Chapter Eleven
Three days later, Airin stepped out of Hunter’s truck—the one he was renting while his convertible was in the shop—in front of a small white house nestled in a tropical garden. The backyard was a little forest of trees whose names she didn’t know, some of them bearing fruit.
But the extraordinary thing about the backyard was where it ended up. Behind all the houses on this side of the road, the mountains of the Manoa Valley rose in lush green folds to a perfect blue sky.
They weren’t in Kailua. Instead, they’d be staying in the four-bedroom house Hunter’s replacement had shared with two other members of the backup team. They’d been using the fourth bedroom as an office, but after Hunter had talked to them about Airin, they’d cleared it out for her.
The house was only two miles from the University of Hawaii at Manoa, where most of the team was involved in joint NASA-UH research projects. It was only four miles from Waikiki.
When Airin remembered her luxurious hotel on the beach and the honky-tonk atmosphere a few streets away, it was hard to believe this was the same island.
They were definitely mauka here. Inland. Nestled in the most beautiful valley she’d ever seen.
A thrill of happiness went through her, in spite of the dampening her spirits had gotten that morning. When Hunter had picked her up at the hospital he’d been . . . something. Reserved, maybe? He’d been a little different with her ever since he’d spoken with her mother, but since Dira obviously hadn’t been able to talk Hunter out of helping her, Airin hadn’t worried about it too much.
Her mother had flown back to Massachusetts last night. With Dira out of the picture and her hospital stay over, Airin had been hoping she and Hunter could get back to the dynamic that had seemed so natural when they first met . . . as though they’d known each other for years instead of days.
But it was clear from the formal, almost distant way Hunter was speaking to her today that things between them weren’t going back to the way they’d been. Not right away, at least.
Maybe he still felt guilty about the accident. Maybe Dira had said something awful to him. Maybe it was what she’d been afraid of all along, and he was beginning to resent her for derailing his career.
Whatever the reason, Hunter was treating her as a housemate or a colleague, not as a friend—much less a friend he’d wanted to have sex with a few days ago.
She could table that problem for now, though. Because here she was, on her own in Hawaii, about to move into the first place she’d ever lived apart from her mother.
And it was beautiful.
Even the pain of her ribs and the stiffness in her torso couldn’t lessen the enjoyment of this moment. She looked at the shrubs and flowers in the front yard—there was even a plumeria tree at the far end—while Hunter grabbed her suitcases from the trunk.
“This is a lot of stuff for a ten-day trip to a tropical climate,” he commented.
“I didn’t pack it,” she said. “One of my mother’s assistants did, back in Massachusetts before we came here.”
She turned away from the yard in time to see him swing her heavy case as though it weighed nothing at all.
Whatever she’d been going to say next was forgotten.
Hunter’s T-shirt and jeans were like the T-shirt and jeans of any other man in the world. The jeans were old and faded, and his navy-blue NASA T-shirt looked like it had been washed a thousand times.
But it was the man inside the clothes who had her staring.
Up until now, she’d only seen him at night or in the hospital. This was the first time she’d seen him in full sunlight, looking like some kind of pagan god in modern clothing.
His shoulders were so powerful. Wide, with those thick bands of muscle that could lift heavy objects like they were nothing. And his arms . . . the flex and release of his biceps, his triceps . . .
“Airin?”
She swallowed. “Yes?”
“Are you okay? You’re just kind of standing there. Do you feel all right? Is it your ribs?”
She put a hand to her torso as though that were, indeed, the source of her hesitation. She’d dressed carefully that morning, thinking of her environment as well as her injury. She’d never seen Hunter in anything but jeans, and though she didn’t own any denim herself, she’d wanted to dress as casually as possible.
She’d picked a pair of gray linen slacks and a blue silk shirt—loose so there would be no constriction of her rib cage, and thick enough that it would do something to hide the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra. She’d meant to wear one, but trying to put it on had been so painful that she’d given up.
So there was nothing between her skin and the air but her silk shirt. She’d assumed that her ribs would be wrapped before they sent her home, but the nurse had told her that they didn’t wrap that type of injury anymore.
