Page 32 of Moonlight Feels Right
"What's that?" she asked warily.
"You seem very close to your friends at the complex: Lexie, Kaia, Paige…everyone. Why didn't you tell anyone about your past?"
"Habit," she said with a shrug. "When I went to live with my aunt, I was ashamed of my past, the way I'd been living. I was such an awkward twelve-year-old, stunted in every way. I'd eaten so poorly that I was very thin. My emotional and mental growth was probably closer to a ten-year-old than a twelve-year-old. I started school in the seventh grade, and within a day, they dropped me down to sixth grade, which was embarrassing. My aunt got me a tutor to help me catch up, but the first few years were so difficult. I felt out of touch and out of sync with other kids. But my teachers were great, and eventually, school became my salvation. I would spend hours in the library after my classes were over, and I would read everything I could get my hands on. I was a sponge for new information. I started to catch up, but it probably took at least three to four years before I didn't feel like an alien."
"I can understand that feeling a little," he said. "Not to compare our situations. But I was a military brat, so I had to start over at new schools fairly frequently, and sometimes I felt like an alien, too, especially when we moved overseas, and I couldn't speak the language. But even when we went from the Pacific Northwest to the Deep South, I felt out of step."
"I can see that. Very different cultures."
"But not even close to what you went through. What did you tell the other kids about your past?"
"I made up a story that my mom was a nurse, and she had taken me to Africa with her while she worked. When some wars broke out there, she sent me back to the US to live with my aunt."
"You turned her into a hero. That's interesting."
"The psychologist I saw said the same thing," she remarked. "At times, I thought about killing my mother off in my story, but I never did. I guess I still hoped that one day she'd show up and we could start over. That never happened."
"Maybe it's happening now."
"I can't believe she'll leave, but I guess we'll find out."
Hunter reached across the console and took her hand, squeezing it gently. "You got out, Emmalyn. That's what matters most."
His touch anchored her, pulling her back from the swirl of old fears and memories. "I know. I have made peace with what happened. Most days, I don't even think about it. I'm okay, Hunter. I don't want you to think I'm an emotional mess."
"I don't think you're a mess, but if you were, it would be understandable and okay."
"Do you ever tell yourself that?" she asked, sending him a pointed look as he moved his hand back to the wheel. "That it's all right if you're not completely together?"
He shook his head. "No. I never tell myself it's okay not to be all right because I can't do what I do if I'm not together."
"That's true. You have a high-risk, high-stakes job. How are you feeling about going back to active duty?" she asked, eager to get the conversation on a different track.
"I'm looking forward to getting back to my life, but it won't be the same without my copilot."
"Do you blame yourself for the crash?" she asked, knowing she was treading into dangerous territory, but she'd been open with him. Maybe he would want to be open with her.
After a moment, he said, "My best friend is dead, and I promised his wife I'd always have his back, so, yes, I wish I'd found a way to save him."
"What if it had gone the other way—if you had died, and he had survived? Would you blame him?"
"No, but he wasn't in charge."
She frowned. "Wasn't your helicopter hit by some kind of missile? Did it really matter who was in charge?"
His jaw tightened making his profile hard and unforgiving, but she knew that lack of forgiveness was directed at himself and not at her. "Yes, we were hit by enemy fire. According to the intel I had, there were not supposed to be combatants in the area, but that information was clearly incorrect."
"So, whoever compiled that information made a mistake. Not you. You were operating off what you believed to be true."
"Logically, I understand that the blame belongs on the enemy that shot us down."
"But emotionally…"
"I think I could have done better," he admitted.
Hunter was a guy who probably always thought he could do better. He held himself to a very high standard. It must be difficult for him to live up to his own expectations, but it was admirable he had set the bar high. Most people seemed more than willing to lower the bar, not raise it.
"So, it looks like we're about fifteen minutes away," Hunter said, clearly done with the subject.
