Chapter 4

Chapter Four

" C orey ‘The Fist' Jacobs. Is that you?"

Corey frowned at the sound of his old nickname from his hockey days. Earned because he tended to have a temper while on the ice…and take it out on the faces of the other team's players.

He glanced up slowly, feeling every stiff, sore muscle as he did, to look at the man who had spoken. The man who—dressed in civvies and sporting facial scruff and a mop of dark hair that fell into his eyes—no doubt belonged to the SEAL encampment located in the middle of Camp Lemonnier.

That was the only explanation for this guy's appearance, since, unlike the regular troops, the SEALs weren't required to be in uniform and groomed to regulation standards at all times.

Corey frowned as his brain spun. It felt as if the information he needed was waiting in the shadows. If only he knew how to turn on the light.

It took him a few seconds to identify what seemed to be a familiar face. Finally it came to him and the relief he felt over that almost— almost —outweighed the terror he felt at the realization and the evidence there was something very wrong with his head.

It had been years since the last time they'd met. He should have recognized the voice right away after hearing it on the ice during countless hockey games and practices they'd played together back in high school.

"Quinn. Quinn Baldwin. No way," he said, as if it hadn't taken him far too long for his brain to supply the name of his next-door neighbor from back home in New York.

"I know, right? Of all the bases in all the world, you and I end up in this one." Quinn grinned as he loosely quoted Humphrey Bogart's classic line from Casablanca .

At least Corey remembered the damn movie. Though helluva lot of good that did him when he needed to be able to function at his job to keep his career, not quote old black and white movies from Hollywood's hay day.

Geographically speaking, where they were now in Djibouti on the Horn of Africa wasn't all that far from Casablanca. Just on the other side of the continent. But they were world's away from Hollywood, or New York where they'd both grown up.

"What are you doing here?" Corey asked, anxious for any distraction Quinn could supply.

"Team got spun up after that shit show with the Houthis and the Eisenhower. You?" Quinn asked.

Corey let out a dry laugh. "Same. Except I was on the receiving end of that shit show you mentioned. I was on the Eisenhower."

That he did remember in vivid detail.

What happened leading up to it, anyway, before he was knocked unconscious. Being in the mess. The warning coming over the PA. Everyone, including himself, running. The blast…

The worst of the injured were airlifted directly to Djibouti, then transferred to the medical center at Landstuhl in Germany, which was more prepared to deal with their injuries.

Corey had learned that when he finally woke up there in Medical at good old Camp Lemonnier, Djibouti.

He tried not to think about how many of the guys he'd been joking with in the mess just seconds before they got hit were currently battling for their lives. How many had injuries that would forever change their existence as they knew it.

Just having had his bell rung, he was one of the lucky ones. Maybe. He guessed he'd find that out after being evaluated back at Mayport. But first he had to get back to his base in Florida. And true to course, travel in the military was proving to be a lengthy and tedious process.

"You okay?" Quinn asked, his gaze skimming over Corey's body where he remained seated on the bench at the chow hall table.

Corey hadn't stood to greet his old neighbor.

He didn't want to admit that was because he got dizzy when he stood. Not to mention that he currently moved like a ninety-year-old man thanks to the pain in his neck and back. He'd never considered that a person could get whiplash aboard a ship.

"That has yet to be determined," Corey answered. "I'm under orders to check in with Medical immediately when I get back to the naval station stateside. But either way, the doc here said it looks like I'm the lucky winner of a trip home for at least a couple of weeks, even though I told them I feel okay."

Felt okay if he ignored the holes in his memory. And the fact his brain seemed to be operating at half throttle.

Then there was that dark spot on the edge of his vision when he got tired. And the muscle relaxers he'd been popping. And the damn vertigo…

But it would all go away as he healed. Right?

It had to or he was royally screwed.

Rest would help. That's what the upcoming weeks at home would be for. It would all be fine. He had to believe that.

"Medical leave." Quinn cringed. "Damn. I'm sorry."

Quinn's expression and the pity in his tone told Corey the SEAL understood his true feelings about being injured and sidelined. Especially when he wanted to be part of the recovery. There with the team working to clean up the mess he'd been airlifted away from.

US support—Marines, divers, engineers and SEALs like Quinn—had flooded into the region to fill the many needs that arose after the attack. Security, investigation, recovery of human remains…

Those uninjured among the crew had been pressed into service. But not Corey.

Pushing his hatred over that fact out of his mind, he said, "It's all good."

Corey shrugged as he said it, as if his future wasn't up in the air. Like his entire career wasn't in the hands of the Navy's doctors and there wasn't anything he could do about it.

"Just waiting on transport," Corey continued before a scoff. "My mom will be happy to see me, at least."

Quinn sniffed out a laugh. "I hear that. My mom would be over the moon if I got put on medical leave and went home, even if it were because I'd been injured."

Corey joined his old neighbor in a short laugh. "Mothers. Gotta love 'em."

"Amen to that." Quinn nodded.

"Your parents seem to be doing good," Corey said, more than happy to change the subject. "I follow their Insta."

"That Instagram." Quinn outright laughed, then shook his head. "Funny thing, now that you brought it up. Josie and I were just talking about you recently."

"Me?" Corey drew back surprised, but no more so than he was by the memories that Quinn's mention of his sister Josie brought up.

He hadn't thought about her in years, but recollections flew back to him now. Odd, given the holes in his memory lately. In fact, he remembered her vividly from ten years ago but he'd be damned if he could remember eating breakfast that morning.

Maybe he hadn't eaten. He had been pretty ravenous when he'd sat down for lunch.

Unaware of Corey's worry about his mental acuity, Quinn continued, "Josie was stalking our parents' social media, ranting about how they're acting like teenagers—it's driving her absolutely batty—and then she spotted your name or comment or whatever on one of their posts. Funny, right? Here you are now."

"Here I am now," Corey repeated, hoping his self-pity and misery didn't show through too obviously. "So, what's Josie up to nowadays anyway? She still in New York?"

Quinn let out a chuckle. "Believe it or not, she's living in California with me and my fiancée."

"Fiancée? Wow. Congrats."

"Thanks. It's been real cozy, just the three of us. Me, Josie and Bailey in a two-bedroom, one bathroom beach bungalow."

"I bet." Corey smiled, remembering a few of the screaming fights between the siblings in the past. He'd been able to hear them fighting from all the way over in his house.

"But actually, Josie's going to be back in New York this month. Our parents are going on a road trip and she's housesitting. You'll probably see her while you're there. She'll be right next door."

Right next door.

Just like she'd been in high school. Just like she'd been that summer he'd come home on bereavement leave when his father had passed away.

When he'd felt completely out of his mind and out of his element knowing his mother would be home alone and there was nothing he could do about it as long as his life was contracted to Uncle Sam.

Memories of that time hit him hard, causing a visceral reaction as his pulse sped and his stomach twisted. Hard enough he missed half of what Quinn was saying.

"—heading to a meeting. But it's been great seeing you, man."

"Yeah. You too," Corey replied.

Quinn spun to stride away while Corey, a lot more slowly, braced his palms on the table and pushed himself up.

Once on his feet, he sidled carefully out from between the bench and the table, and then made his way to the exit.

He needed to find out when he was getting out of there. Not being cleared for active duty while stuck at a camp teeming with action wasn't doing him any good, mentally.

Time to get out of this purgatory. Time to go home.