"I'm sorry. About your mom."
"It was a long time ago." He shrugs, but I can see the shadow in his eyes. "Anyway, I was the wild one. Always getting into fights, skipping school, doing stupid shit to prove I was tough. You know how guys are."
"What changed?"
He's quiet for a moment. The trail curves around a bend, and suddenly we're overlooking a valley. The miles of green stretching out beneath a cloudless sky are breathtaking. Blaze stops at the edge, staring out at the view.
"I almost killed someone," he says.
My breath catches and I blink up at him. "What?"
"Bar fight. I was nineteen, drunk, angry at the world." He shakes his head. "Some guy said something then went in on my brother. I don't even remember what happened next. But when I turned and saw him on top of my brother, I snapped. Beat him so bad he was in the hospital for two weeks. I’m not proud of it."
My jaw hangs open and I don't know what to say. The man standing next to me is gentle, patient, and careful. I can’t reconcile it with the picture he's painting.
"What happened?"
"He survived and I promised the judge I’d enlist." He turns to look at me, and there’s nothing but sincerity in his eyes. "The military saved my life. Gave me structure and purpose. Taught me how to channel all that anger into something useful instead of destructive."
"And now you teach survival training."
"Now I teach guys how to stay alive when everything goes to hell." A ghost of a smile plays on his lips. "Turns out I'm good at surviving."
We stand there in silence. I hear the wind rustle through the trees and I think about all the assumptions I made about him. My heart rate ticks up. This cocky soldier looks like so much more than a complication from where I’m standing now.
"Thank you," I say quietly. "For telling me."
"I want you to know me." He turns to face me fully. "The real me. Not just the guy who hit on you in a bar."
"That guy was pretty charming."
"That guy was terrified." He laughs, soft and self-deprecating. "You looked at me across that room, and I forgot how to breathe. You scare the hell out of me."
My heart is pounding and I shake my head. "Yeah right, why?"
"Because I've never wanted anything the way I want you."
I swallow hard. The words hang between us like a live wire. I look up at him and all the reasons I have for walking away evaporate. But Blaze doesn’t push me. Instead he takes a step away and gestures for me to keep walking up the trail.
"Your turn. Where'd you come from? Why nursing? Why the military base?"
"Not super interesting, I’m afraid. I grew up in Nevada," I start. "Small town outside Reno. My dad left when I was four, so it was just me, my mom, and my little sister Vivi."
"The bartender?"
"You remember."
"I remember everything about that night."
Heat creeps up my neck. I push forward.
"My mom was... troubled. Depression. Anxiety. Self-medicated with alcohol." The words come out flat and practiced. I've told this story so many times before to therapists, to social workers, and to Vivi when she was old enough to understand. "By the time I was ten, I was basically running the household. Cooking, cleaning, making sure Vivi got to school on time. Making sure Mom didn't drink herself to death."
Blaze is quiet.
I continue, "Never got to be reckless or wild or stupid. Someone had to be the responsible one, and that someone was me. It was what it was." I shrug, but my chest feels tight. "I got through it. Got a scholarship to nursing school. Worked my ass off to build a career, save money, make sure Vivi had opportunities I never did."
"And your mom?"
