Chapter 45 #2
He glanced at Elena, gave her a polite nod, then headed back toward the main barn.
The bleeding process took twenty minutes—checking each connection point, working air out of the system. Elena watched the whole time, making occasional notes.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked at length.
I tested the lever again. Smooth this time, proper resistance. “Whether this fix is gonna hold or if I should tell Dad to order a new pump as backup.”
“No, I mean what are you thinking about while you work.”
I wiped my forehead with the back of my arm.
“That the hydraulics on these ATVs are simpler than aircraft systems but the principle’s the same.
That I know how to diagnose this because I spent years maintaining equipment more complex than this.
” I met her eyes. “That this is something I’m still good at. ”
“Your dad trusts your judgment.”
“He does.”
“Does that surprise you?”
“No,” I wiped my hands again, considering. “Dad’s always trusted me with equipment. That hasn’t changed.”
“But you thought it might?”
“I thought a lot of things might change,” I stood, testing my weight on my left leg—stiff from crouching but manageable. “Turns out some things don’t.”
Elena stood too, tucking her notepad under her arm. “You just diagnosed and fixed a mechanical problem, taught me the process while you did it, and your father trusted you to handle it without supervision. That’s competence, Finn.”
“It’s an ATV, not a fighter jet.”
“It’s proof your knowledge is intact. Your problem-solving ability. Your capacity to teach.” She headed toward the door. “We’ll talk more tomorrow. But I want you to sit with that for now—what you just demonstrated without even realizing it.”
She left me standing there in the equipment barn, hydraulic fluid on my hands, her words sitting heavier than I wanted them to.
That evening’s family dinner felt odd with Elena there, observing us.
She sat between Mom and Elowyn, asking questions about the ranch operation, how the family had adapted when Dom and I left for our respective careers.
Normal conversation—the kind guests sometimes initiated. But Elena wasn’t a guest.
She was cataloging and indexing and dissecting everything.
Dad’s conversation style. The sibling dynamics. How Alex and I moved around each other—the casual touches, the way we read each other’s cues.
When Elena asked how Alex was finding life on a ranch, she gave a wry smile, “I’m terrible at most of it, but I’m learning to be okay with being terrible at things that don’t matter to my actual life.”
The whole table laughed. I caught Elena’s slight smile, caught her scribbling something on the small notepad beside her plate.
Everything was data.
Alex’s hand found mine under the table—squeezed once.
I squeezed back, grateful.
The candle was lit again when I arrived Wednesday morning—I was beginning to appreciate why Alex hated the smell of artificial vanilla. Same consultation room, same chairs, same view through the window, same uncomfortable feeling deep inside me.
Elena was already there, notepad ready.
“How are you feeling this morning?” she asked as I sat down.
“Tired. Didn’t sleep great.”
“Nightmares?”
“No. Just… thinking.”
“About?”
I gestured vaguely at the room, at her, at everything we’d been doing. “All of this. What you’re seeing. What it means.”
“What do you think it means?”
Classic therapist move—turning my question back on me. I almost smiled. “That I’m more of a mess than I thought I was.”
“Or that you’re doing harder work than you’ve allowed yourself to do before,” she settled back in her chair. “Today I want to talk about identity. Specifically, who you are now.”
My jaw tightened automatically.
“You’ve spent the last eight months defining yourself by what you’ve lost,” Elena continued. “Your clearance to fly. Your active-duty status. Your physical capabilities before the accident. But that’s not an identity, Finn. That’s a list of absences.”
“It’s what matters.”
“Is it?” She cocked her head, then leaned forward slightly. “Who are you without the flight suit?”
The question sat between us.
“I don’t know anymore,” I shrugged finally.
I stared out the window. Maggie was trotting past with a stick in her mouth, probably looking for someone to throw it. Simple. Uncomplicated.
“That’s honest,” Elena said finally. “But I want to try something different. Instead of focusing on what you’ve lost, tell me what you still have. What hasn’t changed despite everything.”
“My limitations haven’t changed.” The words tasted bitter on my tongue. “Still can’t fly. Still dealing with migraines and tremors and a brain that misfires when I’m stressed.”
“Those are your challenges, not your identity.” Her voice stayed level. “What capabilities do you still have?”
I balled my hands into fists. “I don’t—”
“Yesterday you diagnosed and repaired a hydraulic problem. Taught me the process while you did it. Your father trusted your judgment without question. That’s not nothing, Finn.”
“It’s an ATV, not a Super Hornet.” I stopped myself from rolling my eyes.
“The principles are the same, and you know it. It’s proof your knowledge is intact. Your problem-solving ability. You think systematically without even noticing. That doesn’t disappear because you’re not in a cockpit.” Elena tilted her head slightly. “What else?”
I swallowed, licking my lips. “I still know how to fly. Still understand aircraft systems, flight theory, navigation.”
“What else?”
“I can still…” I stopped, searching. “I can still fix things. Figure out how things work, what’s wrong with them. The mechanical work yesterday felt good. Natural.”
“Keep going.”
I stood up, couldn’t sit anymore—moved to the window, hands shoved in my pockets. “I’m still the guy who shows up when his family needs help. Even when my body’s telling me to stop, even when it costs me. Maybe that’s not always smart, but it’s who I am.”
