"The runner." The words had come out as a croak, barely audible.
Movement near the door. He's there. Still shirtless with a blanket draped over his shoulders, hair drying in salt-crusted waves. Sand clings to his tactical pants. He looks like he just walked out of the ocean.
Because he did. He pulled me out.
Our eyes meet and gratitude tangles with anger, both knotted around an attraction I've been trying to ignore for three months. He saved my life. I should be grateful. I am grateful.
But I hate that I needed saving.
I don't need a hero. I need answers.
A penlight shines directly into my eyes. Brightness sends a sharp pain through my skull and triggers another coughing fit that still tastes like seawater and gasoline.
"Easy." A woman's voice, clinical but not unkind. "You're in the base hospital. I'm Dr. Abernathy. You nearly drowned, so let's keep the sudden movements to a minimum while I make sure your lungs are clear."
Vision clears slowly. A woman leans over me—early thirties, blonde hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, blue eyes sharp with concentration. She's wearing scrubs and a white coat, stethoscope around her neck. Dr. Abernathy doesn't waste time on pleasantries.
"How long?" My voice comes out like gravel scraped over concrete. Every word hurts.
"Since the explosion? About forty minutes. Since Lieutenant Commander Lange pulled you out of the water? Maybe thirty." Dr. Abernathy moves the stethoscope to my chest. "Deep breath for me. As deep as you can manage."
The attempt sends broken glass through my lungs. The breath comes out wheezy and wrong, triggering another round of coughing that makes my whole torso scream.
"Ribs hurt?" Dr. Abernathy asks, already palpating my ribcage with efficient fingers.
"Everything hurts."
"That's what happens when your research boat explodes." She applies pressure to my left side and I hiss. "Bruised, possibly cracked. X-rays will confirm. What do you remember?"
"The runner," I rasp. "He pulled me out."
"Lieutenant Commander Lange," Dr. Abernathy confirms. "Lucky timing."
Lucky. Right.
Lange is still near the door, watching. Still there like he has nowhere else to be.
"You're hovering," I tell him, putting as much irritation into the words as my shredded throat allows.
His mouth quirks slightly. Not quite a smile. "Making sure you're okay."
"Dr. Abernathy has it handled. You can go." I force myself to add, "Thank you. For pulling me out."
The words taste strange. Like admitting something I'm not ready to acknowledge.
"You're welcome." He doesn't move from his position by the door. Just stands there all calm and controlled, watching me with those storm-gray eyes that miss absolutely nothing.
Dr. Abernathy glances between us, one eyebrow raised. "Lieutenant Commander, unless you're planning to assist with the examination, maybe give us some space?"
"I'll be right outside." He says it to her but looks at me. "Not going far."
The door closes behind him, and the pressure in my chest eases slightly. Except breathing still hurts, so that's less of a win than I'd hoped.
"Friend of yours?" Dr. Abernathy asks
"Didn't know his name until thirty seconds ago." The cuff tightens. "We're on the same morning schedule. He runs. I survey tide pools."
"Mm-hmm." The cuff releases with a hiss. "Blood pressure's elevated but expected given the circumstances." She makes notes on a tablet. "You were unconscious underwater. I need CT scans and X-rays before releasing you."