“Compression increases the risk of lung infection and pneumonia,” she’d said. “We want you to be able to draw a deep breath even if it’s painful. You can use an ice pack for up to twenty minutes three times a day, just as we’ve done here in the hospital. Other than that and pain medication, there’s really nothing else we can do.”
After a childhood spent in and out of hospitals and months of her life spent in recovery from surgical procedures, Airin had grown to hate the effect of pain medication on the clarity of her thought processes. With her body the province of doctors, it had felt like her mind was the only thing that truly belonged to her, and she was unwilling to do anything to dull its faculties.
She’d taken what they’d given her during her three days in the hospital, but now she was relying on ibuprofen and acetaminophen to ease her discomfort. That meant she was in enough pain to have an authentic reaction to Hunter’s question.
“It hurts a little, but I’m getting used to it,” she said.
He nodded. “We’ll get you some ice as soon as we’re inside. Come on in and meet your other housemates.”
She’d read their bios on NASA’s website while she was in the hospital, and she recalled the details as she followed Hunter along the path to the front door. Dean Bukowski was a mechanical engineer and roboticist. Valerie Ames was a triathlete as well as a scientist, and her fields were planetology, geology, and hydrology.
Hunter held the screen door open for her.
The house was designed very simply. She walked into an open kitchen with a big living room beyond it, the two areas separated by a granite-topped counter with bar stools on either side. Along the right side as she entered were two bedrooms behind closed doors.
The living room was the heart of the house. It had a light and airy feel, with big open windows and fluttering gauzy curtains and casual, comfortable furniture. When she and Hunter came in, Dean was sitting at a computer desk and Valerie was curled up on the sky-blue sofa with a laptop. They both looked up from their work to say hello.
Dean’s shaggy hair and wiry physique was a marked contrast to Hunter’s military bearing and athletic body. That, of course, was a contrast she’d expect to find in a Mars crew. The mission needed a mix of strengths and abilities and personality types, from geeks to jocks and everything in between.
Valerie represented the in between. She was powerful physically—a product of her triathlon training—and an equally formidable scientist. She told Airin to call her Val.
In addition to reading their bios, Airin had done some Googling. Now she was able to say to Dean, who was clearly itching to get back to his computer, “I’m impressed by what I’ve read about your helicopter drone project. Do you really think the counter-rotating propellers you’re working on will help you cope with Mars’s thin atmosphere?”
Dean’s eyes lit up. “Yeah. I’ve been running lab tests at Mars air density, and we’re showing some real progress. Of course, staying aloft isn’t our only challenge. There’s also the problem of the rough terrain the drones have to land on.”
“That’s my department,” Val put in. “I’ve been working to set up a lab environment that mimics the different surface elements on Mars. Once Dean solves the lift problem, we’ll be ready to tackle the terrain problem.”
A moment ago, Dean and Val had seemed friendly enough, if distracted. But now the two of them wore an expression Airin recognized easily after growing up with her mother: the look of scientists who’ve just been given an excuse to talk about their work.
I can do this. I can relate to people. I can be a person in the world outside my mother’s shadow.
And then Dean said, “Are you interested in Mars stuff because of your mother?”
So much for getting away from Dira Delaney.
Yes, she started to say—because that was the expected answer.
And yet, she realized suddenly, it wasn’t true.
“No. I’ve been fascinated by Mars since I was a little girl.”
Space had been her thing long before her mother had made it her life’s work. She remembered her dad’s stories about the little girl who’d stowed away to Mars and her own dreams about traveling to the Red Planet.
Dira didn’t own the copyright to passion about interplanetary travel. Hadn’t Dira herself said something like that in one of her speeches to investors? Mars belongs to all of us. The push to establish a self-sustaining colony on another planet represents the hope and future of all humankind.
Dean turned his computer monitor so she could see the screen. “Do you want to take a look at the drone blades I’m working on?”
“I’d love to.”
Dean grinned at her. He seemed so eager and likable, like a shaggy puppy of some superintelligent variety. “Are you sure you know what you’re getting into? Offering to look at an engineer’s designs is like coming upstairs to look at a guy’s etchings. Only you’re thinking he’s got something else in mind, when he really does want to show you his etchings. For hours.”
