by Susan Stoker
“It’s not m-m-mine,” Harley sobbed. “Please. Are you calling?”
“Yeah, I’m calling. Where’s your friend?”
The lady’s voice was hysterical and worried, and she sounded like she was on the verge of freaking out…so not what Harley needed at the moment. She needed firmness, someone to take charge. “He’s still back there in the field.” Harley gestured behind her. “I have to go back to him. Please, s-send them out there when they get here. Okay? I left h-him alone, b-but I have to get back to him.”
“Go back to your man, honey. I’ll call the cops.”
“Th-th-thank you,” Harley stammered before whirling around and heading at a run back to the field.
The barbed-wire fence scraped her on the way back under it again, but Harley barely noticed. All she could see was the lump in the middle of the grass. Breathing hard, she collapsed on her knees next to Coach.
He hadn’t moved, but she could see his chest rising and falling with his breaths, so she knew he was still alive.
The blood from his nose had continued to ooze out of his body, and Harley wiped it away again, hating the sight of it.
She unzipped his jumpsuit at the neck, just enough to try to give him some breathing room. The blue of his shirt a striking contrast against the white of the jumpsuit.
Hearing sirens in the distance—thank God for people who kept their promises—Harley leaned down into Coach.
“They’re coming, Coach. You’re okay. We made it d-down. They’ll make you feel better soon. Won’t you wake up? Please? You’re scaring the s-shit out of me.”
The sirens were louder now, obviously pulling into the parking lot behind her. Harley put her head on Coach’s chest and cried.
Cried in relief that someone else was there and could take charge.
Cried because she’d been so scared.
Cried because she’d lived through something that she probably shouldn’t have.
But most of all, she cried because the most confident, protective, nice man she’d met in her entire life was lying broken and bleeding in front of her.
And it somehow felt like it was her fault.
6
Harley wanted to go home.
She was done.
Done.
But she couldn’t until she knew Coach was going to be all right.
The medics had arrived at the field and had swung into action. After ascertaining that the blood on her was Coach’s, they’d put a C-collar on him and had carried him to the ambulance, Harley following along behind them on shaky legs.
She’d had no idea what to do with the parachute, but hadn’t wanted to leave it laying in the field. It was probably expensive, and with her luck she’d be charged for it or something. She’d balled the entire thing up and clutched it to her chest as they’d made their way to the vehicles in the parking lot.
She now sat in the waiting room of the local hospital with the parachute in a ball under her chair, waiting.
Waiting to find out how Coach was doing. She could leave anytime she wanted to simply by calling Montesa to come get her. But she wasn’t anxious to make that call anytime soon, especially since her sister wasn’t too thrilled about the whole skydiving thing in the first place.
Harley had washed her hands, but was still wearing the harness and her bloody clothes. One of the nurses had offered to give her a pair of scrubs to wear, but Harley just wanted to go home.
She sat curled up in a ball, heels on the chair of the seat, arms around her drawn-up knees. Harley was exhausted, but was also feeling a little shell-shocked after everything that had happened. The adrenaline dump was making her shaky and lightheaded to boot.
The doors whooshed open and Harley looked up to see three men, two women and a little girl come through, looking out of breath and panicked. Well, the women looked panicked. The men looked more concerned than rattled.
Harley didn’t move from her spot on the chair in the corner, simply watched as they all went up to the desk together. A small drama ensued when the intake nurse wouldn’t tell the group what they wanted to know. She merely pointed to the chairs, obviously telling them to wait.
The group trudged over reluctantly to a cluster of chairs. The women and girl sat, as did two of the men. The third man paced agitatedly in front of the others, running his hand through his perfect-looking hair.
Harley eavesdropped on their conversation. It was better than thinking about what she’d just been through.
“Do you know what happened, Fletch?” the tall, slender woman, obviously the little girl’s mother, asked the man sitting to her right.
He shook his head. “Not really. I got a call from the colonel and he said that he’d been in an accident. That’s all he said before I called Ghost and Hollywood.”
