Chapter 6 #3
She lifted her phone and, for once, didn't have to stabilize it with her other hand. For all the little steps forward with her physical therapy, some days it seemed like she was taking huge bounds backward with her mental health.
Riley: Therapist asked me today who I trust most in the world.
The question had hit her like a punch to the gut. Who did she trust? Really, truly trust?
Talon: What did you tell her?
Riley: That's the problem. I couldn't think of anyone.
The admission felt like a failure. Twenty-eight years old, and she couldn't name a single person she trusted completely. What did that say about her? About the life she'd built?
Talon: That's okay. Trust is earned, not given.
She stared at the response. Well, that’s a new way to look at it, isn’t it?
She let his words sink in, rolling the concept around in her mind like a smooth stone.
Perhaps the issue wasn't that she was so damaged that she couldn’t trust anyone.
Maybe the problem was that no one in her life had bothered to earn her trust. But then a question popped into her mind.
Riley: How do you trust people in your line of work?
Because he did trust people. She could tell from the way he talked about his team, the confidence he had in them. How did someone in his position, someone who'd seen the worst of humanity, still manage to trust?
Talon: Very carefully. And only after they've proven themselves.
Riley: Makes sense.
That was gold, as her therapist would say.
A nugget to remember. And suddenly, she realized something that made her breath catch.
Talon had proven himself. Over and over in small ways and large.
He'd earned something from her that she'd never consciously given to anyone else.
Riley stared across the great lawn to the road where a lone car's headlights cut through the growing darkness.
I trust him.
November
Talon: Watching the sunrise over the Indian Ocean. Wish you could see this view.
Riley smiled, and the expression felt as natural as breathing now. It had been a week or so since Talon had texted. She'd missed their almost daily contact more than she'd been willing to admit, even to herself. He told her he would be out of contact for some time. His mission must have finished.
Riley: Describe it to me.
She wanted to see what he saw. To share this moment with him across the miles.
Talon: Orange and pink streaks across endless blue. Water so clear you can see the bottom.
She glanced out at the darkness of the night, but in her mind, she could picture it—the sun painting the sky in impossible colors, the water so pristine it looked like glass.
She loved the sunrises and sunsets on the Gulf of Guinea.
It was such an array of indescribable colors.
She blinked and realized she'd remembered a good memory of the time she'd spent there.
Another first. For months, every memory of that place had been tainted with terror. But this ... this was just beauty.
Riley: Sounds beautiful. I miss the ocean.
Not "I miss traveling," or "I miss my job." She missed the ocean. The vastness of it, the way it made her problems feel small and manageable.
Talon: When you're ready, you'll see it again.
When I’m ready. Not if. When. He has more faith in my recovery than I do.
Riley: From your mouth to God's ears.
And she meant it. She wanted to believe him, wanted to trust in the future he seemed so certain she’d have.
Riley glanced at the clock and figured out the time difference.
Talon sometimes couldn't tell her his exact location, but when he couldn't, he told her how many hours ahead or behind East Coast time he was.
It was one of those small considerations that meant everything—keeping her connected to his world even when he couldn't share the details.
She glanced down at the magazine in her lap.
Riley: Read an article about PTSD in military personnel.
Talon: Oh?
Well, she deserved that response. She could have given him a bit more information, but they'd fallen into having conversations without beginning or end.
Just one constant chat like they were living in the same space instead of worlds apart.
She sent the question she'd wondered about after reading the article.
Riley: Do you ever … struggle with that?
She did. She woke up at night because of her dreams. She relived those moments in time. She felt dread when a door shut and had an anxiety attack if her way to a door was blocked. PTSD wasn't just for the military. But did he deal with it, too? This man who seemed so strong, so unbreakable?
Talon: Sometimes. Occupational hazard.
Well, that was pretty casual. She made a face and shrugged her shoulders. Yeah, no, that wasn't how he dealt with it. He was playing it off. She was becoming quite skilled at reading Talon, at seeing past the careful responses to the man underneath.
Riley: What helps? Asking for a friend.
The oldest deflection in the book. She knew he'd see right through it.
Talon: Staying busy. Having purpose. Good friends.
She was staying busy with her therapies, and she'd started an online class to fill the empty time. A purpose? Her purpose was to heal so she could leave the house and return to work. One day, she would walk back into that office on the Gulf of Guinea, and she wouldn’t be afraid.
