High Reward

by Brenna Aubrey

  Why did it feel otherwise?

  And for that matter, why was she dressing up all of a sudden? Was it for that Aaron creep? I’d watched them like a hawk the previous week during the tour. They’d done a lot of talking, a little laughing, some joking. He’d never touched her inappropriately, and she’d been friendly but not flirtatious.

  I still wanted to rip his head off. As any logical human would want to do.

  “How are you?” I finally asked.

  Her expression did not even waver, eyes dropping to her paperwork. “Actually, that’s my question.” She looked up and met my gaze. “I heard you retired from the Navy last week.”

  I nodded, expecting this question. At least part of the interview would be predictable. “That’s true.”

  “How are you feeling about that?”

  My eyes flicked away, reminding myself that I wasn’t supposed to find her so adorable when she was in Dr. Gray mode. It didn’t matter. My brain was sending the memo, but the rest of me wasn’t reading it. And my responses to her were as automatic as they’d always been.

  “It wasn’t a surprise, to them or me. It was a long time coming. But I drove down to Coronado myself and did it in person. It was a positive experience. Even saw some of my old buddies from the teams.”

  She nodded. “That’s good.” Her head tilted slightly, and she gave me a weird look as if something wasn’t quite right to her. Of course, it wasn’t. I’d pretty much memorized that entire speech in anticipation of that question. “That’s, um. I mean, that’s great. I’m so happy.”

  All of it had been true, but it had been carefully packaged and presented neatly without need to express all the bittersweet feelings I’d had about severing that last tie to the Navy. To my Dad. To NASA. To Xander. I swallowed.

  She took a deep breath and clicked her pen up and down with her thumb while skimming my questionnaire.

  “As a precursor to answering these questions, it’s important to remind you that they in no way will be used against you by the company. They are completely confidential and protected under therapist-patient privileges and are used only to monitor your continued general well-being and mental health. Do you understand these conditions?”

  I listened as she rattled off the rote preamble without hesitation and not even the slightest hiccup—especially when discussing therapist-patient privileges.

  “Yes.”

  “How is your general physical health?”

  I tilted my head to the side. If I hadn’t been determined to keep my game face on, I would have been calling uncle and telling her this was too awkward. But astronauts didn’t do that. Astronauts never rocked the boat or showed weakness. We never did anything that would in any way jeopardize a chance to fly.

  Definitely not during mental health checks.

  Even when the mental wellness professional involved was my weakness.

  Especially then.

  “It’s fine. I get checked out regularly. I’m working out practically every day.”

  She scribbled as I talked, and I noted how her tongue tucked out at the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on what she wrote and what I was saying. I’d never noticed that before, how she stuck just the tip of her pink tongue out when she focused. And with a sudden urgency, I wanted to reach over, pull her to me and fiercely kiss her.

  She clicked the pen again with her thumb as she held it close to her face and read from the form. “And your sleep?”

  “My sleep is fine,” I lied.

  She didn’t move. And she sure as hell didn’t write anything down. Her eyes lifted to mine, and we locked gazes. She knew fucking well I was lying. But in normal circumstances, a therapist asking this question hadn’t slept with me. Hadn’t spent hours sweaty and naked underneath me or wrapped in my arms, using my chest as her pillow.

  My throat felt tight.

  She swallowed then shook her head slightly.

  I raised a brow. “I’m giving you the exact same answers I would give to Marjorie.”

  She blinked several times, appearing to puzzle over how best to react to that. Then her eyes flicked down to her notes. “Any changes to your appetite?”

  “Nope.”

  “How much alcohol are you consuming and how often?”

  “A few drinks a few times a week.” So, I fudged the numbers on this one. I clenched my jaw and waited for her to move on.

  She paused for a long time, then flicked her gaze up at me. “Are you using alcohol to help you sleep?”

  “I don’t believe that one was on the questionnaire.”