“Can’t you call someone else? I mean, someone has to know what happened,” the other woman said in a stressed out voice. She was also dark-haired, and had a gorgeous man sitting next to her too.
“I’m not sure anyone has all the details, Princess,” the man with his arm around her shoulders said.
“Well, that’s just bullcrap,” she exclaimed in a huff. “Can that woman really not tell us anything? It’s stupid and annoying; you guys might as well be brothers.”
The man next to her laughed, even though Harley could tell it was strained.
“I’ll see if I can get ahold of Tommy,” the man who’d been pacing announced, pulling out his phone. “Coach was helping him out at the skydiving club on his leave.”
Harley startled so badly at the mention of Coach’s name, her foot slipped off the seat of the chair and she threw her arms out to catch herself from pitching to the ground as her body lost its center of gravity. The parachute, which had been under the chair, got jostled and poofed out, unable to be contained by the chair legs anymore.
Harley lowered her other foot to the ground and looked up to the group of friends, who were now all staring at her.
Obviously they were Coach’s friends. She should talk to them. Tell them what happened. How Coach had been hurt—but the words stuck in her throat. She wasn’t good with people. She always said the wrong thing. And this was important.
The little girl wandered over in the uneasy silence and stood in front of Harley.
“Did you know you’re all bloody?”
Harley smiled ruefully. She’d washed her hands, but her shirt and arms still had Coach’s blood on them. She opened her mouth to speak, but the little girl went on.
“And what are you wearing? Were you rock climbing? Blade took me the other day. I gotted up really high and he was scared. My daddy, Fletch, wouldn’t take me, but that’s okay. What’s that?” She pointed to the parachute. “It looks like what we use at school at PE. My PE teacher is awesome. She saved the entire school when bad guys tried to shoot up everyone. I wasn’t in danger though, we went out the window and got to safety. Can you talk? It’s okay if you can’t. Mommy says sometimes people have disamilities and they can’t hear or see or talk, but that doesn’t make them a worser person.”
“Annie Grant Fletcher.” The woman’s voice was dead serious. “Get over here and stop bothering that poor woman. Good Lord.”
Harley looked up at the group of people again. They were standing and sitting stock-still, watching her and the little girl. It was easier to talk to the child at that moment, kids were less judgmental. And besides, she liked her outspokenness.
“Annie? Is that your name?”
“Oh, you can talk. Cool. Yeah. Annie Fletcher. My new daddy is Fletch. We have the same name, but you can’t call me Fletch ‘cos that’s his name.”
Harley smiled for the first time in what seemed like forever. “My name is Harley Kelso. I’ve got blood on me because I was trying to help a friend when he got hurt.”
Annie nodded as if she understood perfectly. “Yeah, my daddy’s in the Army and sometimes he gets bloody too, but my mommy helps clean him up. Do you have someone to help you clean up?”
Harley cleared her throat at the child’s innocent words. No, she didn’t have anyone to help her, but that was all right. She’d managed just fine on her own up to now. “I’ll be okay. It’s my friend who’s important right now.”
“What happened?” A deep male voice sounded high above her head.
Harley looked up into the blue eyes of the man Annie had said was her father. The bright tattoos on his arms stood out in stark contrast to the white shirt he was wearing. The woman who’d chastised Annie stood at his side, looking worried.
Harley wanted to look away, but the strength and concern in the man’s voice prevented it. “Coach got hit in the face by a bird while we were skydiving.” She didn’t bother telling them all the details, such as the fact that they’d both almost died. If it hadn’t been for the automatic thingy shooting off the parachute, they would’ve splatted on the ground like bugs hitting a windshield.
“Jesus,” the man behind the couple said. It was the good-looking one. The one who reminded Harley of a younger Tom Cruise. If he put on a flight suit, like the actor had worn in Top Gun, he could pass for him easily. “What else?” he demanded.
