Page 42 of Luck Be Mine
“Anything specific?” He wasn’t going to let her get away with vague.
She hesitated. He resigned himself to pushing a bit.
“I drove my dad’s Karmen Ghia off a cliff.”
His eyes widened. “Dream?”
She nodded. “Might have been because I talked to Jackie about the storage of his car a few days ago.”
“Makes sense.”
“I floated like the car was a big balloon, but the whole time I knew I was going to crash and explode in a pile of rubble. I kept screaming in my head ‘I don’t want to die.’ I landed on spongy ground, got out of the car unhurt, and discovered I was fucking Ironman.”
He smothered the need to laugh because her eyes filled with tears. He connected the dream past her car connection to the explosion and her desperate need not to die, to the fucking CIA letter churning memories, to their spat, and to all the worries and difficulties with recovery. She would too if she hadn’t already.
“You should have woken me.” God, he wanted to touch her. Should he? He compromised and sat on the floor next to her, aligning himself with her mat.
She shifted and made room. “You only have a few days at home. You need to relax. I wanted you to sleep.”
“Not if you aren’t. Wake me next time.” He gave in and asked for her hand. The remorse let go of his gut when she slid her softfingers into his. It was her numb one, and the action reinforced his need to make amends. “Or maybe you’re mad at me?”
She sighed. “I was. Now I’m not. I learned in medical school how to pull anger back and think. I’ll bet you learned it, too.”
“Yeah, I did. We both have been taught to manage our tempers and to measure our words, but it’s not a good practice for home. We both have to be able to say what needs to be said whenever and however necessary. Yelling can be involved, but walking away isn’t.”
She shifted around on the mat to face him. “Sounds like a new marriage rule, but our communication needs more work.”
He swallowed hard. “Agreed, and I’m sorry.”
Quiet reigned while she searched his face. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at Phillip Stocker.”
Hunt couldn’t stop the snort of understanding and didn’t try. Phillip Stocker had been in charge of their humanitarian mission to the mountains. Cait’s first foray into black ops with the CIA loomed at the oddest times, even if she hadn’t been read in and wasn’t aware she’d been participating until people started shooting at them.
Her mouth screwed in a sour expression. “You already did the calculations and figured it was him who gave them my name.”
Hunt decided on honesty.
“Most likely, but when I first saw the letter, I said the wrong thing in a moment of overprotectiveness. I don’t want you there. The truth is I live in a gray, morally challenging world. It’s nasty and difficult. I don’t want you mixed in that chaos. You did a fine job on our mission – but it’s a dark place to stay.”
She stroked a finger across his chin with her good hand. “Let’s be clear. I spent the entire mission trying not to get any of you killed. Period. There was no black ops intent in my behavior.”
He pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers. “You did fine. But you’re my beacon to everything right, my safe harbor as we so aptly named home. There’s a reason we all call you Lucky Charm. It’s because you’re an island of hope. Our world will take the shine off.”
She rubbed a hand over her face, a glaze of tears covering her blue eyes. “Your Lucky Charm sentiment swipes at my heart.” She assumed a new stretching position but stopped before executing. “I’m stalled.”
“Stalled, not stopped.” He hoped his quiet validation would help.
Her eyes locked on him. “Let’s work with facts. I am a surgeon. I am going to be a surgeon again.” Her eyes widened as if stating the intent solidified it. “It’s going to be a long road.”
“I am acquainted with long recovery roads. Firsthand. I crashed on a helicopter once. Remember?”
She shook her head and stared out the patio door into the darkness. “Being honest, I not only have to recover from this mess my body is in, but I’m going to have to retrain and test every surgical process I’ve used. I have to be sure there’s no glitches from my brain injury, not to mention testing and honing the dexterity in my fingers again. I need QM to give me some confidence. I need their support when you aren’t here.”
“I agree. I shouldn’t have said what I did. If you want the job, take it. I’m not trying to make those decisions. Your profession means a lot to you, and you’ve worked hard for it. Shape it however you need to.”
“You believing in me matters. It gives me a foundation. QM can give me more.”
“I am behind you one hundred percent. They will be, too. You’ll get back.”