  Her face clouded. “I’m following up.”

  I wasn’t going to fucking answer that one, and I didn’t like that she was using those mysterious mind-reading tactics again, or whatever they really were. Probably she just knew me too well. Far too well to be doing a routine mental wellness questionnaire.

  She knew too much about a lot of things, and I was seeing now that my curiosity about her might potentially lead to danger. But like an idiot, I hadn’t seen that coming until now.

  “I’m sticking by my original answer. A few shots, a few times a week.”

  She licked her lips and marked something on the questionnaire.

  “What was that? What did you just write down?”

  Her brow furrowed. “I was checking off that I asked the question.”

  I pointed to the mark she’d made on the paper. “That looks like an L to me. Is L for lying?”

  She blew out a breath. “It’s a checkmark.”

  “It’s backward.”

  She raised her brow. “Because I’m left-handed. We do them backward.”

  I folded my arms, now feeling oddly relieved that things had lightened up a little. “Still looks like an L to me.”

  Her mouth creased. “For liars, I just draw a stick figure with a long nose, like Pinocchio.”

  My eyes narrowed. Was she serious or pulling my leg? With her deadpan delivery, it was so hard to tell.

  She paused again, putting the pen down. “I have to wonder, though, why you’re so concerned I might be marking that answer down as a lie.”

  Uh oh. It’s a trap, Tyler. Don’t fall for it.

  Perhaps I overexaggerated my casual shrug. “Just looked like an L to me.”

  “It could be an L for infuriating.”

  I made a face. “Infuriating doesn’t start with an L.”

  “Or maybe an L for mystifying.” One of her thin brows shot up.

  I opened my mouth and then closed it. Now I was on to her. “So, it’s a check mark.”

  She tilted her head to the side, biting her lip. “Or it could be secret therapist code invented to render paranoia in astronauts.”

  My eyes narrowed. I wanted to laugh, but I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. “Very funny.”

  She finally grinned. “Thanks. I thought so.”

  I darted a look at her then looked away, unable to take much more of this. Her smiling, calm demeanor. Her acting like we were mere strangers or just acquaintances.

  I was an asshole for wanting it, but I wanted to see some hurt, some devastation. I wanted to know that I’d had some effect on her.

  In my peripheral vision, she picked up her pen, scanned the rest of the questionnaire, then tucked it inside the blue folder once more.

  I turned back to her, hands on my knees, ready to push out of my seat. “Great. Are we done?”

  Her face was serene, her green eyes hard like marble. Green marble. What was that mineral called? Malachite, that was it. “One more thing, please.”

  I settled back against the chair, feeling a little wary. “Sure.”

  “When I came into the office the other day, you were arguing with Noah about the lights-out board test.”

  My heartbeat sped up, and I was immediately on alert. “It was merely a difference of opinion that has since been resolved. The test is on the schedule now.”

  She locked gazes with me. “And you’ll be the one doing that?”
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br />   I tightened my jaw and nodded.

  She continued, flipping through a pad with some notes on it. “It involves periods of time in pure darkness so you can practice activating controls by touch and memorization.”

  I bounced a knee up and down very quickly. “Mmm,” I grunted noncommittally.

  She fixed her gaze on me, holding perfectly still while she peered at me expectantly as if waiting for me to elaborate. I leaned back, my knee bouncing even faster.

  “You’re doing this test, Ryan? In the dark?”

  “That’s what nodding means. Yes.” I laced my fingers over my chest and stared down at my bouncing knee.

  “You can’t stand the dark. You can’t even stand to have the room dim. Darkness is a trigger for you. How do you propose to get through that test?”

  I turned back to her. “I sleep in the dark now.”

  Her eyes widened. “You do?”

  I nodded again. It was more or less true. More often than not, I had to turn on the light when I woke up a few hours after falling asleep in the dark, but it had been a good start. And some nights, I did actually make it through.

  “That’s been…your progress has been fast.”

