* * *
Jenna foundher way back to her room, sank onto her bed, and stared at the ceiling, tears running from the corners of her eyes and down her temples. She thought of Farzad, Marie and Delara, Lailoma and all of the other students. She would probably never see them again.
She’d come to feel at home there, despite the lukewarm showers and lack of coffee and the strangeness of wearing cover and not being able to speak to men. She’d been a part of something bigger than herself, part of an effort to save the lives of women and children and help Afghanistan recover from endless war.
Now, she would be heading back to the U.S. because of some freaking warlord. What did he want from her? What had she done to anger him? What would he do if he got a hold of her?
No one knew.
She wasn’t afraid. Derek wouldn’t let anything happen to her. She was surrounded by tons of concrete, steel, razor wire, and badass operatives. But it would at least be nice to knowwhythis had happened.
What would she do now?
She could get a job almost anywhere. She’d sold her condo before she’d come over, putting the money into savings. She would have to find a job, buy a place, and start over. That’s what she would have done eighteen months from now.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself.
It wasn’t like her to brood or lie around, so she got up, made her bed, and unpacked her belongings. There, tucked carefully in one of the boxes, was the photo of her childhood self that Derek had given her, and beneath it was a note.
She opened it and recognized Marie’s handwriting.
Dear Jenna,
We’re all afraid for you and sad that you won’t be coming back to us. The girls are heartbroken. I think you were their favorite teacher. I hope you and I can meet again one day, perhaps in Paris. Of all the midwives I’ve worked with during my almost two years here, you were the best. Your compassion and courage are an example to us all. Be well, and stay safe.
Marie
The tears started again, but this time they were bittersweet. She had learned so much from Marie and the people of Afghanistan—her students, Farzad, the women who came to the hospital and those she met in the villages. Working here had changed her, made her stronger, more resilient.
Before she’d come to Afghanistan, she’d thought a week with five births was a busy one. Here, she’d sometimes caught five babies in a single day. At home, she would never have gone a day without a shower or skipped wearing makeup. Here, she hadn’t always had time for a shower, and she’d rarely put anything besides moisturizer on her skin. Even so, she’d never felt better about herself as a woman.
She put the precious letter together with the photo into her bag where they would be safe, then finished unpacking. She had no idea how long she would be here, but she might as well make herself at home.
By lunchtime, she had everything squared away. She went in search of the mess hall. She still didn’t know her way around, but she was starting to get it. Each room had a letter and number combination with the letter representing the room’s purpose. So residential rooms had numbers that started with Rs, while the conference room’s designation began with a C.
M-002.
M for mess hall?
She opened the door and stepped through—to find Derek naked in the shower.
Oh. My. God.
She knew she shouldn’t look, but she couldn’t help herself. Water sluiced over smooth skin and scars, his body all muscle from his pecs to an eight-pack to his powerful thighs, his nipples flat and brown. His perfect cock hung, thick and uncut, from a nest of light brown curls, his testicles heavy.
Stop looking at his junk, for God’s sake!
“Do you need something?” He turned off the water, reached for a towel.
Heat rushed to her face—and her belly. “Sorry. I’m lust …lost. I thought the M was for ‘Mess Hall.’”
“Men’s Locker Room.” He rubbed the towel over his chest and arms, making no effort to hide any part of himself from her.
“Got it. Shit. Okay. Sorry.” She took a step backward.
“Jenna, it’s okay.” He was clearly fighting not to laugh. “I don’t embarrass easily. I’m surprised you do, given your job.”
“I work in women’s healthcare, not penises. No, I …”Quit while you’re behind.“I’ll see you later.”