“Why does that matter to you?” Elena asked quietly.
“Because—” My throat was tight, painful. “Because if I’m not useful, if I can’t contribute, then what’s the point? I can’t fly anymore. Can’t serve. Can’t do the thing I spent my entire adult life training for. So if I can’t at least show up for the people who matter, then what am I?”
Elena was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was gentle but firm. “You have an aerospace engineering degree, but you’re treating yourself like you’re only worth what your body can do right now. You’re not a tool, Finn. Your worth isn’t measured by your utility.”
“Feels like it is.”
“I know it does. But that’s the military conditioning talking, not reality.
” She stood, came to stand near the window without crowding me.
“You just listed several things you’re still capable of.
Aviation knowledge. Mechanical problem-solving.
Teaching. Showing up for people you love. That’s not nothing. That’s identity.”
I swallowed hard, not trusting my voice.
“The flight suit was part of who you were,” Elena continued.
“But it wasn’t all of you. The expertise that made you a good pilot?
That’s still there. The instinct to protect and teach and solve problems?
Still there. You haven’t lost yourself, Finn.
You’re just learning to recognize yourself in a different context. ”
My hands were shaking slightly. I shoved them deeper into my pockets.
“This is hard work,” Elena said. “Three days of intensive processing, unpacking trauma, questioning your entire sense of self. It’s okay to be tired. It’s okay to feel raw.”
“Feels like falling apart.”
“Feels like,” she agreed. “But you’re not. You’re doing exactly what you need to do. Looking honestly at who you are now instead of who you used to be.”
I turned away from the window, met her eyes. “What if I don’t like who I am now?”
“Then we work on that too,” she moved back to her chair, gestured for me to sit. “But Finn, from what I’ve observed these past three days—your competence, your care for Alex, the way your family trusts and relies on you—there’s a lot to work with. You just have to be willing to see it.”
I sat down heavily and scrubbed at my face with both hands.
“Go rest,” Elena said gently. “You’ve done hard work this morning. Give yourself permission to just exist for a while.”
I walked back to the lodge in a haze. Three days of emotional excavation and I was already exhausted. How was I going to survive another week or more?
Alex was in our room when I got there, working again. She took one look at me and closed her laptop immediately.
“Rough session?” she asked quietly.
“Yeah,” I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the weight of the morning settle into my shoulders, my chest, my hands.
She came and knelt in front of me, her hands covering mine on my knees. “What do you need?”
“I don’t know.” I was too tired to figure out the right answer.
“Okay. Let me take care of you for a bit.” She stood, pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Boots off. Lie down.”
She helped me get my boots off, then my button-down, leaving me in my t-shirt and jeans. We climbed onto the bed and she pulled me against her so my head rested on her chest.
Her hand moved through my hair, slow and steady. Grounding.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” she said softly.
“I know,” I closed my eyes, letting myself just breathe. Her heartbeat was steady under my ear. Solid. Real.
We stayed like that for a while. No words, just her fingers in my hair as the weight of everything began to lessen slowly.
“How was your day?” I asked finally, needing to think about something other than my own mess.
“Good, actually.” Her hand kept moving through my hair as I wrapped an arm around her waist. “Diana texted me. She broke up with Graham.”
I lifted my head to look at her. “Fuckin’ finally.”
“That’s what I thought too,” a small smile pulled at her lips.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m glad she’s done with him,” Alex’s thumb brushed across my temple. “It was closure, you know? Proof that I wasn’t wrong about him, even if it took everyone else a while to see it.”
“You weren’t wrong,” I settled back against her chest. “Guy’s a piece of shit.”
“Eloquent.”
“Accurate.”
She huffed a quiet laugh, and I felt some of the tension ease out of my chest.
“Elena asked me who I am without the flight suit,” I said after another stretch of silence.
Alex’s hand stilled for just a second, then resumed its steady movement. “What did you tell her?”
“That I don’t know anymore,” I admitted. “That if I can’t be useful… if I can’t contribute, can’t show up for people… then what’s the point? What am I?”
She was quiet for a long moment—her fingers still moving through my hair.
“That sounds familiar,” she said finally, her voice soft. “Wasn’t it you who called me out for not doing things just because I enjoyed it? For needing everything to serve a purpose?”
I went still against her.
“Shit,” I breathed.
“Yeah,” her arms tightened around me slightly. “We’re both kind of terrible at believing we’re enough just as we are, aren’t we?”
I pressed my face against her shoulder. “You’re allowed to just exist, you know. Without having to earn it.”
“So are you, baby,” her lips brushed the top of my head. “So are you.”
Her declaration hung there. Heavy. True. Uncomfortable.
“This is harder than I thought it would be,” I admitted. “Three days and I feel like I’ve been taken apart and put back together wrong.”
“Not wrong. Just different.” Her hand moved to my back, tracing slow circles. “Elena’s making you look at things you’ve been avoiding.”
“Making me look at myself.”
“And that’s terrifying.”
“Yeah.” I shifted so I could see her face. “How do you do it? Just exist without needing to prove you’re worth the space you take up?”
“I don’t,” her smile was sad. “I’m still figuring it out too. But having you remind me helps.”
“Then I guess we’ll figure it out together.”
“Steady,” she whispered.
“Steady.”