  I raised a brow at her. “You don’t believe me.”

  She bit her lip. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have my doubts.”

  I stood and turned to the window, grabbing the handle to close the miniblinds. I’d mostly done this with vodka to help, but I had also practiced without it. For short periods of time, I was fine. It had taken work to get me there, but I’d could do it.

  I’d show her.

  I sat down again. “Go stand by the light switch. Count silently to twenty, then switch it off.”

  She stood and did what I asked. And with that countdown, I prepared myself. Reminding myself the light would only be off for a short time, that I could relax, breathe through it. I applied everything she’d taught me, focused on where I was in that moment, on the physical sensations of my clothes touching my skin and the chair pushing against my back.

  She flicked the lights off. It wasn’t completely pitch black, but it was dark enough in that room that I felt my blood pressure rise. Her form was a vague outline by the door.

  I inhaled slowly and acknowledged the speeding of my heartbeat. I squeezed my fists tight and then relaxed them.

  After a moment her voice came from the other side of the darkness. “Are you all right?”

  I nodded and then stopped myself. Of course, she couldn’t see me, so I inhaled a breath, released it. Then I let out in a clipped voice, “Yes. I’m fine.”

  After another long and unpleasant string of seconds, she flipped the light back on.

  I relaxed my hands, my legs, my feet, the way I’d practiced and looked at her, the picture of tranquility.

  She didn’t move, and I stood, tugging on my pantlegs as I maneuvered around the back of her chair and to the door. She was still standing beside the doorway, near the light switch, and she didn’t move, clearly shocked.

  That’s me, Ryan Tyler. I always aimed to impress.

  My hand was on the doorknob when she wedged herself across the jamb and came very closely into my space. My heart sped up as I got a whiff of her strawberry scent. I stiffened, pulling back slightly.

  “You aren’t ready to do this, Ryan. You know it, and I know it.”

  My gaze flicked away, annoyed. “Do what?”

  She let out an exasperated breath. “The test flight.”

  I waved back to my chair. “I just showed you that I am perfectly fine in the dark.”

  Her jaw dropped. “With a long warning, in a calm, quiet office with just me, and when you know the light is coming on again in minutes or even seconds. That’s a really controlled environment, and you still needed to prep yourself.”

  My jaw clenched, and I released it, looking from one of her eyes to the other. “I’m fine. I’ll get the test flight done just—”

  “What happens if you’re orbiting and the lights go out? The board goes out and you have to reboot everything on the dark side of the planet?”

  “In the unlikely event that happens, I’ll be ready.” I turned the knob to put an end to the conversation.

  She responded by slapping her flat palm on the door, the sound echoing in the room. “No.” Her voice shook, obviously emotional. “That’s not the same thing and you know it. I should have said something weeks ago, but I kept staying optimistic that we’d find a way to work through it together. But this isn’t the way. You aren’t ready.”

  My eyes were inches from hers. She swallowed thickly, her eyes dropping from holding my gaze to fix on my mouth. “I’m ready, Gray. And I’m going up.”

  “Ryan—”

  But it was my turn to bang my palm against the door, just inches from hers. “Please move.” My other hand turned the knob again.

  She didn’t budge. “You need to be honest with yourself—”

  I jerked back to her. “You first. I seem to recall that you were very enthusiastic about this flight.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want something bad to happen up there. I don’t want you to die.” Her voice was audibly trembling now—and my gut tightened to hear it. But that cold wall of determination rose up to fortify me.

  I gritted my teeth, my irritation rising. “I’ll be fine.”

  She frowned. “But you’re not fine. You’re not fit to fly.”

  Heat burned up my spine. I pushed back from the door and ran a hand through my hair, turning a little circle around our chairs, then facing her. “Are you going to ground me? You can’t, you know. It’s not your call.”

  She shook her head. “I’d rather you made the decision yourself.”

  “I have made the decision.”

