Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

T hings were still shit in the compass arena, hence the PT shorts and sneakers he'd donned to head out for a run and try and forget it all for a little while.

The manager of the gas station had already left for the day. No surprise, the bored-looking pimply teenager on the night shift didn't have the authority to grant them access to the security footage so they'd have to go back in the morning.

That meant both Corey and Josie had to cool their heels and just wait. Today, Corey didn't have the patience to sit around and do nothing.

Physical exertion always cleared his head. So he drove home, changed, told his mother he'd be back in a bit, and took off for a good long run…

And that was part of the problem right now. He didn't know how long he'd been gone or how many miles he'd covered. All he did know was that the street he was on didn't look at all familiar.

Racking his brain, he tried to place where he was.

Which base was this?

It took him only a second to know that thought was wrong. To remember he wasn't in Florida. Wasn't on any base.

He was home in upstate New York.

But where the hell was he?

Pulse racing, and not from exercise, he spun slowly in a circle, looking for something familiar. Anything that would jog his memory. Give him some indication of where he was and how to get home.

Nothing seemed familiar.

His heart-pounding fear turned into a full-on panic attack. Bad enough that remaining upright seemed beyond his abilities.

He sank to the curb. Hanging his head between his bent knees he gasped for breath.

What would happen if he passed out right there in the street?

Someone would likely see him—eventually—and call the cops. First responders would check the dog tags around his neck and call his mother.

She'd panic and worry about him incessantly. She wouldn't let him out of her sight for the rest of his time home. No way would she let him use the car to go anywhere?—

He pushed aside a niggling concern that maybe he shouldn't be driving with this injury and went back to worrying about his mother.

It would be like when he was a teen who'd been grounded all over again. Except this time he didn't trust his body enough to climb onto the roof to sneak out while she was sleeping.

As black spots tinged the edges of his vision and the air seemed to be too thin to breathe as his gasps got faster, he managed to wrestle the cell out of the pocket of his shorts.

He hit the number of the one person he knew wouldn't baby him. And who would keep his secret… because he was currently keeping hers.

"Did you find something?" Josie asked in lieu of a normal greeting.

Obviously she thought this call was about the compass. He was about to disappoint her.

Although maybe not too much. Given her current attitude toward him, Josie might enjoy seeing him collapsed in the street, helpless and in desperate need of her assistance.

"No. Um, I need you… to come get me." That admission was harder than he thought it would be.

He waited for her tirade. Something in the order of why should she do anything for him? She wasn't his chauffeur.

The rant didn't come. His request was met with an uncharacteristic silence from his usually chatty neighbor—an eternity of quiet—or at least it felt that long considering this was Josie.

"Where are you?" she asked.

This was going to be even harder to admit. He'd have to do it anyway.

The only other alternative would be to make this curb his home until his brain decided to cooperate. Or wander aimlessly and hope to hit on someplace he recognized. Or someone who recognized him.

"I don't know."

He thought he heard her bite out a low cuss before she said, "Your cell has GPS."

Of course. He should have remembered that.

He could have opened the map app to lead him home…if he wasn't also having trouble remembering the exact street number of the house he'd grown up in.

Was it 207? 702? Crap! He was screwed. His brain. His career. His future…

Panic later. Get off the street now.

He managed to remember how to navigate to the text app and drop a location pin. Apparently the brain was selectively random about what it would allow him to recall.

At least he was still able to speak. And he remembered the people who loved—and loathed—him.

"Got it," Josie said. "You're not far. I'll be right there. Two minutes. Okay?"

"Okay. And Josie?

"Yeah?

"Why are you being nice to me?" All he could think was that it was because he sounded as shitty as he felt.

She laughed and said, "Good question. When I figure it out, I'll let you know."

Her snark made him feel better. Thank God, because he really needed to.

She found him shortly later still seated on the curb with his head in his hands.

Sliding out of the car, she walked to where he was and said, "Someone call for an Uber?"