That was her purpose. Good friends. She sighed.
She'd lost contact with most of her college friends.
Work associates couldn't be counted as friends in her book.
And as far as family went, well, it was just her and her dad. So … friends …
Riley: Am I a good friend?
The question was out before she could stop it. Vulnerable and needy and everything she tried not to be with him.
Talon: The best.
Her heart warmed with the immediate response.
The best. Not just good, but the best. She considered him her best friend.
He put up with her weird questions, odd texts, and stupid jokes.
She'd found a page of nothing but dad jokes and dropped one to him every day.
Most of them got a "groan," but sometimes, he liked them and told her he forwarded them to his dad.
She read it again and realized that somewhere along the way, in the space between rescue and recovery, she'd found something she'd never had before. A friend who chose her. Who saw her at her worst and stayed anyway. Who thought she was worth his time, his attention, his care.
Maybe that was enough to start rebuilding a life on. Maybe that was everything.
December
Talon: Random observation: airport coffee is universally terrible.
Riley found herself grinning at her phone.
Talon was very particular about his coffee, especially if he was paying for it.
Over the months, she'd learned these little details about him—the way he noticed things other people overlooked, how he had standards about the strangest things.
He'd even given her advice never to let his cousin make coffee.
Not that she'd ever meet his cousin, but the warning was serious, so she'd taken it to heart.
These random pieces of information felt like treasures, glimpses into a life she'd never be part of but somehow felt connected to anyway.
Riley: Where are you suffering through bad coffee today?
She loved how easily they'd fallen into this pattern—his observations, her questions, the comfortable back-and-forth that made her feel like she was traveling alongside him instead of where she was.
Talon: Denver. It's snowing, and I'm questioning my life choices.
Over the months, they’d spent hours, days, weeks talking via text.
Sometimes she couldn’t do anything because his texts came in such rapid succession.
She smiled at the thoughts of the multitude of conversations they’d had.
Stupid convos not related to anything they were experiencing and then the next conversation was spiritual, metaphysical, irrational, and always building on the relationship they were sharing.
She doubted he ever doubted his life choices.
He was the most determined and single-minded person she'd ever met.
In her mind, he existed in a world of certainty, of clear rights and wrongs, of decisive action.
If she'd learned anything over the last five months, Talon thought everything through before he made a move.
He was cautious by nature—carefully calculated risks, measured responses.
So different from her father, who made impulsive business decisions and expected everyone else to clean up the mess.
Riley: What would you rather be doing?
The question felt safer than admitting she was questioning everything about her own life choices lately.
Talon: Sitting somewhere warm with good coffee and better company.
Riley stared at the words, and her heart did something complicated in her chest. Would they ever have the opportunity to sit across from each other and visit?
The thought painted itself in her mind before she could stop it.
The picture of a cozy café somewhere, steam rising from proper coffee cups, the kind of easy conversation they had through text but with the luxury of seeing his expressions. It would be so nice.
She'd long ago given up the romantic idea that they would.
She could feel her cheeks turning red even sitting alone in her room.
She was a friend, not a romantic interest. God, how could she even think about it?
He'd found her filthy in the worst way. He'd seen her at her absolute lowest—broken, terrified, barely human.
No, romance wasn't on the table for them, but she adored him as a friend.
And that was enough. It had to be enough because it was more than she'd ever had with anyone else.
But sometimes, in the quiet moments between sleep and waking, she wondered what it would be like to look at it that way.
Talon: What about you? Perfect day?
She wanted to type “Visiting with you,” but that would be needy.
She'd already crossed too many lines—texting too often, sharing too much, depending on him for emotional support he'd never signed up to give.
The last thing she needed was to make him uncomfortable by revealing just how much he'd come to mean to her.
So, she gave her idea of her second-best day.
Riley: Home. Good book. No agenda.
Home. Not her father's house, but someday, somewhere that actually felt like home. A place where she could breathe. Where silence felt peaceful instead of intimidating. A place where she could just … be.
Talon: Sounds perfect.
And somehow, coming from him, it did sound perfect. He had a way of making her small dreams feel valid, important even. Like wanting a quiet day with a book wasn't giving up on life but choosing what kind of life she wanted to live.