Afraid to Fly (Anchor Point #2)(50)

"You did what?" Paul stared at me. "But I thought . . . Didn't you . . ." He shook himself. "What?"

I sank onto the sofa. "I had to. I-"

"Had to?" He sat beside me. "Travis, we just talked about this. How could . . . How did you get from being crazy in love with him to this?"

"I can't do it." I hated the pitiful sound of my own voice. "I went to see him, and I was going to tell him everything we talked about, and then I . . . I looked him in the eye, and I choked."

"Why? What happened?"

I swept my tongue across my lips. "I freaked out. One second we were talking. And the next, all I could think about was what happened with Dion." 

"With-" Paul blinked. "But they're completely different people. And completely different situations."

"And feelings that are way, way too similar."

"Yeah, because you're in love with Clint." Paul shook his head. "But things are not even close to the same with Clint as they were with Dion. You two are out. You don't have the regs and custody battles to deal with."

"Except Clint does have a custody battle going. Well. Sort of. He wants joint custody at some point and . . . anyway." Nausea burned in my throat at the memory of that brief flashback while we'd talked. I could still hear Dion's voice sadly telling me he couldn't risk being with me, and my damn brain kept putting those words into Clint's mouth. I'd never ask anyone to choose me over their family-God knew I'd never have chosen anyone over my daughter-but that didn't mean someone would never be asked to choose their family over me. I didn't want anyone in that position again. Especially not Clint. No matter how much times had changed, or how many other factors had driven Dion to take his own life, that fear had drilled itself into my mind and refused to leave.

"Travis." He squeezed my arm. "Don't you think you deserve to be happy? And wasn't that exactly what you were with him? I mean, you were practically swooning over him this morning."

"I know. I . . ." I didn't know how to put it into words. All day long, I'd been equal parts excited and terrified to finally open up to Clint and tell him I loved him, but then . . . then he'd been there. In front of me. Looking in my eyes.

He'd mentioned coming out to his kids, meeting them-all steps toward making this real and making us something like a family, and panic had taken over. In an instant, everything Paul and I had talked about was gone, because losing two people I loved-one to a bitter divorce, one to suicide-had become too recent, too real, and I'd been overcome with the fear of a third. Excruciating memories had flooded my mind, but with Clint's name and Clint's face instead of Dion's. I'd remembered, more vividly than I had in years, the crushing pain of watching that casket sink into that deep hole. In the same instant, I'd remembered how all the pain of a crash and an ejection had instantly become nothing compared to the news that my RIO might not make it through the night.

I kneaded the back of my neck, wondering when I'd started sweating. "Look, I can't control what happens to people in my life. The only thing I can control is who I let in."

"So, that's it?" Paul blinked. "You're not going to let him in because you might have to let him go?"

I rubbed my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. "I know it's not rational. I sound insane even to myself. But I'm fucking scared."

"I know you are." He put his hand on my shoulder. "Don't you think everyone is?"

I dropped my hand and looked at him. "I don't think everyone has had to live with the kind of guilt I have." I shrugged out from under his grasp, got up, and raked my fingers through my hair as I paced across the floor. "The last time I fell this hard for someone, I had to watch them put him in the goddamned ground."

"Yes, exactly!"

I stared at him. "What?"

"Travis." Paul pushed out a breath and shook his head as he rose. "When you lost Dion, you almost went out of your mind, and the thing you kept saying was 'I shouldn't have let him go, I shouldn't have let him go.' Is that the kind of regret you want to have this time?"



       
         
       
        

"I-"

"No, listen to me." His captain voice shut me up. "You've also been beating yourself up over Charlie's injuries all this time, but have you ever stopped to think that if there'd been another pilot in that cockpit, Charlie might not have made it out at all? You both came out fucked up, but you came out alive. Maybe you didn't correct enough when the flight deck moved, but you had a fraction of a second to react without any way of knowing how much space you needed. Yet you still corrected enough to keep from slamming into the stern and killing you both."

My mouth went dry.

"You and Charlie are still alive. Some of that came down to luck, and some of it came down to you reacting the way you did. No one can blame you for misjudging how much you needed to correct when you were coming in to land on a moving target. I've been there, Travis. I've done the same damn thing. The only difference between what happened to you and what happened to me is how much the flight deck moved. So you know you can take it to the bank when I tell you that you did exactly what any pilot would have, and you did enough to save yourself and Charlie."

I kept my eyes down. Deep inside, I knew he was right, and he definitely knew what he was talking about. That wouldn't stop me from wondering for the rest of my life how different things would've been if I'd pulled up a little bit more.

"And Dion . . ." Paul sighed. "It was a tragedy, and no one will deny that. But it wasn't your fault."

"I should have stayed back from him. Not let him see how much I wanted to be with him. We both know that's what drove him over the edge."

"No," Paul said sharply. "You didn't put him over the edge. Being in a military that refused to let him openly acknowledge the man he loved-"

"That man was me, remember?" I struggled to keep my voice even. "He was in love with me and I was in love with him. And that fucking destroyed him."

"And if DADT hadn't been in place, it wouldn't have happened that way, would it? You didn't drive him to suicide, Travis. His depression did. And so did the bigoted bullshit regulations that made him choose between you and a career."

I said nothing.

"Look at me, Travis."

I hesitated, but met his eyes.

He looked right back into mine, almost like he was looking right into me. "Have you ever thought that maybe you're the reason Dion lasted as long as he did?"

My lips parted. I couldn't breathe, but managed to croak, "What?"

His hand tightened. "He had a lot of demons. You knew that even before he died. Who's to say he didn't hang on for a few more years because of you?" 

My lungs turned to lead. A million memories flashed through my mind, mostly of those stolen interludes I'd had with Dion before we'd finally agreed it couldn't continue. His smile. How happy he'd always seemed when we were together.

And Paul, the bastard, wasn't finished. "You are not the reason Dion is dead. And I guaran-goddamn-tee that if he were here now, he would tell you the same thing I am, which is that you're making the biggest mistake of your life by letting Clint go."

I let my face fall into my hands, and focused on breathing and not throwing up. He didn't push now. He just kept his hand on me, rubbing gently as if to remind me he was there.

Was he right?

God. Maybe he was.

There was no way we'd ever know for sure. Dion hadn't left a note because, we all guessed, he hadn't wanted anyone to figure out he'd committed suicide. What had gone through his mind at the end-none of us he'd left behind would ever know. But what if Paul was right?

I straightened slowly, and that motion aggravated some muscles in the middle of my back. Because of course it did. As the twinge set in and chewed at my spine, my heart sank again. "It's not just my past with Dion that's keeping me away from Clint, though."

Paul raised his eyebrows.

I shifted a bit to try to stretch out the tightness. "Even if nothing happens to him, how long is he going to put up with a guy whose entire life revolves around how much his fucking back hurts on that particular day? Because I promise you, that novelty wears off quick."

"I understand." Paul nodded. "For God's sake, I might not be as banged up as you are, but I've got my share of old injuries, and I'm marrying a man in his twenties. You don't think I've been worried a time or two that he might get tired of my aches and pains getting in the way?"

"Do you still worry about it?"

"Every day." He squeezed my shoulder. "Every fucking day."

"But you guys have been together for . . . shit, you're engaged."

"Yeah. And let me tell you, after he's been arguing with his mother for an afternoon about the seating arrangements for our wedding, there's a part of me that still wonders if he'll suddenly decide it's not worth it."

"Jesus, Paul. That guy worships you."

"And I've seen the way Clint looks at you." He let go of my shoulder. "You said yourself the guy is terrified of flying, but got on a plane with you-twice-because you couldn't drive all the way to San Diego."