Harley shivered, putting both arms around her waist. She wanted to stand up, to face Coach’s friends eye-to-eye, but she was fresh out of energy at the moment. “What else, what?”
“He got hit in the face and what else? What’s the rest of the story? It’s obvious you aren’t telling us everything.”
Harley paled. How did he know? The man might look like Tom Cruise, but he was obviously a badass right down to his bones.
“Leave her alone,” the other woman said, pushing the man slightly. She came over to Harley and squatted down in front of her. “Sorry about that. Hollywood is a bit high strung. Are you all right? You look pale.”
“I’m okay,” Harley said automatically, saying what she figured the woman wanted to hear. She didn’t know her, so she couldn’t really care how she was actually feeling.
“I’m Rayne and that’s Emily. These are our boyfriends, Ghost and Fletch. You’ve already met Annie. And the handsome one is Hollywood. They’re Coach’s teammates in the Army. They’re just worried about him. They’ve been through a lot together and the fact that Coach got hurt while on leave is unsettling. Coach doesn’t have any siblings and his folks aren’t from around here, so the hospital won’t tell us anything because we aren’t related. They have to wait until he wakes up and gives permission. Damn privacy laws. Anyway, we’re just trying to figure out how badly he was hurt. Judging by the looks of you, it was pretty bad.”
Harley shook her head in denial, trying to make the woman feel better. “I don’t think it’s too bad. I think his nose is broken, because it looked funny, but that’s what was bleeding. I didn’t see any other real wounds. He was unconscious though, so that’s probably what’s taking so long.”
“Unconscious?” the man named Ghost asked impatiently. “I don’t understand. How could a bird have hit him hard enough when you were under canopy for it to do that much damage?”
This was it. Harley shouldn’t be embarrassed about anything that happened. She should be proud of herself for getting them both down safely, automatic parachute thingy or not, but for some reason she still felt like it was her fault he’d gotten hurt in the first place. “It hit him before the chute opened. We were still in free fall.”
“Oh my God,” Emily breathed.
“Holy crap,” Rayne swore, covering her mouth with her hand.
“Shit,” Ghost barked.
“Fuckin’ A,” Fletch muttered under his breath.
Hollywood just stared at her in disbelief.
“What? I don’t understand,” little Annie said, tugging on her mom’s sleeve.
“Is there a Harley out here?” The question came from a nurse across the room, standing in a doorway.
Saved by the bell, Harley thought as she rose on shaky legs. “Me. I’m Harley.”
“Your friend is asking for you,” the woman said in a no-nonsense voice.
“Me?” Harley asked in confusion. “Does he know his friends are here?”
“Oh yeah. He knows. Doesn’t care. He’s demanding to talk to you.”
Harley swallowed hard. God. Demanding to talk to her? Was he upset or pissed?
“Go on, Harley,” Annie cajoled. “I’m hungry and I can’t get anything to eat until Mommy and Fletch make sure Coach is okay.”
Harley nodded absently and took a step toward the nurse, then turned back to Annie. “Will you watch my…stuff?” She gestured to the parachute and the now-empty pack Coach had been wearing. “I wouldn’t want anyone to steal it.”
Annie’s head bobbed up and down enthusiastically. “Yeah, I’ll guard it for you. No problem. Sergeant Annie’s on guard!”
Harley smiled as the girl scrunched up her face in what she obviously thought was a scowl, and looked around as if there were bad guys hiding around the chairs in the waiting room, just waiting to steal the pathetic-looking material on the ground.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Harley looked up at the others. The men were scrutinizing her as if they could read her mind, and the women smiled at her. “I’ll hurry, so you can go in and see your friend,” she told them quickly.
“Take your time, Harley,” Ghost drawled. “It’s obvious where we stand in Coach’s eyes. Can’t say I blame him. Choosing a pretty woman over us.”
“Uh, that’s not—”
“Go, Harley. We’ll be here when you get out. Stop worrying. If Coach is asking to speak to you, it’s obvious he’s going to be all right.” It was Hollywood who spoke up that time.
