“She knows about the TBI, the migraines, the general situation. But she doesn’t know about all the ways it affects my daily life. The irritability and pain, the processing delays, the...” I stopped, jaw clenching around words I hadn’t planned to say.
“The other complications?”
Elena knew about the endocrinology referral. I’d mentioned it during our last session—when it was just another appointment I’d scheduled rather than test results that changed everything.
“Got the lab results the other day,” I said finally. “Primary hypogonadism. Testosterone production is compromised—fertility implications are significant. Fifty-fifty chance that hormone replacement therapy makes any difference long-term.”
She was quiet for a moment, letting the information settle. “How are you processing that news?”
“Like another system failure. Another thing that doesn’t work the way it should,” my voice came out flatter than I’d intended. “Add it to the list.”
“You have an aerospace engineering degree from Annapolis, but you’re treating yourself like you’re only worth what your body can do.”
“My body’s the only thing that matters when it doesn’t work.”
“Finn,” her tone sharpened. “This isn’t just another line item on a military report. This affects fundamental aspects of how you see yourself, your relationships, your future. How are you really processing this?”
I paused. How was I processing it? By throwing myself into physical labor and avoiding texting the woman who had become my anchor. By sitting in a hangar with a plane I couldn’t fly anymore, pretending that compartmentalizing medical results was the same as handling them.
“I don’t know,” I admitted at length. “I keep thinking about Alex—about whether she’d still want this if she knew the everything. About whether I’m being fair to her by not telling her about all the ways I’m running out of backup plans and hope.”
“Do you think she would feel differently if she knew?”
“I think she’d be smart to feel differently,” the words tasted bitter. “She’s forty-two, successful as hell, has her whole life figured out. Why would she want to get involved with someone who might not be able to give her basic things like kids or—” I stopped, rubbing my temple where pressure was building.
“Finn, you’re making assumptions about what Alex wants and needs based on your own fears about your worth. Have you talkedto her about any of this?”
“How do I start that conversation? ‘Hey, by the way, my brain injury affects more than just depth perception. Want to hear about all the other ways I might disappoint you?’”
“You could start by giving her credit for being able to make informed decisions about her own life.”
Through the wide doors, I could see the mountains rising against the clear sky. The same view I’d had from the Cub’s cockpit hundreds of times—back when I trusted myself to navigate by landmarks and instinct.
“What if she decides it’s too much?” The question came out quieter than I’d intended.
“Then you’ll know. But right now, you’re making that decision for her. And you’re carrying this alone when you don’t have to.”
Elena was right, and I hated that she was right. I’d been so focused on managing the next complication that I’d forgotten Alex might want to be part of figuring out solutions rather than being protected from problems.
“The ranch is a good place to think,” she continued. “But don’t let the physical distance become emotional distance from the people who care about you. When do you go back to Salt Lake?”
“Few more days. Maybe Saturday.”
“I want you to consider having a real conversation with Alex before then. Not about everything at once, but about the fact that you’re dealing with some new information and you’ve been worried about how to share that with her.”
I nodded, though the thought of that conversation made my chest tight. “I’ll think about it.”
“Good. And Finn? This hormone situation. It’s treatable. It might change some timelines or approaches, but it’s not a death sentence for your future. Don’t let it become one in your head.”
After we ended the call, I sat in the hangar for another ten minutes, watching dust motes drift in the morning sunlight. The Cub’s instruments gleamed from their recent cleaning, ready for flight if I evergot clearance again.
If I ever trusted myself enough to try.
My phone buzzed with a text—not Alex, but Enzo.
Enzo:How’s the family reunion going?? Dom says you’re being mysterious and brooding… very attractive look. Positive you’re straight?
I spoke back quickly:Tell Dom I’m processing. Like a normal person does
