“Charles, come on in here a minute.”

Elijah raised his eyebrows at Cade as the captain walked by. The guys had just started to dig into their breakfast of French challah bread with marionberry jam. The newest recruit got his due ribbing the first time he’d whipped up such a show, but after the crew had tasted what he could do they looked forward to his kitchen days.

“Yes, Captain?” Cade asked. Crane sat down at his desk and nodded at Cade to shut the door.

“How are the sessions going?” Crane asked as soon as Cade sat down.

“With Dr. Hersh, you mean? They’re going,” Cade said with a shrug.

“Thought you had some kind of breakthrough or something,” Crane said as he started to methodically peel an orange that he pulled from a drawer.

“Is that … is that what he told you?” Cade could have kicked himself.

Of course the captain is getting the reports. Why did I have to go and get all emotional talking about what happened in Montana?

“Not in so many words. Actually, his were quite lengthier, but that’s what I gathered.”

The captain bit into one of the sections and didn’t flinch when the sticky juice splattered across the desk.

Cade felt his neck grow hot, but he refused to act embarrassed. He glanced around the office and searched for what would pass as nonchalant.

“I was glad to hear it,” Crane said.

“You were?”

“Of course. What do you think I sent you to that doctor for, so you could talk about how your mama didn’t love you enough or whatever?”

Cade looked to the floor.

He couldn’t know. Could he? Well, maybe, but even if the whole foster care thing was mentioned in my files, I doubt he remembers that.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry, son. You were—you’re the one who was in the system, weren’t you?” The captain put down the orange and sat up straight. “I didn’t mean nothing by that.”

“It’s okay,” Cade said.

“Well, now that I went and put my foot in my mouth … you want to talk about it?”

“About what?” About my mom?

“How things are going with that doctor. I mean honestly, not just polite conversation.”

“Captain, with all due respect—”

“Let me put it this way. It’s going to go a lot better for your case and actually getting on crew if you do.”

“I thought I just had to see the doctor for that,” Cade said carefully.

How many strings are attached to this gig?

“Seeing the doctor is part of it, sure,” the captain said. “But I make the final call. If I don’t think you’re ready and capable of being on crew, you won’t be no matter how many of those headshrinking sessions you attend.”

Cade felt his heart sink.

So that was it. Dr. Hersh was just one of however many contingencies. And here I am resisting every goddamned session I’ve been to.

“Alright,” Cade said with a low voice. “We can talk.”

“Maybe this’ll help,” Crane said. He reached back into the drawer and pulled out a bottle of Buffalo Trace. “You drink?”

“I, uh—sometimes.”

“Good answer,” Crane said. “I’m officially off shift in one minute. And I know you just came for the waffles or whatever.”

He poured two fingers of the whiskey into glass tumblers he had wrapped in an old purple Crown Royal bag. Crane pushed one of the glasses toward Cade. “Cheers to another goddamned week done,” he said.

Cade clinked glasses with the older man, uncertain of what kind of game this was.

If it’s a game at all.

“Cheers,” Cade said. The burn of the whiskey on his lips raced down his throat and settled comfortably in his stomach.

“So. Those fires.”

“In Montana?” Cade took another sip.

He hadn’t had a chance to get any of the French toast in his stomach and he hadn’t had a bite to eat since the bar food at Redd’s last night.

Before the thing with Lily. Before I left her mad as hell in the car.

Well, at least it meant the whiskey would work fast.

“Where the hell else?” Crane asked.

“Well … I don’t know how much you know.” Probably more than you let on. “But, you know, I fucked up. Three of my men died.”

“It was your fault?”

Cade’s face burned.

“I don’t know,” he said. That was a first. Usually, in his head, it was always his fault.

“You don’t know,” Crane repeated.

“I mean, two of them were a few yards away. When we rappelled out of that helicopter… I’m not sure any of us knew what we were descending into. I’d never seen anything like it, that’s for sure. The guy with me, Barron—I don’t know what happened.”

“He left?”

“Yeah—”

“Of his own accord.”

“I mean, I didn’t make him. I didn’t even realize he was gone until—” Cade brought the glass to his mouth, anything to shut himself up.

“So what makes that your fault?”

“I was boxed in,” Cade said. He shook his head. “Looking for Barron, and I don’t know. I fucked up, messed up my ankle, and then it all went to hell.” Literally. “I … I couldn’t get to them after that.”

“So, you’re telling me, those three men died because one wandered off and you made a snap judgment to get to them that happened to render you immobile?”

Cade looked at the captain. He’d never really put it in those words before. “I guess?”

“Son, you got some kind of martyr issues or something? ‘Cause if you do, then you damn sure picked the right line of work.”

Cade gave a short chuckle. It was odd, to laugh when he talked about Montana. Actually, it was the first time he had.

“Death wish, maybe,” he said. The captain nodded, unaware of just how honest that admission was.

“We all got that,” the captain said.

He took a pull of the whiskey, and Cade noticed the yellow gold wedding band.

