Not Quite Enough
Page 23

Monica slowed as she approached him, but was ready to blow past him with the need for a shower ready as her excuse to avoid him.
She knew he saw her, but he kept his eye on the sea. He glanced at her feet when she wasn’t two yards from him. There was a cup in his hand. “It’s probably cold by now,” he said.
She took it from him anyway. “Iced coffee is the thing back home.” She tried to laugh off his gesture.
One sip and she knew he paid attention. There was a slight taste of sugar mixed with a strong, albeit cold, java. “Thanks,” she said.
Turning her back to him, she took another swallow of the coffee.
“You left,” he finally said.
“I needed to clear my head. Get ready for a crazy day.” Starting with you and ending with God knows what.
After an obscene amount of silence, Monica needed to break free.
“I’ll shower and then… can you take me back to the clinic?” Last night she didn’t feel the need to even ask, but for some reason she did now. The lack of control in her life made her shake. It wasn’t as if she could call a cab… or anyone. She had Walt’s number, but there was no guarantee he was still at the clinic, or that he could retrieve her.
“Of course,” he said as he stood.
Her throat tightened again. So much for the run clearing my head.
He stood rooted on the step so she attempted to move around him. His hand caught her forearm. His touch felt like fire. Hot with a current of its own.
“Monica?”
She stopped and felt the air around her disappear. He stood close, too close to breathe. The pull of his gaze wasn’t avoidable. When she looked, his eyes were focused on her.
Something behind his eyes spoke of sorrow.
He loosened his hold and lightly traced the inside of her arm.
She shivered and felt her breath catch again. In a bar, or a local hangout, the feeling swimming inside her and settling deep in her core would have been welcome. But here, on the beach with the sunrise a recent memory, with more life and death than anyone could ever imagine filling every corner of her world, Monica didn’t welcome it.
It scared her more than being in a helicopter with a barefoot pilot en route to the end of the world.
It scared her more than living life alone. She closed her eyes.
Trent’s warm hand traveled up her arm and he stepped closer.
“This is a bad idea,” she whispered. There was no reason to deny the sparks. She hoped he wouldn’t make a fool of her by saying he didn’t know what she meant.
She couldn’t look in his eyes. His chocolate brown eyes would see through her and call her out.
When his hand dropped, she released a breath she didn’t realize she held, and fled up the stairs.
Chapter Eight
Silence came in two categories, quiet and painful, or quiet and comfortable. How she and Trent had gone from comfortably quiet to get-me-the-hell-out-of-this-car quiet, Monica would never know. The way Trent gripped the steering wheel told her he was just as ready to have her out of his space.
Monica reduced herself to closing her eyes and acting as if she was trying to rest the final miles to the clinic. Her heart started to skip as they rounded the last corner and the now familiar town came into view. More people were milling about and there were Jamaican police combing the rubble with dogs. The chances of finding anyone alive at this point would be minimal, but that didn’t stop the collective effort of those still searching for their loved ones.
Trent slowed the Jeep and Monica unhooked her seat belt in hopes of a quick getaway.
“I really appreciate the bed and ability to duck out of here last night.” She did, despite how uncomfortable she was now.
“No problem.” He stopped his car, put it in park.
She reached for the handle to open the door, and gathered her backpack in the other hand. “Thanks for everything, Trent. It’s been a pleasure knowing you.”
A wave of confusion marred his brow. “I’ll come by later—”
Monica forced a smile to her lips. “No, it’s not necessary. Walt said there was more help coming today.” And if you come back I might not push you away next time. “But thanks… for everything.”
Then she fled, not willing to hear him say good-bye.
Monica congratulated herself for not running. Still, she made it inside the clinic, stowed her backpack, and went in search of a familiar face.
Dr. Eddy had gone back to the main hospital with a critical patient, and in his place, Tina came to help. She’d driven with the medics, using the time to sleep.
Monica rushed into the job, and pushed Trent from her mind. What was done was done. Thinking about him, or what might have been, would be a waste of energy.
The day reached temperatures into the high eighties and the humidity was unbearable, but the misery was in the smell. Monica placed a mask over her face and encouraged the patients and family members alike to wear one. Between the dead that were too many to count, and the lack of sanitation in most of the structures, disease was going to be the next immediate problem.
Dr. Eddy had left her orders to start taking antibiotics as a preventative measure. Monica had had her share of scares after treating patients back home, but this felt different.
Several hours into her day, Monica managed a few minutes of a break. She slipped out the back and found the shade of a tree.
When her mind started to picture Trent, she cursed herself and picked up her phone.
Jessie answered on the second ring. “Mo?”