Page 64 of Secret Mission

I sit up quickly, causing the horrible vinyl chair to creak.

After Truck told me about my research partner’s medical condition following an earthquake, all of my energy drained out.

Heart aching, I push my hair back. A shiver follows.

I fold my arms tighter.

Antiseptic lingers in the air, a cool breeze from the air-conditioner feathering down from the ceiling.

For a few seconds, my mind is too hazy to put the scene together, then it all crashes into place, and the horrible sight of Axle bleeding on the floor makes my stomach clench.

Arriving at the hospital was chaotic.

The medical team was dealing with Axle, but almost as alarmed at Truck’s appearance.

It takes a few seconds to find my voice through the river of emotion blocking my throat. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to fall?—”

A sweet-faced older nurse makes the shhhh sign.

Oops.

“He fell asleep too,” she whispers.

Truck is flat out on his back, shirtless with his thick planes of muscle on display. His face is turned away from me, his boot-covered feet hanging off at least a foot off of the stretcher.

“I cleaned and bandaged as many of his wounds as I could. That boy was a mess.”

Emotion slams down like an anvil.

My throat is achingly tight, all I can do is nod.

“You must be Hope.”

I blink at her, a pain dropping from my throat to my heart. “I’m sorry?”

Sorry? Why did I say that?

She must see my confusion. Or maybe she thinks it’s the exhaustion. Because it’s both.

How does she know about Hope?

“Your name is tattooed on the back of his shoulder.”

Oh. “Oh. Um. You know…”

I have no clue what to say. Hope was his fiancée.

But I am not telling this woman that Hope is dead and that I didn’t even realize the word Hope was tattooed on the back of his shoulder.

How did I miss that?

Regardless, it doesn’t stop the effect of this revelation.

There’s a vicious sting in my heart. Not for myself. For him. For whatever tragedy has befallen this strong, brave, protective man. For whatever happened between him and his twin brother that is tangled up with her memory.

“It’s a lovely name,” she goes on, her voice soft so she doesn’t disturb the sleeping SEAL. “I almost named my daughter that.”

At a complete loss for words, I hug myself, wishing I’d asked for a blanket. If ever I needed to feel warm and swaddled, it’s now.

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