But since Mason and Doc had had no “official” part in Gellman’s capture, they’d been left to find their own way home.
Home.
Where Alex was waiting for him. Where she’d ask if he’d thought about what she said, whichof coursehe had, but—
“What are you going to do, my man?” Doc cut into Mason’s swirling thoughts as Romeo piloted the Otter toward the runway.
“What d’you mean?” Mason had to raise his voice above the little plane’s engines revving in preparation for flight.
“About Alex!” Doc shouted because Romeo had pulled back on the throttle and the floatplane raced down the runway.
Mason always hated this part, when the g-forces pushed him against his chair and he felt powerless over his fate.
Alex did that to him too. Made him feel powerless. Powerless to resist those dancing green eyes. Powerless to resist that laughing smile.
The thought of the eventual crash was too terrible to contemplate.
“You’re in love with her!” Doc kept on. “And she’s in love with you! You know that, right?”
For a couple of minutes, as the plane lifted into the air and the engines screamed, Mason said nothing. It was only after Romeo leveled them out, and the sound in the fuselage dimmed from a deafening roar to a low hum that he turned to Doc.
“She onlythinksshe loves me ’cause she’s sweet and idealistic and has never been hurt before,” he admitted wretchedly. “She hasn’t developed the emotional scars or the sixth sense for self-preservation that would let her see me for what I really am.”
A line appeared between Doc’s eyebrows. “And what are you?”
Something snapped in Mason. His voice cracked when he said, “Broken! The rest of you just slid into this civilian life with no problem, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t!”
Doc was shaking his head before Mason finished speaking. “So you’ve got a little PTSD? Good. Great. Join the club, asshole.”
Mason’s chin jerked back. He knew his face showed his astonishment when he asked, “You?”
“Yeah, me. Me and Romeo and Bran andallof us. War iswar. Killing iskilling. There’s no coming back from it. But that doesn’t mean we all can’t still have alife.”
Mason clung to his denial like a life raft. “It does for me,” he grumbled low. “I couldn’t do that to Alex. Inflict myself and all of my baggage on her. She deserves something good and sweet and unbroken.”
“For God’s sake.” Doc rolled his eyes. “Here you sit, reeking of hearts and flowers and good intentions, willing to sacrifice yourself and your shot at happiness, and for what?”
“For Alex!” Mason’s temper erupted again. Doc had scrambled his brains, which made him have doubts. And for whatever reason, those doubts brought hope with them.
“You’ve been carrying your past around like a disease for years now.” Doc’s voice was annoyingly even in the face of Mason’s outburst. “But I’m here to tell you that youcanmake peace with it. That youdeserveto make peace with it. And if you’ll allow her, Alex will help you with that.”
Mason opened his mouth to argue, but Doc pressed ahead. “I care about Alex. If even a tiny part of me thought for one minute you couldn’t be everything she needs, I’d be the first to tell you to screw off and leave her alone. And yet here I am telling you to go for it.”
Mason stubbornly shook his head. “My scars are too deep.”
“You only get scars when you’ve healed.” Doc snorted. “What you have, my friend, are wounds. If you pull your self-sacrificing head out of your ass, Alex will help you heal them.”
Mason once again opened his mouth, but Doc lifted a staying hand. “Nope. I’ve said my piece and have no interest in listening to more of your chin music.” Closing his eyes, Doc reclined his seat and folded his hands over his flat stomach.
Mason turned toward the window, his eyes blind to the cerulean waters stretched endlessly toward the horizon. His mind was filled to the brim with doubts. And hot on their heels?
Ya-huh. You guessed it.
Hope.
Terrible, terrifying, torturous hope.
Is it possible Doc is right?
