Page 3 of Rescued Hearts

It was too many memories clawing at the edges of his mind that made him avoid the bonfires. All too well, he knew how that flickering firelight translated in his own scarred mind into dark, painful memories. The smoke in his lungs and the laughter twisted into something else.

No thanks—he would meet Crew Diaz, the newcomer to the therapy program, on his own terms in a location where he could easily slide his mask into place and keep it from slipping.

He stretched his neck and ran his finger along the familiar dry wood of the fence rail where he waited for Crew to meet him.

When a horse whickered, he knew the animal sensed a new guest before Gray ever saw him. He fixed his face into something approachable and pretended he had his shit together. By the time Crew rounded the corner of the barn, Gray didn’t have a crack in sight. Hidden from view? That was a different thing.

The man coming toward him moved with an inherent wariness he’d noted most of the vets possessed. Day one of the Black Heart Ranch’s therapy program wasn’t easy to face…but it was better than the days the vets left behind them.

Crew wore a pair of jeans, loose on his frame as if he’d once filled them out better but had lost weight, and a plain T-shirt. The ball cap he wore was tugged low over his eyes, but the long ends of his hair curled under the sides.

Gray nodded in greeting and pushed off the fence to meet him. “Crew.”

“Hey. You Gray?”

“That’s me.”

“Your sister told me to look for the mean-lookin’ guy wearing a cowboy hat. I passed at least two others on the walk out here.”

Gray chuckled. He liked the guy already. Even though they hadn’t served with each other, they understood each other in the way vets often did.

He tipped his head toward the big house. “Coffee? It’s hot.”

He scuffed his worn leather boot in the dust at their feet. “Had some at breakfast. Better than coffee in the barracks.”

“Low standards.”

They eyed each other without looking directly at the other. Gray wondered if Crew noted the similarities between them—different battlefield, different losses. Same damn ghosts.

With a gesture to the paddock fence, Gray led the newcomer to the rail. Two of his sister’s horses were already dozing in the morning sun. Crew sidled up beside him and rested his forearms on the fence, seeming at ease, but he knew it was all a show.

“Where did you serve?” He figured getting straight to the point was the best practice.

“Pensacola.” His fingers tightened on the rail.

Gray’s jaw flexed, and he issued a hot breath of air through his nostrils. He didn’t need to ask more. He knew by the flicker in Crew’s dark eyes what happened there—the very event that made Crew check himself in to the therapy program.

Silence stretched between them, full of words unspoken but not completely uncomfortable. They were brothers in a way, as much as Gray was with his own siblings. Though his family members served in the military as well, they each had their own pain points.

Crew ducked his head. “Lost my co-pilot. Exercise went bad. Simple as that.”

Only Gray knew it was far from simple. Nothing about losses like that were.

His own crushing sense of responsibility, of failure, washed over him. He focused on his surroundings to disconnect from that time in his life. Concentrated on the warm sun heating his shoulders through his shirt. On the soft spice of hay and the breeze ruffling the short grass springing up around the fence posts.

What the hell was there to say to Crew’s statement? A loss like that wasn’t a heroic last stand. It was a mistake, a miscalculation.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last. He didn’t add his own trauma. Even though Crew would understand, he couldn’t burden anybody by speaking of it.

Crew dipped his head in a nod of acknowledgement. “And you?”

Gray felt his lips clamp together, but he couldn’t deny the vet this information. “USSValor Heights.”

Crew didn’t even blink at the name of the aircraft carrier he’d served on for years.

They traded a look, then a nod. No more words were necessary. They knew each other’s trauma…to an extent.

“Nice place you got here,” Crew said.

---