As if she could tell what I was thinking—not that it was difficult—she blushed, the color spreading from her cheeks to her ample chest.
She cleared her throat. “So, um, how’d you end up being the team medic?”
“I applied for the thirty-six week training program after earning my trident.”
“But why? Don’t most SEALs want to be snipers and tough guys?”
I almost spit out my wine. “Don’t worry, Red, I’m plenty tough.”
“I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant.”
“I was kidding. Sort of.” I waited for her to relax. “I qualified for sniper training, and I would’ve passed, easily.” It wasn’t a brag; the skills I’d learned as a competitive archer translated to shooting. “I wanted a challenge, and not many guys had the stomach for medical training.”
There was more to it, but I gave her the same blanket answer I gave everyone. It was easier than talking about never wanting to feel helpless to help someone ever again.Not that my training could’ve helped my sister.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“You just did.”
She came ‘this’ close to rolling her eyes.
“You never talk about your family. Are your parents in Colorado? Do you have any siblings?”
The question was innocent enough, but my body still didn’t like it. I rarely talked about my family, and for good reason.
My family wasn’t like Madi’s; never had been.
That’s not technically true. I had a few memories of happy times before my mother left us.
Everything after that was a nightmare of alcohol-induced neglect by my father and caring for my sick little sister. Leukemia claimed Tammy’s life far too soon, and it gutted me. I felt helpless as my sister’s health faded.
Madi’s soft hand on mine brought me back to the present and had the added effect of lessening the tension that always built when I thought about my family.
“Are you okay?”
Not trusting my voice, I nodded.
She held space for me while I composed myself. The tips of her fingers gliding across the back of my hand offered silent comfort. In a move I was likely to regret later, I turned my hand over and laced my fingers with hers.
Instead of pulling away, she held my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Like a girlfriend would.
But we couldn’t happen for a handful of reasons.
Mostly because I refused to let another person leave me and break my heart.
“Sorry. There’s a lot there.”
“You don’t have to tell me. We can talk about something else.” She backed her words by squeezing my hand.
When I finally lifted my gaze from my plate, the compassion in her eyes made me want to share.
“My family’s nothing like yours. For starters, they’re all dead.”
Her sharp inhale told me I’d gone too far.
“Sorry, that was harsh.”
