Page 104 of One Last Chance

It felt so much like a date, so much like she’d shed a part of herself. The day soaked into her, turning her warm and sunbaked.

They ended up at the end of the street, in the gravel lot of the Midnight Sun Saloon, where the smell of barbecue could make her barter her future for a basket of tangy ribs or salty fries.

“You’ll love the fries. They’re battered.” He ordered a basket from a hearty blonde woman.

“Thanks, Vic,” he said and took a number for the fries. He pulled Flynn away, toward a picnic bench. He sat, straddling the bench, one arm on the table.

She sat next to him, facing the lot, her gaze on the crowd. Habit, really.

“Vic used to be a cop somewhere in the lower forty-eight. Found her way here and never went back.”

“Sounds mysterious.”

“Maybe she was just looking for a new life.”

She looked over at him, and his blue eyes landed on hers.

Oh.

“I—” She turned to face him, putting her leg over the bench. Took his hand. “Listen, I might have gotten a little worried, and I know that I sort of?—”

“Threw yourself into my arms?” He quirked an eyebrow, added a hint of a smile.

“I panicked.”

His smile fell as he looked away toward the mountain. “Me too.”

Huh?

He grimaced. “After I got in the chopper, I had . . . maybe a little smidgen of a panic attack. Or started to. Whatever.”

Oh. “You okay?”

“Yeah, but . . . aw, shoot. Okay, it wasn’t the first time. In fact, I had to leave the Coast Guard because of them.” He made to let go of her hand, but she tightened her grip.

“It’s okay, Axel. I get it?—”

“No, actually, you don’t. See, it was really bad after the . . . incident in the Gulf of Alaska. And I couldn’t get it out of my head, and I couldn’t sleep. It’s mandatory to have a psych eval after rescues that go south like that, but I . . . I didn’t pass. What kind of born hero doesn’t pass a psych eval?”

Oh, Axel.

“Anyway, they recommended time off and . . . I got angry. So I quit.”

“I see.”

“Not my best move, but Moose gave me a chance, and I have it under control.”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly.” He sighed. “But it’s always there, the sense that it could happen again and I’d be in over my head and . . . let’s just say out at sea, without a way home.”

“You could call for help.” She meant it as sweet, but he frowned. Swallowed.

“I could. I . . . keep thinking about that, actually.”

“Our ham-radio conversation?”

“Yes—sort of.” He met her eyes and took her other hand. “I want more than just right now, Flynn. Something Moose said to me won’t leave me. He says that I keep reaching for happy moments when instead I need joy.” His thumb ran over her hand, and he looked at it. “I guess I don’t know what joy feels like. But I’d like to.” He glanced around, nodded at a local.

---