"Josie." Her name escaped him on a weak whoosh of air as he still struggled to hold down the panic and not hyperventilate.

He tried to stand and swayed to one side. He caught himself with one hand and plopped his ass back onto the curb as he grumbled a lengthy cuss worthy of the sailor he was.

Squatting down in front of him, her face close, the look of concern on it clear, Josie said, "Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing. I'll be fine."

He avoided meeting her gaze, but when he finally did glance up, he saw her dark brows were skeptically high.

"It's obvious you're not fine."

"I was just running."

"And…" she prompted.

He could lie. Say he pulled a hamstring or something. Or got overheated and was afraid of a heat stroke so he'd called her.

Or he could suck it up and tell the truth.

It's not like any of the options were ideal. Besides, this was Josie. She had no stake in his future. In his career. In his health. He might as well tell her the truth.

"I didn't—don't—know where I am. Or which direction home is."

Having one person he didn't have to lie to and pretend with felt like a huge relief. Until he got a look at her expression. Shock mixed with fear, if he had to put a name to it.

It was an honest reaction and it showed him, objectively, that things were as bad as he figured. His panic was justified.

He let out a resignation-filled breath.

"I'm like a block from home, aren't I?" he guessed.

"Two and a half blocks but yeah, pretty damn close. Is this because of your…" She tapped her forehead with one finger.

He nodded, miserable.

"Has this happened to you before?"

"Memory loss? Yeah. Once or twice." That was a huge exaggeration as he underestimated how often his memory had failed him of late. "The not knowing where I am. No. This is the first time for that."

Great. A new symptom. The Navy doctors were going to eat that shit up.

He might as well start planning for his medical retirement now. Then what? What was he qualified to do that didn't involve a damn drone?

Maybe the local supermarket was hiring baggers or door greeters…

She was still staring at him not saying anything, which was somehow worse than if she'd been talking.

He felt compelled to fill the silence. "Back in the beginning, when the explosion first happened and I couldn't remember something, I figured it was because the injury was so fresh. New. And I thought, a couple of weeks out, you know, I'd be better. Healed."

"It takes time. You might?—"

"Never get better?" he finished for her.

"No. You'll get better. But I was going to say you might never get to one hundred percent."

"Josie. I have to be at a hundred and ten percent to do my job." Otherwise, people would die. Didn't she realize that? He set his jaw in anger.

"I'm sorry."

He laughed bitterly, not quite believing her. "Yeah, I'm sure. It doesn't matter. I'm just a screw up anyway, right? No one in town will be shocked when the Navy kicks me out and I come home with my tail between my legs."

"They'd kick you out for getting injured while on duty?" she asked.

"It'll be officially a medical retirement but…" He lifted one shoulder like it didn't matter even though he knew everyone in town would assume he'd screwed up.

Why wouldn't they? Josie had it right when she'd pointed out his checkered past. It wouldn't be a far stretch for people to believe he'd stolen that compass or gotten booted out of the military.

The compass. This recent trauma had momentarily knocked that disaster out of his head but it was back full force now.

"We gotta get moving."

He tried to stand again and this time—with Josie's help—he actually made it.

"Thanks," he grumbled.

"Anytime." She watched him for a disturbingly intense moment then spun on her heel, saying as she walked away, "Come on. I'll drive you the two blocks home so you don't get too winded."

Amazingly, she lured a snort of a laugh out of him. "I could beat you in a race, any day," he said, welcoming the levity of their familiar verbal sparring.

She blew out a loud lip-flapping breath. "And that's a big accomplishment? Dude, I sit on my ass for a living. My exercise consists of going to the kitchen to refill my water bottle and get a snack."

She settled behind the wheel of her parents' car and stared at him through the open window. "Come on, Flash. Get in. I've got places to go. People to see."

Sniffing out a short laugh, he made his way to the passenger side door.

Maybe Josie's loathing was exactly what he needed right now.