“John?”
He stared at her a moment longer and then turned away. “Never mind,” he said over his shoulder and headed back in the direction they’d come from. “Guess I can add paranoid to my list of symptoms,” he muttered under his breath.
What had she done? Her stomach sank like her diving weight belt. Kristen jogged to catch up to him. “Luke.” She caught his arm again. “I’m so sorry I butted in. I tend to get overenthusiastic sometimes. It’s a bad habit of mine.”
He let her stop him and turned to face her, his eyes closed, his expression pained. “No.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “I should be the one apologizing. I was right the first time. I’m just not good company right now. Forgive me, Kristen. It’s not you, okay?”
“Hey, I know things started out kind of rocky, but—”
“Have a great time the rest of your stay here, and good luck winning that contest.”
“Luke, please.”
“I’ll walk you back to our building.” He put his hand at the small of her back and gestured for her to accompany him.
Reluctantly, Kristen headed toward the condo. She tightened her lips, determined not to utter one more word to the stupid man.
No. He wasn’t stupid. It was her fault. She’d jumped in as usual and blabbered on without thinking. It was just something about coming so close to death that made her not want to waste time on small talk and second-guessing herself. She’d tried, but …
Now she’d ruined it with him. The best she could hope for was that it wouldn’t be awkward to run into him around the condominium. But it’s not as if they’d had any real future together. A hot vacation fling for a few weeks had been the most it ever could’ve been. And even that was a glass-half-full assumption.
Oh, but what a fling it might have been.
3
THE SOLDIER LOOKED UP at Luke with big, dark eyes full of confidence. Confidence Luke didn’t deserve.
“You can fix me, can’t ya, Doc?” The private couldn’t have been twenty. His young body was shivering, bloodied, full of shrapnel. But Luke probably could’ve dealt with that. It was the gaping hole in the kid’s chest cavity Luke couldn’t repair.
The trauma room was a cacophony of dreadful sounds. Agonized screams, mortar rounds blasting outside and doctors and nurses yelling orders and information.
He avoided the soldier’s gaze and ordered a morphine drip to manage the worst of the kid’s pain. That’s all he could do. There were dozens more he could help. Ones who had a chance. He started to leave but the private grabbed his wrist and Luke forced himself to meet the soldier’s eyes.
“My pocket,” he said in a strangled voice. “Make sure the letter gets to my mom, okay?”
Luke set his jaw, emotion tightening his throat, threatening to overcome him. Swallowing back his howling grief, he reached into the private’s blood-soaked shirt pocket, pulled out a dripping folded piece of notepaper and slid it into the pants pocket of his scrubs. Then he looked back at the private to reassure him. But the boy was gone.
Luke gently closed the kid’s eyes.
Then the lights flickered and Luke felt hands clutching at him and bodies crushing him in. They tugged at him, pulling him in all directions. An Afghani National, a little Afghan boy, a burned woman and dozens of American soldiers, all dead, all blaming him.
LUKE AWOKE ON A STRANGLED cry. Breathing hard, he rolled off the bed, paced to the living room and stood at the balcony doors until the last vestiges of the dream faded.
He couldn’t stop shivering, so he trudged to the bathroom, splashed water on his face.