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My breath catches. How did he…?

“I recognized it the first time I saw you together on the
Lake Champlain.
I saw how he looked at you and I remember looking at Kara the same way.”

I wipe my eyes, my heart wrenching.

“Anyhow, hang on to that. It's a special feeling that not too many people get to experience.”

I'm going to have to ask for a new pillowcase, since mine is now soaked.

“Can I get you…?” He points to the tissue box.

I nod and he crosses the room to the small sink. He grabs the box, places it on the bed, and grabs a tissue for himself.

“I probably need this more than you,” he says with a small laugh before blowing his nose.

I smile, realizing that the surreal nature of this moment far surpasses any of my surreal moments with Eric.

“You're in your whites,” I say. “Was that you in five four?”

He nods.

“Really? And you were flying?”

He nods again.

“You were amazing! I never knew you could fly like that. And you flew into machine-gun fire—”

“Yeah, the maintenance officer's pissed. Bullet holes all over the airframe.”

“I can imagine,” I say, looking into his light brown eyes—brave eyes, courageous eyes. “You're the reason we're still alive—Eric and I.”

“It was the least I could do. I sort of owed you.”

“Well, consider us square.”

He looks at me with an expression I've never seen before. Like he's seeing me for the first time. And I have to admit, I probably carry the same expression.

“I need to get going,” he says finally. He rises and starts to walk away, but turns. His lips spread into a smile. “I have an award recommendation to write.”

I sink into my pillow as I watch him leave. I don't know if I can handle any more emotional upheaval today. I think I'm tapped out.

“What do you mean, I can't see her!” Em's voice grows louder as she nears the room.

“Rest, my ass! That girl is tough as nails! Not like your milk toast–loving jet jocks around here!”

“Lieutenant, please.”

“Please, nothing! I need to see her now! I will raise holy fuckin' hell around here if you don't let me in!”

“All right, ma'am,” a sailor's voice says. “Five minutes.”

“That's more like it!”

She bursts in with enough energy to cure ten of me. And she's in summer whites.

Summer whites? “Were you…?”

“Was I what? You're looking at me like I'm wearing one of your goddamn long-sleeved shirts!”

“Were you in five four?”

“Duh! 'Bout got my ass shot off trying to find you!”

“You were there…”

“Hell, yeah, I was there! You think I was gonna let Commander Nick fly off all by his lonesome?”

I shrug.

“You never told me you were being dragged into shit like this,” she says accusingly.

“They told me not to tell anyone. I'm sorry, Em.”

“See, this is what happens when you saddle up with a badass boyfriend. These things never work out.”

“Badass boyfriend? What do you—”

“Hello! He's a SEAL! God almighty, you're with a SEAL!”

I stifle the grin that threatens as Eric silently enters the room behind her.

“He jumped out of his helicopter, Sara, at like a hundred feet! Holy crap! You do
not
need to be with a guy like that. Remember, I
know
these things.”

“But he saved my life, Em.”

“I know, I know, I know!” she says, grabbing at her hair. “That's the worst part! God, all the romantic shit happens to you! I can't stand it! He jumped out of a helicopter for you! Aghh! I want a guy like that!”

“But you just said that was a bad idea.”

“I lied! Every girl wants the badass guy! It rarely works out, but who cares! If they're jumping out of helicopters for you, then what the fuck! We should all be so lucky!”

“Em, you're insane.”

“It rarely works out?” Eric says.

“Ah, fuck,” Em says, turning to look behind her. “Oh, and look, you have matching bullet wounds. Seriously?”

“So does that go in our favor or work against us?” Eric asks, hopping toward me.

“Well, let's see,” she says. “The couple that rides together in the fast lane, danger at every turn. Life-and-death experiences tend to draw those kinds together. But when the adrenaline runs out and you're sitting on your porch in rocking chairs someday … I don't see it lasting at that point.”

Eric and I share an incredulous look.

