Not Quite Enough (Not Quite series)

by Catherine Bybee

  She turned so fast he hadn’t seen it coming.

  What the hell was he doing?

  They were just having a good time and why did he have to go and make it complicated?

  She’d always left his side saying how much she’d miss him and how much she’d like their relationship to be different. But when pushed to the wall, she didn’t want a relationship at all. Then she broadsided him with another half truth.

  There was someone else in Chicago.

  Trent was numb.

  They’d returned to the table and shortly after Trent asked his father to fly Connie home.

  Marcus, being the man he was, was happy to help, and Beverly didn’t want him flying back alone so she went along.

  The plane never made it to Chicago.

  And Connie’s someone was her husband.

  So yeah, Trent was hiding from life. Licking his wounds and what of it? He’d lost two of the most important people in his life because of his inability to see the truth.

  Jason was talking and it took a minute for Trent to focus on his brother’s words. “They wouldn’t want you to piss your life away. And they sure as hell wouldn’t have blamed you.”

  He hated that his brother was right.

  Somewhere between the last time he’d talked to his brother about all this and now, something had changed. Something inside Trent had thawed.

  “Come home,” Jason encouraged him.

  “I don’t know if that’s home anymore.”

  “Maybe it’s not. But you won’t know if you stay there.”

  Maybe it was time to move on. But he couldn’t abandon Jamaica… not yet. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Really?” Jason sounded hopeful.

  “Yeah.” They said their good-byes and Trent tried to relax.

  It didn’t last long.

  He took a last look at the empty chair next to him and jumped to his feet. “Come on, Ginger. Let’s take a drive.”

  Chapter Nine

  A child laughed, and the happy sound caught Monica by surprise. There had been so little laughter in her life in the past few days. She glanced up and noticed Ginger licking the hand of a small girl sitting beside her mother’s bed.

  Trent?

  He stood in the doorway, his attention directed at her, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses.

  Why is he here?

  He walked toward her, leaving Ginger to entertain the child and another teenager who slid off his chair to pet the dog.

  As Trent drew closer, Monica looked around to see if anyone else noticed his direct stance. The thin line of his lips. She couldn’t tell if he was pissed or happy. She shifted in her chair as he approached.

  “Hey?” she managed when he was close enough to hear her.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  She sighed, not trusting herself. “Uhm.”

  “Just for a minute.”

  Monica swallowed and stood. She dropped the chart on the table and wrapped her stethoscope around her neck.

  Trent turned toward his dog. “Stay!”

  Ginger sat on her haunches and watched them as Monica led him out the back door.

  The light outside was growing dim. Before they cleared the door, Monica tried to put distance between them. “I thought I said you didn’t need to come back.”

  The door closed behind him and Monica turned around. He removed his sunglasses, hung them on his shirt. “I had to come back,” he said.

  He stood over her, looming with a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

  “Why?”

  He moved forward, and before she could step back, his arm was around her waist and he was pulling her close. Monica couldn’t breathe and Trent didn’t give her time to think.

  His lips took hers so swiftly and so completely, Monica’s world exploded. She’d thought of him all day. About his body close to hers, the soft touch of his fingers on her arm, and how much she wished she’d at least sampled his kiss, and here he was folding her into his arms. There was no hesitation on his part. He acted as if he’d kissed her a hundred times and had a right to do so whenever, wherever he pleased. Trent’s confident possession of her lips, his tongue mating with hers, wasn’t sloppy or poorly executed.

  It was heaven.

  Monica closed her eyes, reached up, and touched his shoulders, his neck, before she fanned her fingers in his hair. She was alive, whole, and completely aware of every cell in her body reaching for the man in her arms.

  His sunglasses bit into her chest. Before she could protest about their barrier, Trent slid a hand between the two of them and tossed the glasses to his feet.

  She giggled under his kiss and attempted to get closer.

  He kissed her breathless, until her breasts felt heavy with need and her body softened. Until he hardened.

  It was Trent who started this madness and Trent who eased his lips from hers minutes later.

  She sighed as he kissed her softly then moved his lips to her temples.

  They stood there, holding each other and catching their breath.

  “I couldn’t let you leave without tasting you,” he whispered in her ear.

  She heard the pain in his voice. “I’m not leaving yet.”

  He didn’t offer a comment about that. Instead, he asked, “What’s your last name?”

  His hand was rubbing up and down her back. “Mann. Monica Mann.”

  “When are they sending you back home?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  He leaned back, placed one hand on each side of her face, and kissed her again, briefly. “Can you get away?”

  She shook her head. “No.” There was too much to do and only one other nurse there.

  His eyes searched hers. “Don’t leave without telling me.”

  “One kiss and you’re telling me what to do?” she asked with a smile on her face.

  “Please.”

  Her skin broke out in gooseflesh, despite the warm temperature.

  His thumb traced her lips and slid from her face, down her neck, and off her shoulder. He stepped away as if it was painful for him to do. Trent opened the back door and whistled. Ginger bounded to her feet and followed him to his car.

  All Monica could do was watch him go.

