Page 16 of The Spark Between Us

"Grant," Brock calls as the room empties. "Got a minute?"

My heart rate spikes, but I keep my expression neutral. "Of course, Chief."

When the last person leaves, closing the door behind them, Brock leans back in his chair, staring at me with an intensity that makes me want to confess every inappropriate thought I've ever had about his daughter.

"Everything okay?" I ask when the silence stretches uncomfortably.

"You tell me," he replies cryptically. "You seem... distracted lately."

I shrug, aiming for casual. "Just busy with the new engine, safety demonstrations, the usual."

He nods slowly. "Had another nightmare last night, didn't you?"

The question catches me off guard. Brock has always had an uncanny ability to read me, a skill honed through years of shared combat situations.

"It's nothing," I deflect. "Same old stuff."

"Kandahar?" he asks, knowing already.

I nod once, shortly. We don't talk about this often—the lingering effects of our deployments. But Brock always knows when the memories are pressing closer to the surface.

"You know, the counseling center Ellie's interviewing at—they have a veteran's program," he says casually. "Specialized PTSD treatment. Might be worth looking into. Ollis’s girlfriend is behind it."

"I'm fine," I say.

"Sure you are," he replies, unconvinced. "That's why you still flinch at loud noises and wake up in cold sweats so many years later."

I say nothing, uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation.

Brock sighs, leaning forward. "Ellie's been reading up on PTSD treatment approaches. Part of her degree program. She mentioned some new techniques that have shown promising results for veterans."

The mention of Ellie sends my thoughts spiraling in a dangerous direction. "I'll look into it," I say.

"She asked about you, you know," Brock continues. "After dinner Friday. Wanted to know if you were still having nightmares."

My head snaps up in surprise. "She did?"

"Mhm. She's grown up, Grant," Brock says suddenly, changing tack so abruptly it gives me conversational whiplash. "Not the same kid who left four years ago. She's a woman now, with her own ideas, her own life."

I say nothing, unsure where this is going, but certain I don't like the direction.

"You know, Sarah and I had a ten-year age gap," he continues conversationally, throwing me completely off balance. "Met when she was twenty-four and I was thirty-four. Plenty of people had opinions about that."

Is he saying what I think he's saying? Impossible.

"Sir?" It's all I can manage.

Brock sighs, leaning forward. "I'm not blind, Grant. Or stupid. I've known you for fifteen years. We've been through hell together."

"I don't know what you're—" I start, but he holds up a hand, stopping me.

"I'm not accusing you of anything," he says firmly. "I know you'd never cross any lines. You're too honorable for that. Too loyal."

Relief floods through me, followed immediately by shame. He trusts me, and here I am, fighting feelings for his daughter.

"She's back for good," Brock continues. "Going to be around the station, working with you on these demonstrations. I just want to make sure we're all clear on boundaries."

"Absolutely clear, sir," I say stiffly, humiliation burning in my gut. "There's nothing to worry about."

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