“You just heal up fast and get back to the ship so I can have some, you know, details. I need
all
of them,” she says, glancing askance at Eric and then back to me.

“It was great to see you, Em,” I say. “And, thanks.”

She looks at me for a long moment, and then, to my utter surprise, leans over and kisses me on the forehead. “You scared the shit out of me, Sara Denning,” she says, with tears in her eyes. “No more of this, okay?”

She turns to Eric and points at him. “Okay?”

She doesn't bother to wait for a response, but rushes out, almost knocking Eric over in the process.

“So how come the sailor outside didn't give
you
any trouble about coming to see me? Em had to resort to threats.”

“Probably because I wield a set of crutches and he knew I wasn't afraid to use them,” he says, arriving at my side. “Are the pain meds keeping up?”

“Yeah, actually, I'm feeling okay.”

“Any chance you'd be up for one more visitor?”

“I have another visitor?”

“Only if you're up for it.”

“Well, of course, except I think I've seen everyone.”

“Hold on just one second,” he says.

He moves agilely across the room, even on crutches, but when he returns, he follows the flight surgeon, who is pushing a wheelchair. My mouth drops open.

“Animal?”

I can't believe he's sitting up. How is this possible?

“Sara, this is Commander Bennett, the flight surgeon who operated on you,” Eric says by way of introduction to the man holding the handles of the wheelchair.

“Nice to meet you, sir,” I say.

“It's great to meet you, as well,” he says. “I'm also the doc who operated on this gentleman,” he says, motioning to Animal. “The one who should not be out of his bed now but who threatened to slit my throat in the middle of the night if I didn't let him come see you.”

I look at Animal in bewilderment.

“I said he has five minutes,” Commander Bennett says. He walks around to the front of the wheelchair, leaning over so Animal can see him directly. “And not one second more.”

Animal rolls his eyes.

“I'll be back to get him, Sara, and then I'll come check on you.”

Commander Bennett takes his leave and my eyes move back to Animal, who's dressed in a hospital gown, a large blanket covering his torso. Tubes run from under the blanket and connect to an IV bag hanging from a long silver pole attached to the wheelchair above him. His tangled black hair remains in its normal messy state. And everything about him looks tired—his body took a huge beating—but his steel-gray eyes are as sharp as ever.

I look to Eric and back to Animal. “We're quite the sorry lot, aren't we?”

Animal starts to laugh, but grimaces in the process.

“Sir, you should be in bed. I mean—”

“I should be dead.”

His penetrating gaze is unwavering.

I look down, nervously spreading the sheets across my lap. The memories, the images—of him in particular—are difficult. It's also hard for me to bear this drawn-out silence.

I take a chance and look up. His eyes haven't moved. This time, I hold his gaze and I realize, finally, this is Animal's way of saying thank you. And he's delivering the sentiment in the most meaningful and heartfelt way I can imagine.

“So how are you feeling?” I ask.

“I'm managing. And you?”

I peer up to my IV bag and back to him. “Whatever they've got going in there is working pretty good.”

He stares at me with a heavy dose of contemplation, opening his mouth and then closing it again, as if he has a lot to say and he's trying to pick what comes out first.

“An AFCS-off buttonhook?” His exasperated tone is one of those are-you-kidding-me reprimands.

“Well, you taught me,” I say lamely.

“And the attitude? Where did you learn that? ‘Just shoot me and get it over with'? Who the hell taught you that?”

“Well, giving in to Australian psychopaths is for pussies, wouldn't you say?”

A satisfied smile spreads across his face. “A chip off the ol' block.”

“Uh-oh,” Eric says.

“See,” Animal says to Eric. “I told you she was perfect for this.”

“I already knew she was perfect,” Eric says with a sweet glance in my direction.

“So … this guy?” Animal asks, motioning to Eric.

“Yeah,” I say demurely.

Animal turns his head back and forth, looking between us several times, deliberating the arrangement.

“He isn't good enough for you,” he states.

“Uh … thanks for the backup,” Eric says.

“Anytime.”

