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Gone. Dead.
But he’d known. Deep down, he’d known. Gwen’s heart was still beating, somewhere.
Ro’s position as the wing intelligence officer gave her access he’d never get as a civilian, and she’d brought him what little intel she’d been able to gather. Miles had cornered him after a therapy session one day and told him that both he and Ro were concerned about his increasing isolation, his avoidance of them and others outside work.
Miles had convinced him that going on with his life wasn’t an affront to Gwen’s memory.
After Gwen had been gone six weeks, Drew allowed himself to mentally engage with the world again. He couldn’t fight the facts, but he didn’t have to ignore his instincts, either. He’d figured that if she were still alive after six weeks—which he’d believed even if no one else had—she’d survive whatever came her way. Somehow she’d make it out.
As she had.
He went to sip his coffee and only when his empty hand curved around air did he shake off his thoughts. He couldn’t prevent a smile. Gwen would never settle for plain drip coffee. She took hers like a lot of people native to the Pacific Northwest. Two shots of espresso, with steamed low-fat milk. Maybe a shot of almond syrup if her sweet tooth was nagging her.
Their Sunday-morning routine rushed at him with its remembered familiarity and warmth. They’d hem and haw over whose turn it was to get the pastries, their once-a-week treat from the local bakery. Gwen liked the fresh-made éclairs, while he favored the apple fritters. One of them would pick up the pastries and coffee, while whoever stayed home walked the dog, fed the bird and got the woodstove blazing if it was chilly.
It’d been so easy, so natural, their life. Their love.
Until it got hard. Their professional drive, perfectionism and insistence on each being the best at what they did took its toll. Damaged the bond between them.
Memories of their competitiveness still made him squirm. They should’ve seen it; two strictly trained naval officers were innately competitive at a primal level. That hadn’t changed, even when he’d left the navy. Of course it had bled into their relationship and blown it to smithereens.
The event that had exploded the fissure into an impassable crevice had taken place on the night of a squadron party. He’d been there with Gwen, acting the consummate navy spouse as usual. He’d played the role willingly; anything to keep the peace, to let her see he wasn’t threatened by her success. His practice was still fledgling but promising.
He’d left the celebration early—told her he’d meet her back at home. They’d taken separate cars as they’d both come from work.
Unbeknownst to him, one of Gwen’s subordinates followed him home and tried to convince him to let her come in and talk to him. She was an attractive aviator, a younger version of Gwen. Except that she didn’t seem to care that Drew was married. To her boss.
But Gwen had come back before he’d gotten rid of her, and assumed the worst. Hell, at that point in their marriage he would’ve thought the same thing if he’d found a strange guy in his house.
After he’d pummeled him.
He’d told her the truth.
Gwen, nothing happened. She came over and said she needed to talk. I let her in, told her I wasn’t interested. She’s just young and dumb.
I’ve never thrown myself at my boss’s husband.
You’re a professional, Gwen.
She’d shaken her head. It doesn’t matter, Drew. The point is I believe you—and this doesn’t surprise me. I wouldn’t blame you if you had taken her up on her offer. Let’s face it, I haven’t been a great wife to you.
She’d referred to their lack of lovemaking. Either or both of them had been too tired over the past few months. It should’ve been a red flag after the way they’d burned for each other in their earlier years.
The conversation hadn’t solved anything. The disbelief, hurt and anger that Gwen should have expressed, should have felt, wasn’t there.
Gwen’s desire to pursue her naval career, his decision to open a private practice that made him averse to further navy moves, as well as their inability to forge a solution to their failing relationship— it had all been too much for any marriage.
Gwen had moved out within the week, and their road to friendship had begun.
Five years ago. It felt more like fifty.
He turned the key in the ignition so that he could lower the windows. The salty Pacific breeze cooled his face, tugged at his hair.
Reminded him that he was alive.
Gwen’s alive.
Sunlight played off the frothing waves as it slipped out from under a heavy cloud. He’d been here for over an hour; he needed to get back to the office, back to reality.
And get ready to do the one thing he dreaded most—living in close quarters with his ex-wife again.
CHAPTER TWO
THE FIRST THING Gwen noticed when she arrived in Washington State was how clean and fresh the air felt.