  She lifted her fingers to her lips and felt the sting of his kiss linger long after he sped away.

  Trent winced at the taste of the coffee in the pilots’ lounge the next morning.

  “That bad?” The pilot who asked the question was off a private jet that had landed thirty minutes earlier. His hand hovered over the carafe filled with coffee.

  “It needs CPR,” Trent told him.

  The pilot let his hand drop.

  “You wouldn’t happen to know who flies the chopper, would you?” the pilot asked.

  Trent pushed his coffee away. “You’re looking at him.”

  “My boss needs to get around the island. We’re told the roads are passable but slow.”

  Trent eyed the jet on the runway. “Do you have coffee on board?”

  The pilot laughed. “Yeah. We have everything.”

  Trent stood, put out his hand. “I’m Trent.”

  “Roy. C’mon, I’ll introduce you to my boss.”

  Trent followed Roy across the tarmac and up the steps into the luxury jet. He knew money when he saw it, and this Gulfstream was dripping in money. Leather seats, a couch, a door leading to what Trent assumed was a bedroom. Nice!

  At a table sat a man close in age to Trent and wearing a cowboy hat and jeans.

  “Jack?” Roy called as they stepped inside. “I found your pilot.”

  Jack stood and offered a hand to Trent. “Jack Morrison.”

  “Trent Fairchild.”

  Jack’s handshake was firm, confident. You could tell a lot from a man’s handshake. “I’m not sure what Roy told you.”

  Trent rocked back on his heels. “All I heard was coffee.”

  Jack’s Texan accent laced his words. “That we can do
.” He slid behind the bar, found a cup, and poured what smelled like nirvana. “How do you take it?”

  “Black or maybe intravenously at this point.”

  Jack laughed. “You sound like someone I know.”

  “Coffee is worth more than gold here these days.”

  Roy stepped around his boss and poured his own cup. Obviously, the employee/boss relationship wasn’t set with unnecessary pretense.

  Jack handed him the coffee and Roy left the plane.

  The first taste of good java hit his tongue and he felt the jolt hit his system. “Perfect.” He hadn’t slept much the night before. Thoughts of Monica leaving in the middle of the night haunted his dreams. Alternately, her kiss sparked his fantasies.

  “I can pay you for your help.”

  Trent shook his head. “Not necessary. I assume you’re not here on a pleasure trip.”

  Jack offered the seat opposite him and sat down again. “The Morrison was hit hard. I’m told the bungalows on sea level are wiped out, but the main hotel is solid.”

  “You’re that Morrison?”

  Jack laughed. “One of them anyway.”

  Trent thought of his brothers, wondered if they’d met the man in front of him. “I think we might know some of the same people,” he said. “Fairchild Vacation and Charter Tours works with many of your resorts.” The contract had been a reason to celebrate when his father was still alive.

  Jack’s eyes lit up. “You’re that Fairchild?”

  It was Trent’s turn to laugh. “My brothers run the business.”

  “Well, hell. It’s a small-ass world isn’t it?”

  “Sure is. Made smaller when you have your own wings.” It was safe to assume the man in front of him had had access to private planes since he was in diapers.

  “So are you here checking on your business, too?” Jack asked.

  “I live here.”

  “Oh. Then you’re the one I need to know. Is there a place to land close to the hotel?”

  Trent noticed the map of the island sitting on the table and pulled it over. He went over the options for landing and talked about the condition of the roads.

  “And where’s the hospital?”

  “Here.” He pointed. “I hope it’s not serious.” It hadn’t dawned on Trent that Jack might have lost someone on the island.

  “I need to check on someone. Are there other hospitals, clinics?”

  “Several, but this is the only one really operating on this side of the island. There’s a functioning clinic in Port Lucia.”

  Jack shook his head. “Well then, looks like we have some flying to do. You sure you’re able?”

  Trent finished his coffee and set the cup down. “It’s what I’ve been doing for a week. Bring your own food and water. There isn’t any to spare anywhere.”

  Chapter Ten

  Trent flew Jack to a clearing used for landing close to his hotel. Trent could see the horror on Jack’s face as the devastation became more than an image on the TV set.

  The beach in front of the hotel was yards of debris, washed-away roads, downed trees, and the occasional boat piled above what used to be outbuildings of the hotel.

  “How the hell are you dealing with this?” Jack asked Trent before The Morrison Hotel’s management descended upon them.

  Trent looked around, thought that everything that wasn’t a body was fixable. “Broken buildings are the easy part. It’s the people that didn’t make it… or only half made it, that are difficult to deal with.”

  Jack Morrison was the kind of man Trent would hang out with back home. The occasional friend here on the island had always been a temporary entity. He had his colleagues, and a few friends, but no one he knew understood the world he grew up in. A world where multimillion-dollar airplanes were bought, flown, and enjoyed. Although the Fairchilds had their share of the American pie they didn’t flaunt it.

  His mother, Beverly, had always kept their own home, cooked their meals, and driven them to school growing up. His father, Marcus, worked hard, created Fairchild Vacation and Charter Tours to combine the two things he loved in life… flying and travel. He capitalized on his vision using money from investors and his own life savings. When the company took off, he involved Trent and his brothers as much as they would allow.

