Navy Rescue. Geri Krotow
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back.” Anger at her uncontrollable emotions sucked away the last of her energy, and she leaned against the hospital room’s sink.
Where was the tough streak she’d always been able to rely on?
She had no control over what she’d been through, or the fact that she’d returned from the dead, virtually homeless. Gwen slapped some blush on her cheeks. She didn’t have to look as if she’d been through hell, at any rate.
They’d all thought she’d died, out on that ocean. So had she.
Miracles still happened.
* * *
THE FLIGHT HOME TO Naval Air Station Oak Harbor was thirty minutes, tops, but Gwen felt as though she was on another endless journey.
After a quick drive from Madigan Army Hospital, they’d taken off from McCord Air Force Base in a C-12, the twin-engine turboprop owned by NAS Whidbey. She hadn’t been so keen to get on another plane after the long trip back from Manila, but at heart she remained a pilot, and a practical one at that. Twenty-five minutes in the air versus more than two hours in a car, longer if there was typical Seattle traffic, was worth any anxiety.
Once her feet hit the tarmac on Whidbey, her healing could start.
She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the feel of Pax’s little body as she’d held him, carried him through miles of jungle and through the crowded streets of Manila. His baby scent... These memories sustained Gwen in her hope that she’d be his legal mother soon. She’d gotten through the jungle, the journey to the American embassy and all she had left was this flight home to Oak Harbor.
The experience of having the medical team poke, prod and question her to determine the extent of her injuries was over.
The only hurt she continued to suffer was remembering the excruciating goodbye to Pax as she’d turned him over to the Philippine social service workers. He had to live in an orphanage pending his adoption.
She squeezed her eyes shut against the vision of row upon row of tiny cribs, Pax one of dozens of babies.
“Mama’s getting you out, baby.”
The drone of the engines kept her words inaudible to the others. She opened her eyes and looked around. The commodore and his few staff members were reading, napping or staring out the windows. They’d be exchanging knowing glances if any of them had noticed her talking to herself.
Heck, did Drew realize what he’d signed up for when he’d agreed to help her transition?
He’d never believe she’d had a change of heart about her priorities, even when he found out she wanted to adopt a baby. He’d assume the worst of her as he always had those last fractured months of their life together. He’d assume she was in it for herself.
You survived a ditch, war-torn terrorist country, turning over the baby you love. You can do this.
When her life was threatened, it’d been clear that, of all her accomplishments, the one that mattered most was her marriage. A marriage that had failed. Gwen didn’t kid herself—she knew she was far from perfect.
So she’d thought of her marriage during those long, traumatic days and nights. As she ditched her P-3C, as she floated at the whim of the ocean’s harsh currents, her thoughts had gone back to Drew and to the love they’d once shared. She was only human.
CHAPTER THREE
GWEN SAW HIM as soon as the plane stopped taxiing and pulled up to the hangar.
Drew.
He was the tall one with the sure stance, waiting for her with a small group of other people. Relief eased some of the tightness in her chest. She’d specifically told the commodore that she wasn’t ready to meet and greet her squadron. Not yet, not like this.
Unstable.
How did she go from constantly being “on” while in survival mode, to feeling like such a complete emotional wreck?
“Gwen.” The commodore’s hand was on her shoulder. It took every ounce of energy she had left to take her gaze from Drew, to unbuckle and get out of the small plane. The squadron XO carried her bags. He’d had to fill in for her, be the CO, until she came back. Yet now he deferred to her.
“Thanks, Bradley.”
“No problem.”
Both men looked at her, waiting. They wanted her to be the first off the plane.
Gwen tried to grin but it wasn’t much of a success. She turned and walked to the main cabin door. The airman who’d opened the door stood back after he’d let the ladder down.
“It’s all yours, ma’am.” He motioned for her to leave.
She took a deep breath and ignored the immediate sharp pain that lanced through her left side. Her ribs were still bruised from the last fall she’d taken, tripping over a tree root on her way out of the jungle with Pax in her arms. Thankfully he hadn’t been injured.
The day was bright and she squinted at the light as she grasped the railing and took the four steps down to the tarmac.
As soon as her feet hit the deck she bent her knees, then sank to the ground and kissed the concrete. To hell with her fancy dress pants or what anyone else thought.
There’d been many nights when she’d believed she’d never be on Whidbey’s tarmac again.
She straightened and walked to the hangar. The open doors and the welcoming group were at least a hundred feet away, but Drew’s features were as sharp as if he stood six inches from her.
His sunglasses hid his eyes so she only had his facial features and posture by which to judge his demeanor. He looked taller, his face more defined, more mature. Not as young as she’d remembered him for six long months.
She’d fought to come back here alive.
Her independence was still intact even though she had to accept help from the last person she ever wanted to depend on—Drew. It was only temporary.
At least she’d be able to make amends to him, to tell him she finally understood that neither of them was more to blame than the other for their divorce. She’d played a big part by not recognizing her own need for independence sooner and wanted him to know she didn’t hold any ill will toward him. She truly only wanted his happiness.
This would be a new start, a chance for both of them to move on like they should have done years ago.
Before she could finish her train of thought Drew stood in front of her. She hesitated. Was he angry he’d been coerced to take her in?
“Gwen.” He closed the distance between them and embraced her. She smelled Ivory soap and the hint of black licorice, his favorite snack. Licorice was Drew’s go-to stress reliever. He’d devoured it from big plastic bins after his return from the war, and again during his final dissertation and exams for his doctorate.
He kept his arms tightly around her, and she relished the feel of his winter jacket against her cheek. By keeping her eyes closed she could almost convince herself she still had him to come home to. That this was real.
She felt an urge to pull back, to look him in the eye and tell him she’d realized what really mattered in life.
If she did, he’d think she was crazy, suffering from PTSD, that she didn’t mean any of it. She had no way to convince him of her sincerity.
Her epiphany—that love and relationships were the only important things in life—was too late. He didn’t deserve to be harangued with revelations that might have served them better four years ago, maybe even earlier.
Homecomings weren’t good times for surprises or emotional breakdowns.
Instead, she clung to his shoulders and leaned heavily against him. It beat collapsing on the tarmac in front of onlookers.
She