Page 79 of Moonlight Feels Right
"You're really playing around with that word, Hunter."
"I can't seem to get it out of my head. I can't seem to get you out of my head."
"I feel the same way about you."
"We should rewrite the rules, Em. They're not working."
He was right, but she couldn't stop clinging to her one last defense. "I know, but…I can't."
"Well, if you change your mind…"
"I'm going to try not to, Hunter," she said. "At least not tonight. We should go home, back to our separate apartments. I have things to do, and you have a big day tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," he muttered with a little sigh. "I guess I'll find out then if I'm crazy or not."
"You're not," she said. "You really are a different person than you were after your accident."
"I hope the doctor agrees with you."
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hunter arrived at the medical center forty minutes before his scheduled psychological evaluation on Monday morning. He would meet with Dr. Elizabeth Chen, a military psychologist who specialized in aviation trauma. The early arrival wasn't about punctuality—though that was ingrained in him—but strategy. He wanted time to center himself, to get into the right headspace. After checking in, he sat down and pulled out his phone, scrolling through emails and texts without really seeing them.
His thoughts kept drifting to yesterday, to Emmalyn…the somewhat awkward lunch with her family, followed by the fun at the batting cage and the simple pleasure of watching the sunset with her. He found himself smiling at that memory and felt much more relaxed. Just the thought of Emmalyn could drive the tension out of his body.
A door opened, and a woman in her late forties with short black hair and rimless glasses stepped out. "Captain Kane?"
He immediately got up. "That's me."
"I'm Dr. Chen," she said, extending her hand.
"Nice to meet you," he said, shaking her hand before following her down the hall.
Her office was surprisingly warm, with bookshelves filled with both clinical texts and what looked like poetry collections, a few plants thriving near the window, and a glass desk. She waved him toward the sitting area where two comfortable chairs sat on either side of a coffee table.
"Have a seat," she said. "Can I get you water?"
"I'm good, thank you."
She took the chair across from him and placed a tablet on her lap, then met his eyes directly. "I've reviewed your medical records and the incident report. Today is about assessing your psychological readiness to return to flight duty. Some of what we discuss may be difficult, but I need you to be completely honest. There are no right or wrong answers here."
He doubted that was true, but all he said was, "Understood."
"Let's begin. Tell me about the accident."
Despite having anticipated this question, his throat tightened. He'd rehearsed this story countless times in his head, trying to make it clinical, factual, but sitting here now, Gary's face flashed in his mind. But instead of seeing him the night of the crash, he saw his smile and heard his joking voice saying something like, "Sorry you have to talk to a shrink about me."
"Captain?"
"Sorry," he said, realizing he needed to stay focused. And he definitely shouldn't tell her he was hearing Gary's voice in his head.
For the next twenty minutes, he related the details of their humanitarian mission, the poor intel, the unexpected firefight, and the fatal crash, stumbling only once when she asked him where Gary had been sitting when the helicopter was hit. That did bring a bad image back into his head, but he pushed it away, answering her question with the brutal truth, that Gary had been sitting closest to the point of impact. She asked several follow-up questions, and when she was done, he let out a breath.
"Did you change your mind on that offer of water?" she asked, giving him a thoughtful look.
"No, I'm good. What else can I tell you?"
"Do you have nightmares, Captain?"
