Keeping Gemma (Holiday Cove 2)

“That’s not pathetic. Unpacking is the worst.”

“It really, really is!” She giggled. “Anyway, I've been spending what little free time I do have, soaking up the sun and the sand. After all, that was the big draw that got me here in the first place."

"A beach bunny in the making," I said with a grin.

"Something like that."

"Well, I'll be out of here soon enough, and I make one hell of a tour guide." I waggled my eyebrows at her, smiling even broader when she burst into her beautiful laugh. "What? That's not a convincing enough offer?"

"It is," she hurried to reply, still giggling. "I was just picturing you in one of those safari getups, you know the khaki shorts and the broad brimmed hat to match. Like the guy from Curious George."

"Shit, that's even colder, baby."

Gemma’s giggle faded, but the amusement still glimmered in her eyes. "You're right. Just for that, I’ll agree to go on your grand tour."

"I don't know if I want to take you anymore," I said with mock disapproval.

Gemma punched me lightly on the shoulder and I cradled the spot as though she’d dealt a mortal wound. "Hitting your patients? I think I'm going to need to speak to your supervisor, young lady."

Gemma ignored my protest. "I have tomorrow off, but I'll make sure they take good care of you when you're discharged." She stood and started toward the door of my room. My eyes followed after her, taking in the way her shorts clung to her curves with each purposeful stride.

“Stop staring at my ass, Rosen,” she called over her shoulder, not looking back.

I chuckled and lay back on my bed, staring up at the ceiling tiles.

This is gonna be fun.

17

“You ready to rock and roll?” Jack asked, the following afternoon, once all the red tape had been cut to get me out of the hospital. He braced his hands on the handles of the wheelchair I was forced to use.

“Yep. Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” I replied dryly.

Holly and Carly came around the corner and they both broke into wide smiles at the sight of me out of bed and dressed in street clothes that Jack had brought from my house. “Looking good, Rosen,” Carly said.

“You too, gorgeous.”

Holly laughed. “I don’t know why you two can’t be a couple. You’d be absolutely adorable together.”

Jack chuckled and started pushing me forward. “Don’t bother, Holly. Carly’s too smart to fall for Player’s tricks.”

“It’s true,” Carly replied. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to my cheek as Jack rolled me past. “I am glad to see you back to your old self. I’ll see you at the cafe, soon, okay?”

“You got it, gorgeous,” I agreed, although it was hard to think ahead to when I’d be back to my old self. It was odd to get dressed in normal clothes. A nurse had been there to assist me—happily, I might add—but once she’d left the small bathroom, I’d looked in the mirror and almost didn’t recognize myself.

My normal scruff had grown out into the beginnings of a full beard, my eyes had dark circles under them from the fitful sleep I’d been getting since my arrival, and there was a spooky hollowness to my expression that hadn’t been there before.

I wanted to blame it on the lack of sleep, but I knew it was a deeper problem. A few days with a bottle of sleeping pills, a comfortable bed, and black-out shades wasn’t going to fix it.

Unfortunately.

Boomer and Holly got me into the backseat of their rental car and we took off, down the highway from the hospital to Holiday Cove. The hospital serviced three nearby cities and was in the middle of all three, right off the 101. As we got closer to Holiday Cove, I looked out the window, knowing we were nearing the crash site.

“Aaron, you might—”

“I know,” I said, interrupting Jack’s warning. “I need to see it.”

A few seconds later, it came into view. “Fuck, man.”

“Yeah. You’re lucky to be alive.” Holly said as we gawked at the crash site. I know she didn’t mean anything, but I couldn’t help but think about Talia. She wasn’t so lucky.

The area was taped off with a yellow police tape, and I was surprised to see the area was still secured with police cars and some important-looking men in suits.

“Are those the FAA agents?” I asked, not tearing my eyes off the wreckage. The nose of the plane was what had impacted the beach, and despite the sand, the crash had been too fast, too sudden, and the damage was evident.

The windshield was shattered, all the glass blown out. The side was twisted and mangled—torn apart like a tin can and it looked like there were charred pieces of metal lying amongst the broken plane. Had there been a fire? I couldn’t remember it, but I’d blacked out before the paramedics had even arrived.