  She suddenly looked like she was going to burst into tears. But she didn’t.

  “Ryan,” she said quietly.

  “We’re done here, right?” When she didn’t answer, I stepped forward and grabbed the doorknob again. “Right?” I practically shouted so that she half flinched.

  She moved aside just as I whipped the door open and left without looking back.

  “Doesn’t it get to you sometimes? The whole celebrity thing? I mean—do you always have to go out in public in a getup like this?”

  Karen waved to my baseball hat, hoodie and shades. It was early evening at the beach. We were walking along the shore as AJ ran ahead of us to gather small rocks and throw into the ocean. A light breeze brought the briny scent of the ocean, the earthy smell of seaweed. The sun was at least an hour from setting but still elongated our shadows across the sand.

  I shrugged. Gray had once called this my Marvel Superhero Starter Kit. I called it my Get Some Peace While out in Public Kit. Since I was on a quiet beach in Newport rather than in glitzy Santa Monica or Malibu, I was less likely to be recognized. But it still happened occasionally.

  “And why are you wearing that hat?” AJ pointed to my red Angels baseball cap. “You’re a traitor. You used to like the Astros.”

  I shrugged. “I still like the Astros. I like the Angels, too. I grew up rooting for the Angels.”

  AJ huffed his indignation and moved to the waterline to throw his rocks while I smiled, watching after him. Karen raised her sunglass-clad face to the sun as the breeze blew her long, dark hair in tendrils snaking out behind her.

  I was still shaking off my irritation from earlier today and that infuriating meeting this afternoon with Gray. I’d had things under control until she’d asked me about the fucking lights-out test.

  And she’d looked at me with that look in her eyes.

  And begged me to reconsider doing the flight.

  I’d been too uncomfortably close to wanting to listen to her. Her fear had been that palpable.

  I shook my head, and Karen looked at me questioningly. “You all right? You seem a little down since you got home from work.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck and flicked a glance at Karen. The last thin
g I needed right now was for her to get wind of all this. She’d already expressed her own trepidation about my flying again.

  “How are you doing?” I fired back at her to keep her away from things I didn’t want to discuss.

  She smiled. “I’m good. I’m enjoying this. I know I’m on vacation, but California has been good for my soul.”

  I wrapped an arm around her shoulders when the wind blew an especially strong gust at us and she shivered in response.

  “I’m going to run back to the car and grab your sweater.”

  She reached up and grabbed my arm, smiling. “Don’t. I’m fine. I feel alive.”

  I was happy one of us did. My hold on her shoulders tightened, and I smiled. “I’m glad.”

  She rested her head on my shoulder until AJ came running up again with a particularly pretty shell to show his mom. When she complimented him, he presented it to her with an adorable courtly bow that had us both laughing in response.

  He then turned tail and ran off in search of a stick so he could write in the sand.

  As we watched him, she said, “Those first few months were torture, you know. I didn’t want to reach out to you because I knew you were also suffering. I think that was a mistake. I think that drove a wedge into our friendship.”

  I grabbed a wild strand of her hair and tucked it back behind her ear. “I’m sorry, KareBear. I should have been there for you.”

  She shook her head. “No, this isn’t about sorrys or regrets. I shouldn’t have even said it like that. What I mean is that this feels nice. It feels comfortable. It’s going to be hard to leave when the time comes.”

  I rubbed my hand up and down her arm, trying not to show my concern. Since they had come to stay with me, I’d discovered more details about her life after Xander’s passing. She was on anti-anxiety medication now, a discovery which had floored me because Karen had never taken so much as an aspirin when she had a headache.

  Suddenly a fresh wave of guilt weighed me down. Not only had I been responsible for his death, but I’d left his family to flounder for themselves. I swallowed, feeling the misery nip at me like the cold water swirling around our feet.

  Karen squeezed my arm that she’d been holding onto. “You okay? You’re a million miles away.”