The one thing severely lacking in this place was even a modicum of privacy.
After the day he’d had, he really hadn’t been in the mood to talk to anyone. But silence wasn’t an option in the packed facility that had to accommodate more stranded travelers than it was designed to.
It didn’t help that the volunteer manning the front desk insisted on making personal in-depth introductions with each new arrival. Of the four guys sitting with him, he knew their names, destinations, branch, rank and MOS. And that put on the pressure for him to socialize.
Unfortunately, sharing hadn’t been on his agenda today. Not now. Maybe not ever when it came to the details of his love life.
Make that loveless life.
With each new arrival, there was a lot of conversation about his broken ankle. He put up with that. Even managed to put on a brave face and a smile or two. But he sure as hell wouldn’t be admitting to being broken hearted to these guys.
In fact, he decided he wasn’t broken hearted at all.
Sure, he’d said he loved her when she’d said it to him first. But since she hadn’t meant it, he decided he hadn’t either. He was taking a mulligan on that one. A do over. Yup. Just like it never happened.
Too bad he couldn’t get a do over on the day he’d broken his ankle. Hell, he didn’t even need the whole day. Just the few seconds it had taken to snap the bone.
Crazy that a few seconds could cost him his career. And what the hell was he going to do if it did? If he couldn’t go back to being an active-duty SEAL, then what?
He glanced around at the men surrounding him. They spanned various ages, ranks and military specialties.
What he’d gathered from the conversation was that Cam, an older Air Force NCO, had topped out and had just retired. Maybe Kyle wouldn’t mind retiring if he were as old as Cam. But at thirty, he was too damn young to be forced out.
Sabastian, an East Coast SEAL, was heading home to Louisiana on leave. Kyle envied the man. After a few weeks’ vacation, Sebastian would be heading back to his team.
Then there were the two others who’d been medically discharged. Jax, an army mechanic and John, Special Forces. Injuries had taken them both out of service.
Kyle feared that he was looking at his future when he looked at them. The two were proof that it didn’t matter if you worked in the motor pool or elite special operations, the same fate could befall them all.
Sitting here, surrounded by these men, he felt like some modern-day military version of Ebenezer Scrooge being haunted by his ghosts.
Sebastian, the ghost of military past, reminded him of what his life in the teams had been like. What it would still be if that bone hadn’t snapped.
Cam, the ghost of military future, represented what Kyle’s retirement, ten years from now when he was older and ready, could look like.
And John and Jaxson were his ghosts of military present. Living proof of where he was now. Broken. Taken out of active service. His leg elevated as his ankle throbbed within the medical walking boot. His return to duty pending evaluation.
He’d be where they were—medically retired—if he didn’t heal up one hundred percent. Off the team. Lost.
Watching all the possible outcomes paraded in front of him by Blessing, the ever-helpful USO volunteer, wasn’t helping his mood.
He didn’t know which future to place his bets on in this twisted game of possibilities.
Did he put his money on the long shot? That he’d make a full recovery, go back to the team like Sebastian, and stay until the lure of retirement tempted him like Cameron?
Or did he face the reality—the most likely eventual outcome—that this injury would take him out of service just like Jaxson and John? A smart man would take that bet.
He couldn’t even begin to guess what his future held. Then again, he supposed it wasn’t up to him to guess. That decision would be made for him by the Navy doctors.
With that depressing thought, he picked up a magazine someone had left on a side table. It was one of those celebrity gossip rags.
Blessing, the front desk volunteer, had referred to this area as the library when she’d led him here. He wasn’t much in the mood to read but hours later, he was bored.
Desperate times…
On the cover of the glossy magazine was a picture of Luna Blue and her boyfriend Angel Leon.
Make that her fiancé.
Apparently, according to the tabloid’s headline splashed boldly across the cover, they’d just gotten engaged. Which would explain why she was drinking champagne right out of the bottle on some overpriced yacht.
She wore the tiniest bikini he’d ever seen. Hell, strippers wore more clothing on the pole than this chick had for this photo. Although he was pretty sure it was a private boat and she had no idea she was being photographed.
If she was going to be mostly naked, that yacht was probably the place for it. Unless there was crew on board.
What was he thinking? Of course, there would be crew. He couldn’t imagine either of these superstars knowing how to—or wanting to—do the work it took to run a boat that size for any length of time. The damn thing was huge.
Spoiled rotten child stars who’d grown up physically but not mentally could only supply so much distraction. He was already done with this story, and he hadn’t even read it yet.
Frustrated, he tossed the publication to the side just as his cell phone started to vibrate where it lay on the arm of the sofa.
He flipped it over, read the name on the Caller ID and immediately flipped it back. Gretchen. He wasn’t taking that call here and now. Maybe not ever.
“Fuck, no.” Glancing up he noticed the collective eyes of his companions were upon him and realized he’d spoken aloud. “Uh, telemarketer,” he explained quickly.
A few of the guys nodded in commiseration.
Even antsier than before, he unzipped his bag, tossed the cell inside and then reached for his crutches where they lay on the floor.
“Hang on. I got them for you. Here.” Cam smiled and handed him the crutches.
Any other time, Kyle would have been amused that an E-9 was jumping to help him, a Chief Petty Officer. Not today.
Today, he didn’t want help from anyone. He wanted to be able to help himself.
Feeling helpless, and therefore cranky, Kyle reached for the crutches and managed a civil, “Thanks.”
Struggling to his feet, he got his balance and worked his way around the seating group.
He was getting used to maneuvering on the crutches. He should be an expert by the time he could walk without them.
Great. Something to look forward to.
“We’ll save your seat while you’re gone,” John called after him.
“Thank you,” he returned and meant it.
It was a good seat and he didn’t want to lose it. That he was taking the chance that he would for no good reason other than that he needed to move proved how antsy he was feeling.
He wasn’t sure where he was going, just that he needed to get away by himself where it was quiet for a bit.
Blessing smiled wide when she spotted him. “Hello, Chief Jones. Can I direct you somewhere? Or I’m happy to go and get you whatever you need.”
Oh yeah? What if he needed to take a piss? Was she going to help him with that too?
Christ, he was a bastard for even thinking that. She was the sweetest woman on earth. He had no business being near anyone as nice as her right now.