“You married?” he asked, the liquid courage strong.

The captain raised his brow at the question. “Widowed, actually.”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry, Captain—”

The captain shook his head.

“You can call me Eldon,” he said. “But just in here. And don’t worry about it. It was… well, it was a long time ago.”

Cade nodded.

“You gonna ask how long?”

“I mean, not out loud—”

The captain laughed.

“Almost forty years,” he said with a nod.

“Wow.”

“Told you it was a long time.”

“And you still wear the ring.”

“Still wear the ring,” the captain agreed. “To be honest, at first it was a big help. You know, feeling like she was still there. Pretending I was going home to her.”

“What was her name?”

“Lillian.”

“That’s… that’s a pretty name,” Cade said.

“Yes, it is,” the captain agreed.

“Do you… do you mind if I ask how she…”

“I wouldn’t have brought it up if I minded,” the captain said. “We’d only been married one year. Everyone thought we were crazy. She was ten years older than me—that was real scandalous back then. But I just knew. Just bought a house down in Central Point, little white three-bedroom on an acre of land. Heard from the folks who sold it to us that it was an old officer’s place from the camp they used to have down there in the forties. All I know is it didn’t have any kind of heat, and we used nothing but blankets, space heaters, and a fireplace that first winter.”

“That sounds terrible,” Cade said.

“It was great,” the captain said with a shrug. “Lillian planted rows and rows of vegetables our first summer. Corn, cucumbers, tomatoes—hid our own little stash of reefer plants in those tomatoes. You know how they look kind of the same. That was before it was legal,” he said with a pointed look at Cade. “So don’t go telling nobody.”

“I won’t,” Cade said with a grin.

“Then, going into that next winter … we thought she just had the flu. But it kept on getting worse. She was stubborn though, kept saying it was just the change in weather. When she collapsed in the parking lot of King’s Table, I drove her straight to the hospital. She woke up on the way, howling and protesting the second she knew where we were going.”

“And?” Cade asked as he leaned forward.

“Liver cancer. Doctors gave her three months to live, and she stuck to that guess on the dot. Never even drank an ounce in her life.”

“Then how did she—”

“Hepatitis C. Doctors said she must have had it since she was damn near a newborn. Lillian was… well, she was a baby at the Majdanek concentration camp in Poland. Doctors think the needle they used to tattoo her arm was dirty. ‘Course it was,” he said with a sniff.

“I’m… I’m so sorry,” Cade said, though he knew it was inadequate.

“Not your fault,” Eldon said. “I’m just … you know, I think I was lucky. We were both lucky.”

“How could … why would you say that?” Cade asked.

The captain looked at him curiously.

“Lillian would have been killed had she been in that camp even a day longer,” he said. “They’d already killed her mother, father, her whole family. We got a year together. And Lillian, she got thirty-two years of life.”

“And you never… dated anyone after, or…”

“That one year was enough for me,” Eldon said. “Sure, I would have wanted more. Would have given anything for more. But that one year? I’ll always be grateful for what we had.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Cade said honestly.

“Oh, hell. I told you my sob story. It’s your turn to say something real.”

“I wish it were me.”

“What?”

“I wish it had been me to die out there. And not because I’m some kind of martyr. That’s the worst part,” Cade said. “I mean, if I’m honest, yeah, I think those guys deserved to live more than me. But I… I didn’t think I had anything to live for.”

“That’s bullshit, son.”

“You don’t know me,” Cade said quietly.

“Cade, the past? It doesn’t matter,” Eldon said. “Let me tell you, if I had a chance to talk to my wife again? Touch her? I’d—”

“I have to go,” Cade said. He slid the empty glass back across the table. “I’m sorry.”

“Cade—”

Cade raised his hand behind him and blinked back the tears.

“Cade, just answer me this. Because you’re not excused yet.”

“What?” Cade asked, his back still to the captain.

“You said you didn’t think you had anything to live for. And now?”

“What?”

“You used past tense. Do you think you have something to live for now?”

An image of Lily flashed in his mind.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe.”

“Well. A maybe’s better than nothing.”

Cade walked out into the hall and could hear the guys working on the truck. He made a beeline for the back door.

Maybe the captain’s right, he thought. A maybe is worth something. Maybe I should explore that instead of just screwing things up like I always do.

He’d always been good at making things go away. It was easy to walk away, to run away, run straight into the flames.

And what good has that done you?

Maybe the captain and Dr. Hersh were right. Maybe he wasn’t responsible for what had happened in Montana. Would it have happened the same way, if it had been someone else there and not him?

Probably. Barron would probably have still gone off protocol.

There was a fifty-fifty chance that when he was boxed in he would have made the wrong choice.

Pure luck. And nobody could have gotten through those flames. Messed-up leg or not, nobody could have.

And if they had? They would have just burned up with them. He knew that, he’d always known that, in the darkest part of his heart.

You got some kind of martyr issues? He smiled at the captain’s question. Maybe I did. But not anymore.