She nodded, suddenly reluctant to face Coach. She was so emotionally done, she wanted to lie down and sleep for hours. She’d experienced so many emotions in a short time that day, and it wasn’t even noon yet. It was almost hard to believe.
Nervousness, worry, attraction to Coach, embarrassment, nervousness again, terror, relief, terror again, worry when he wouldn’t wake up, and now she was just plain tired. Harley trudged toward the nurse and the door to the back hallways of the emergency room, feeling all eyes on her as she went.
Taking a deep breath as she got to the nurse, Harley tried to give herself a pep talk. She could do this. She’d tell Coach what happened, he’d tell her all the things she did wrong, and then she’d call a taxi to take her back to the airport so she could get her stuff and go home. She’d be home by one, tops.
7
“Don’t look so worried, your boyfriend is going to be fine. We reset his nose, and he’s got a concussion, but otherwise he’s remarkably lucky.”
Harley opened her mouth to contradict the nurse and let her know that she’d just met Coach that day, but decided against it. It was just too much for the moment. Instead, she merely nodded and pushed open the door to the little room.
Coach lay on a bed, the sheet pulled up over his legs. Harley could see the harness he’d been wearing—along with the white jumpsuit, his jeans and blue shirt—lying on a chair next to the bed in a heap. His chest was bare and his eyes were closed. The thought flickered through her brain that if all his clothes were on the chair, that meant he was probably only in his underwear, but she shut it down almost as quickly as it occurred to her. What Coach was or wasn’t wearing wasn’t any of her business.
He had a bandage over his nose and she could see bruising around both his eyes. He was gonna look like he’d been in a fight, and lost, for a while.
Looking back at the door, Harley saw the nurse closing it softly as she left them alone. Harley stood by the door awkwardly.
Without opening his eyes, Coach said, voice filled with pain, “I know you’re there, Harley. Come here. Please.” He held out one of his hands, finally opening his eyes to pin her with his dark gaze.
More relieved than she would’ve guessed, Harley walked toward him, not taking her eyes off his. Hearing his voice after seeing him so still and bloody was such a relief. “You’re okay?” she asked softly.
&
nbsp; “Thanks to you, yeah.” Coach grabbed hold of her hand when she got near him and pulled her closer to the bed.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Bull.”
“Coach, I didn’t,” Harley insisted.
“Sit and tell me what happened. I don’t remember much. Only being in the plane with you before we jumped.”
Harley furrowed her brow. “You don’t remember jumping out of the plane?”
Coach growled. “No. Doc says it’s because of the concussion. It might come back, or it might not. I only know what you told them…that I got nailed in the face by a bird.”
Harley sucked both her lips into her mouth and tried not to cry. Coach was okay. He was fine. He was talking, and even though he didn’t remember anything, he was alive.
“Oh, Harl. Don’t cry. God. Please.”
“I’m not usually such a wuss.” The tears were coursing down her face without her even realizing it. Harley tried to pull her hand out of his, but he wouldn’t let go.
“You’re not a wuss. You’ve had a tough day. Come on, come here. That’s it, sit down right there. You’re okay. Let it out.” Coach pulled her forward until she sat on the empty chair next to his bed.
She leaned forward and put her head down on her free arm on the mattress next to his hip and sobbed. She wasn’t exactly sure why she was crying. She should’ve been all cried out by now. But sitting next to Coach, seeing him safe and alive, was too much. She’d been so scared, and it’d become impossible to keep her emotions bottled up inside anymore.
As she bawled her eyes out, she was more than aware of his hand caressing her hair and his soft, murmured words of support as she did.
Coach stroked Harley’s hair as she sobbed into her arm at his side. He felt helpless, and that wasn’t a feeling he was used to. When he was on a mission, he was in charge, he controlled what happened around him, but not now. He wanted to haul Harley into his arms and comfort her, but this wasn’t the time or the place, and he really didn’t know her that well.