He’d covered his verbal stumble smoothly, but she caught it. “You were in the hospital? Were you injured in Afghanistan?”
“Yeah. Obviously, I recovered.”
It was clearly not a topic he wanted to discuss, but she couldn’t resist asking, “How long were you in the hospital?”
He didn’t answer right away, and she wasn’t sure he would. But then he muttered, “Six months, counting inpatient rehab. Like I said, I got over it.”
Six months. She bit her lip as those words sank in. He hadn’t just been banged up; he’d been seriously injured. She couldn’t help wondering exactly what those injuries had been, and whether he still suffered from them.
He changed the subject with abrupt finality. “Want to get a coffee? Or maybe walk on the beach for a while? We’ve got a couple hours before Simon gets back, and I don’t have anything pressing to do in the meantime. Nothing that won’t wait until later, anyway. And you and I need to talk.”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, wishing again that she were anywhere but here, facing a conversation that was going to be difficult at best, but then she nodded. “Let’s walk.”
Staying in the open should hold back that claustrophobic feeling she’d had when Adam was in her suite yesterday. She was as aware of him now as she had been then, but at least there would be more space around them—and no flashback-inducing beds within sight.
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