Page 7 of Home Town

The guilt over that hit hard.

She’d invite Bailey to come to New York with her but she knew Bailey had a tight schedule of recording sessions booked. And a deadline for the songs for her next album.

There was no way around it. Josie had promised her parents she’d come help them out. Bailey would have to weather Quinn’s absence all alone.

For the first time Josie truly understood how Quinn felt. Being pulled in two different directions. Having to balance all the responsibilities. Every time their mom had been disappointed he couldn’t come home for a visit. Every time he had to leave on a moment’s notice.

That all didn’t excuse his being a cranky smart ass most days but yeah, it sucked. Now Josie truly knew just how much.

Chapter Four

“Corey ‘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.”

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