The second impression was that she’d developed claustrophobia. The military hospital she’d been “requested” to stay in for a complete post-trauma physical was pristine and comfortable, even spacious. But it was still a building. With solid walls. After six months on the run, most of it spent with little more than a thin barrier between her and the jungle, she felt hemmed in.
At least that was what she told the medical staff. In reality her chest hurt as if a three-ton gorilla sat on it, keeping her from freedom.
Whidbey called to her. She wanted to go home.
She needed to be back on the island.
The doctor who sat across from her didn’t agree. Not yet.
“I’m ready to go.” She shifted in the soft-cushioned chair.
Gwen still couldn’t get over the relative plushness of her psychiatrist’s office compared to the way she’d been living for the past half of a year. She’d only met with him for the past few days but it felt as if he’d peeled back every layer of emotional skin she had left. She knew it was his job to determine how emotionally healthy she was after her time in the Philippines, but that didn’t make it any easier.
“You will go home, Gwen. Soon, I promise. We can’t send you back without some basic reentry tools. I can’t underestimate the mental stress you’ve been under.” He peered at her as if she were a biological specimen. Dr. Lucas “just call me Luke” Derringer had told her he lived out on San Juan Island but commuted into Madigan Army Hospital as needed to support returning warriors “such as yourself.” He explained that he was permanently working on San Juan at the Beyond the Stars Resort, which was a counseling center for Gold Star families—families who’d lost a loved one to war.
She liked how Luke, a former SEAL, seemed to truly appreciate what she’d been through. A quick look at the walls of his office told her he’d served at Walter Reed National Medical Center, so he knew his way around the effects of PTSD.
Still, he was a psychiatrist. Gwen knew she needed help but the only assistance she craved at the moment, besides getting Pax back in her arms, was climbing into her own bed, under clean sheets, wearing soft, freshly laundered pajamas.
Dear, sweet Pax. No one would believe her when she said she was going to be a mother, was already a mother to the little boy. She hardly believed it herself.
Luke droned on about how she needed to watch for any signs of severe PTSD, including suicidal thoughts. It was a given that she’d suffer some symptoms, but it could get a lot worse before it got better.
She didn’t care. She was back home.
Almost.
“If you want to go back sooner, you’ll have to move in with your ex-husband for the time being.”
Shock forced her head back, her spine straight.
No.
Lucas stared at her, unblinking. Gwen shook her head in an attempt to make sure she wasn’t hearing things.
“What?”
“As I’ve just explained, you can’t be alone for the first several weeks that you’re back. This is nonnegotiable, if you want to be released to go to Whidbey.” He paused. “If you’re serious about adopting the baby, Gwen, this will give you the best chance to prove you’ve made every effort to heal and provide the child with a stable environment.”
“But we’re divorced. I’m divorced. I have my own apartment. Drew rents his half of the house from me—we kept it undivided in our settlement as an investment. We’re divorced.” How many times did she have to remind him?
The counselor looked at his file.
“The apartment you rented has been sublet to someone else. All of your finances had been put on a hold. Your ex-husband is the only one who had access to them. You’d left him as next of kin on your Page Two, and he had power of attorney when you went missing.”
God, what didn’t the navy have on file about her?
“I gave him the power of attorney for the house, for my finances, in the event of my...” She swallowed. “Oh.”
“Right. Even though everyone hoped you’d made it to land and were still alive, all indications pointed to your death.” Lucas leaned toward her. “This is where it’s going to take some time, Gwen. You’re coming back to a world that thought you were dead. Add that to the usual adjustments after six months at sea on any deployment. You’ve got your work cut out for you.”
“I can’t go back to that house.”
To Drew.
Lucas looked up. “Were you abused there? Was your breakup acrimonious?”
“No, not at all.” She bit her lip, still severely chapped from months of sun and primitive living. “Drew and I—we’re friends, we’ve remained friends. He’s never hurt me.” No, she’d done a good job of hurting herself, thank you very much.
“Then you can manage this. You don’t have a choice, Gwen, not if you want to go back to Oak Harbor. You’re not ready to live alone—you need someone there to help you reenter.”
He made sense, but...
“My ex won’t be expecting me.”
