Geri Krotow - Navy Rescue

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.