  Outside of the business his parents were always there for him… for all of them. There was nothing any of them could ask that would have been denied. They’d been a close family. Laughing and playing all over the world. God did Trent miss his father’s booming laughter, missed his mother’s sound advice. His parents were insanely happy in their marriage, their life. Trent missed them. Blamed himself for their loss.

  Jack had spent a couple of hours at the hotel, talking with those who remained and offering his own personal support to make sure the employees were taken care of. He made notes, and shook hands… and let more than one woman cry on his shoulder.

  Trent stood by, watched.

  While Jack walked through the hospital, Trent worked his way to where Monica had been when she was at this location. He was pleased to see a few familiar faces from their flights over, assuring him that the relief staff hadn’t yet started their exit from the island.

  Trent heard his name through the throngs of people.

  He searched for the source of his name and found Kiki lying on a bed.

  His heart flipped. “Kiki?”

  She reached her hand toward him. Her ever-present smile on her lips. “Trent, my friend.”

  He moved to her side, and swept her frame with his eyes, and clasped her hand. “Kiki, my God, are you all right?”

  “I’m better.”

  Trent hadn’t seen Reynard in days. “Does Reynard know you’re here?”

  She nodded. “He found me yesterday.” She lifted a hand to her head. “Out cold I was. The American doctor said I’ll be fine.”

  Her left leg was in a splint and she appeared in a bit of a daze. “Reynard told me you were tough,” he said with a wink.

  “You flirt.”

  “I try.” He made her smile. “Where’s your husband now?”

  Her brow pinched together. “The last of the house fell yesterday. He’s looking for shelter. The kids are too many for my mother.”

  Trent knew their home was small, and could only imagine Kiki’s mother’s house held less space.

  “Perfect,” he said with a smile. He knew he had to play this right or Reynard’s pride would keep him from saying yes.

  “What?”

  “I need someone to stay in my home when I leave. You, Reynard, and the kids can stay there. Keep an eye on it for me.”

  Kiki angled her head, as much as she could while lying flat on a bed. “Trenton! That is not—”

  He placed a finger to her lips, silencing her. “My brothers need me back home. I’ll be back… eventually. If I leave it without someone inside the jungle will take it back.”

  Kiki shook her head, but her eyes softened as if a heavy weight had been lifted.

  “When will you leave?”

  “When I’m no longer needed here. One, two weeks at the most.”

  Saying this aloud made it real. He had been hiding from life and it was past time to start living it again.

  “You tell your husband to take you there when you get out of here. You don’t want the kids to get sick.” Trent knew how to push a mother’s buttons. “I’m home only to sleep right now.”

  He stood ready to make his exit.

  Kiki held his hand, tears swam in her eyes. “Your mother would be proud.”

  Yeah… she would have been.

  Trent found Jack waiting outside. “Did you find who you were looking for?”

  Jack shook his head. “I was told she’s at the other hospital.”

  “Let’s go then.”

  “What?” Monica took a call from Deb, who was still in California and taking a break from her day job.

  “Pat’s on a warpath. Said you didn’t clear your schedule before
you left and that it was your responsibility.”

  Monica’s jaw ached from grinding her teeth. “I had the shifts covered.”

  “Someone called in sick.”

  “How the hell was I going to fix that? Staffing said they’d take care of any issues.”

  “That’s not how Pat’s spinning it. We’ve had two short shifts when you were supposed to be on.”

  “Ah, fuck.” Losing her job was not supposed to be part of a relief effort.

  “There’s more.”

  “What?”

  “Word has it that one of the patients there died because of a nursing mistake.”

  “Here?” Monica’s insides started to boil.

  Deb went on to tell her about a reporter somewhere on the island that was following a story of a rich tourist who didn’t make it and how the family was holding the Borderless Nurses and Doctors responsible for their death.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Monica told her friend. “We’re all doing our best with toothpicks and duct tape. I’m out of tape, bandages, most of the antibiotics. It’s a freaking war zone, Deb.”

  “Either way, Pat’s gunning for you, and not in a good way.”

  Monica couldn’t think about this now. “What the hell am I supposed to do about that now?”

  “I just don’t want you to stress about getting back.”

  “I’m on the schedule next week.” Monica’s stay was self-limited.

  “Not anymore.”

  “What?”

  “Pat took you off.”

  That bitch.

  Her job was her independence. Her life.

  “I’m sorry, Monica.”

  “Not your fault. I’ll take care of it when I get back.”

  “Be careful.”

  Monica disconnected the call and leaned against the back of the building where she’d taken herself for privacy. A legal team worked with the doctors and nurses in the program. Walt and Donald would vouch for her, raise hell if the hospital, or Pat, fired her for being in Jamaica.

  But it sucked that she even had to think about any of that here.

  Sucked!

  Monica ran from patient to patient, hour to hour. Tents had been set up outside in an open field for those who were ready to go home, but didn’t have a home to go to. There were children in another tent who had yet to have a parent or family member collect them. The despair started to weigh on Monica.