Lucas watched her with compassionate eyes. “You’re not the first GI to come back to this type of situation. Your time away has certainly been unique, but coming home to an ex—it happens. Especially when there are children involved. You haven’t had kids together, but you told me you had pets, right? And now you want to adopt baby Pax. Your friend—” he glanced back at his records “—Roanna, she suggested moving back in with your ex. In fact, I know she’s spoken with him.” Lucas shrugged. “It’s just until you’re on your feet again. Nothing permanent.”
“Doesn’t look like I have much of a choice, does it?” She sure as hell didn’t want to spend one more day in the hospital.
“Not really.”
She clutched the sofa’s throw pillow to her belly. He wasn’t going to give her any more wiggle room.
“You told me all along that you and your ex have maintained a friendship. Since he’s amenable to the arrangement, I recommend that you accept it. It’ll be easier to room with someone who knows you, and having your pets with you will be helpful as you adjust.”
Gwen tried to slow the thoughts that whirled like pinwheels. “What if the adoption comes through quicker than we expect? I want to bring Pax to my home, the place I’m going to raise him. Plus, isn’t having a man around who isn’t permanent, too confusing for an orphaned child?”
Luke leaned back in his chair. “Gwen, I do hope your adoption goes through. I’ve got no doubt that you’ll make an excellent mother. But you need to learn the first lesson all mothers have to master—you give yourself the oxygen first. Adoption, overseas adoption especially, can be emotionally grueling. You have to allow yourself some mental space before you go through everything required to bring Pax home. And you need time to heal.”
She refused to consider that the adoption wouldn’t clear; the fact that she’d saved Pax from his burned-out village when he was two months old, and had cared for him until she’d walked out of the jungle last week, put the odds in her favor.
But living with Drew again? Didn’t Doc Lucas know that it could present its own kind of torment?
You’re friends.
True, her ex-husband didn’t have any idea of the thoughts she’d had as she’d faced her own mortality over the past six months. No one did. She and Drew were friends, had been since their split. But her feelings for him had been magnified by her adrenaline, by the threat of imminent death.
She’d made it through shark-infested waters, a terrorist camp, unbearable living conditions.
Compared to that, living with Drew, for a few nights or even a few weeks, would be a cakewalk.
For Pax, she could do anything.
“Okay, fine.”
She wasn’t going to argue with a medical dude. She’d made it this far—she’d agree to whatever she had to, to get back. Drew was obviously being nice enough to go along with this, and she owed him. When she got there, she’d explain that she wasn’t going to stay at the house any longer than absolutely necessary. They’d lived under the same roof without communicating for the last year of their marriage. She could manage a matter of days.
* * *
GWEN OPENED HER eyes to the small hospital room she’d lived in for the past three days, and let the thrill of being free wash over her. Her hospital bed was far more comfortable than the commercial plane seat she’d endured for the twenty-two hour flight back from the Philippines, and much cleaner than any of the night camps she’d made for herself during her six months on the run. Today was go-home day.
Drew.
The phone on her nightstand rang. The clamor startled her, and her muscles tensed painfully in her back, her legs.
“Hello?”
“Gwen, honey, it’s Ro.” Gwen felt a sense of warmth wash over her, and she couldn’t stop tears of relief from spilling down her cheeks. Her best friend from way back when they’d been midshipmen at the Naval Academy, Ro knew her as well as Drew once had.
“I’d know your voice anywhere, sister. How are you?”
Ro laughed. “How am I? More like how the hell did you do what you did? First, I’m jealous as hell that you’re getting all this attention for ditching and saving your crew. Now you come back alive, from conditions a lot of SEALs haven’t survived. You’re a hero, sweetie.”
“Can you hear that flutter? It’s my BS flag. I’m waving it in your face.”
They both laughed.
“I’m glad to see you’re not letting any of it go to your head.”
“Oh, I will, trust me. You owe me at least a month’s worth of almond lattes.”
“Done.” Ro paused, the silence scaring Gwen as much as the ringing phone had.
“What?”
“Have you talked to Drew?”
“Of course not. Why would I?” Gwen deliberately sounded obtuse. Ro had always held out hope that she and Drew would work things out. Especially since she herself was—
“Wait, Ro. You’re married! I’m so sorry I missed it.”
“You had other things to worry about, sweetie.” Ro paused again. “I missed you so much that day. It was so beautiful. I wish you could’ve seen it.”
