"Just a little?" Shane raised an eyebrow.
"Don't push your luck, Foti."
"Shane! Mom! Look at this!" Kevin's voice carried across the clearing, shattering the moment.
April stepped back, but not before Shane saw the smile she was trying to hide. The one that said he was definitely making progress.
They moved higher, where a light breeze funneled through the canyon. Shane lifted a finger to test the air. “Moisture’s dropping. Wind’s steady. Perfect conditions.”
Kevin copied him, grinning. “I can’t tell a thing.”
“You will,” Shane said. “Takes practice. Easiest way to start is listen.”
They crossed a clearing. The sun dipped behind the ponderosas, and the air cooled instantly. The forest went still—birds gone quiet, the hum of insects fading.
Kevin noticed first. “It got quiet.”
Shane nodded. “When the woods hold their breath, something’s shifting. Sometimes it’s a hawk. Sometimes it’s weather. Sometimes—” he gave a small shrug “—it’s just the world listening back.”
He didn’t say what memory came with that silence: the heavy quiet after gunfire stopped, the smell of cordite and seawater, the body on the deck that used to be Sean.
For a moment, Shane could see it so clearly: water streaming off his gear; Charlie trying her best to revive him; the rescue boat speeding down the river with the SEAL team they’d pulled out.
Camo standing guard beside Sean’s body, refusing to move. That dog had set off a chain of events that brought him to today.
The ache rose sharp and sudden, but Shane breathed through it, the way he always did.
Except this time, he wasn't alone with it.
April touched his arm—gentle, grounding. Shane looked down at her fingers resting against his sleeve, then up at her face. She was watching him with those eyes that had always seen through his armor to the mess underneath.
"You okay?" she asked softly.
No.
Yes.
I don't know anymore.
"Yeah." His voice came out ragged. "Just... remembering."
April didn't ask what. Didn't push. She just stood there with her hand on his arm, warm and steady and real, pulling him back from the dark place his mind wanted to go.
Shane covered her hand with his own, threading their fingers together for a moment. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For not making me explain."
Understanding flickered across her face. "You don't have to explain everything, Shane. Not to me."
She sees me. Not the golden boy.
And she accepts me, scars and all.
He squeezed her hand once, grateful for her in ways he couldn’t express in words.
Kevin's voice called out from up ahead, telling them to catch up.