“All right, time's up!” Commander Bennett says, entering the room. He grabs the handles to the wheelchair and begins to turn Animal around.

“Well, I'll see you around, sir.”

“Hell, yeah! We've got more training to do!” He nods in triumph to Eric.

“Max is saying good-bye now,” Commander Bennett announces, and without further ado, pushes him through the curtain and out the door.

“You're probably tapped out on visitors,” Eric says. “Why don't I give you some space.”

“No!” I say emphatically. “Sorry, I didn't mean for that to come out that way.”

His eyes light up. “So you don't mind if I hang out a little longer, then?”

I point to the chair. “Sit.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He leans his crutches against the bed and gingerly lowers himself into the chair. “I was able to corner Commander Bennett earlier, by the way. He said we're looking at another three days here, at least.”

“Then what? Back to our ships?”

“I don't know, but I'd guess so. I suspect we'll be flying desks for a while, which is actually good. It'll give me time to arrange the details on a plan I've got brewing for us.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“You'll see,” he says coyly.

“Lieutenant Marxen … what are you up to?”

“Just the usual. Bending people to my will and all that.”

“Please tell me that whatever you've got in the works involves just you and me and some alone time.”

“You'd like that?”

“I'd love that.”

“Perfect. I've got it covered.”

 

EPILOGUE

I stare at my reflection in a Waikiki shop window, not recognizing the person that stares back. This is not the same face I wore three months ago. My hair, worn loose, is flowing over my shoulders—my bare shoulders, that is. Eric just bought me a gift—a halter dress with tiny white hibiscus flowers patterned on the bodice.

I hold his hand as I look up and down at the vision in front of me—a vision, because it certainly doesn't seem real.

“What is it?” he asks.

“I'm just looking … at us,” I say, motioning to the glass. “I could never have imagined this.”

“But what's bothering you?”

I pull my eyes from the window and look up at him. “How do you
do
that?”

His eyes twinkle. “I'm gonna take a wild stab here.” He points to the rubber band on my wrist. “May I have that?”

Taking it, he moves behind me and gathers my hair, securing it in a rough version of a ponytail. I smile broadly when he's finished.

“Better?” he asks.

“Yes. Thanks.”

“And even though you look freakin' amazing in that dress, remember that wasn't my idea, either,” he says. “I just don't want to face Emily's wrath when we get back.”

Em made Eric promise that the first thing he would do when we arrived was purchase appropriate beach attire for me. I was good and didn't complain and now Em will be happy. I even had the clerk at the counter take a picture of Eric and me together so I could send it to Em as proof.

“I think I can live with the dress,” I say.

He wraps his arm around me and pulls me close, kissing me on the forehead in the process. “Come on.”

We turn and stroll with the other tourists along a lengthy promenade of shops, leading past the International Marketplace on Kalakaua Avenue in Honolulu.

That little plan of Eric's? The one he had brewing on
Nimitz
? It was this. A bit of leave in Hawaii. This is one of those things that never should have been approved, and he had to have done a lot of flexing to get this request to fly. But hey, I'll take it.

We boarded a C-9 aircraft in Fujairah, United Arab Emirates, and eighteen long hours later, touched down at Hickam Air Force Base in Pearl Harbor. When the taxi dropped us at our beachfront hotel, the room wasn't ready yet, so we deposited our bags with the concierge and walked directly here.

Before leaving our suitcases, we changed into our swimsuits. Yeah … swimsuits. I've decided there's no reason I should feel uncomfortable in a suit, even with scores of military men roaming the beaches of Waikiki. But more importantly, I want to learn to enjoy the water. Eric said he'd help, so that's where we're headed now.

Our wounds have had four weeks to heal, so we're walking more normally now. And even though the hand that holds mine sports a two-inch scar running across the palm, it functions normally, having retained almost all of its strength and dexterity. This hand squeezes mine now as we make our way to the beach. I'm happy for the long walk and the time it affords to mentally prepare for what I'm about to do.