32
For three days Michael, who had never doubted his actions, had come to doubt his sanity. Each hour he sat with Claudia, worrying over her unconscious state, had been torture. Each hour away from her had been worse.
Michael had finally descended into the unused bowels of the ship to get away from everyone. People who’d never spoken to him before were suddenly asking if he was okay, if there was anything they could do for him. He must look like s**t.
Of course, he hadn’t slept since that chair at the Scottish B and B.
Until now.
He’d been deep in the back corner of one of the empty barracks spaces usually packed with Marines. He’d sat because his legs were shaking with the exhaustion of his pacing.
Michael didn’t remember lying down on the bare mattress or the slam of exhaustion tha