She laughed. “I’m the daughter of two engineers. I know exactly what I’m getting into.”
“Okay then, gorgeous. Just remember that I warned you.”
But before she could cross the room, Hunter spoke up. “How about you two geek out a little later? I’m going to get Airin settled in her room, and then she needs to rest. Val, would you grab us an ice pack from the freezer?”
Val raised an eyebrow. “It’s like Jones never left. You sound exactly like him when you give orders, Bryce. Mission commanders are all alike.”
Hunter smiled. “It’s not an order, it’s a request. We’ll be in Airin’s room, okay?”
“Aye-aye, Captain.”
Airin followed Hunter up the stairs to the second floor, which consisted of a hallway, two bedrooms, and a bathroom.
The whole house could have been tucked into a corner of her home in Massachusetts and no one would have noticed it.
“This is you,” Hunter said, leading the way into the room on the right. She followed, and the first thing she noticed was the plumeria tree right outside her window. The scent wafted through the screen, and she closed her eyes as she took a deep breath.
The room was small but lovely, with the polished wood floors of the rest of the house and walls painted a pale apricot. There was a ceiling fan, a double bed covered in a Hawaiian-print quilt in shades of cream and green, a big wicker chair with cushions of the same pattern, and a desk and bookcase along one wall.
When she saw the books in the case—scientific tomes, a shelf full of Japanese manga, and another shelf full of horror novels—she remembered that they’d been using this room as an office. She was willing to bet that the manga belonged to Dean. Were the horror novels his, too? Or could they be Val’s?
Val herself came in then, holding ice packs and a towel. She was tall, close to six feet, and Airin could easily imagine her running the Ironman triathlon here in Hawaii.
“Here you go,” she said, laying down the towel before setting the ice packs on the desk.
She was turning to leave when Airin asked, “Who reads all the Stephen King? Is that you, Val?”
The other woman turned back and nodded. “Yep. I’ve been into horror since I stole my big brother’s books to read with a flashlight under the covers. Are you a fan?”
“I’ve read him, but he’s a little intense for me. I prefer—” She started to say romance novels, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to admit that to a houseful of astronauts and scientists. “Mystery novels,” she finished instead, which was also true. Romance was her favorite, but she’d read anything. “Is the manga Dean’s?”
Val nodded. “Don’t get him started on all that stuff, or you’ll get an earful. Of course, that’s true of any topic you pick.”
Airin was about to say something else when Hunter spoke. “Thanks for the ice packs, Val. I was thinking of ordering pizza for dinner tonight. How does that sound? It’ll be my treat.”
“I never say no to a free meal. I need to eat by six, though. I’m giving a lecture at eight.”
“Got it.”
Once she was gone, Hunter turned to Airin. “You seem to be getting along with your new housemates.”
His tone was neutral, but sort of carefully neutral, as though he wasn’t really saying the thing he wanted to say.
She spoke tentatively, trying to feel him out. “That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. I guess.” He turned away for a moment, going to the desk for one of the ice packs. “You should sit down and ice your ribs for a while. How long did the doctor say?”
“Ten to twenty minutes.”
She went over to the bed and propped the pillows against the wall, sitting cross-legged against them. Hunter came over and handed her the blue pack, and the clammy wet chill of it was depressing somehow.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asked abruptly.
Hunter paused as he was hoisting one of her suitcases onto the end of the bed. “What?”
“It’s just that you seem . . . I don’t know. Disapproving? It made me wonder if I said something wrong.”
“Of course you didn’t say anything wrong,” he said gruffly. “Just the opposite, in fact. You sure made a big hit with Dean.”
She was more confused than ever. She was tempted to let it go, but a sudden wave of determination stiffened her spine. If she was going to make this whole living-in-the-world thing work, she had to face uncertainties—and people—head-on.
“You make it sound like that’s a problem,” she said. “What exactly bothers you about me making ‘a big hit’ with Dean?”
Hunter lifted her other case onto the end of the bed. Then he went over and sat on the desk chair, swiveling it around to face her.
“Here’s the thing. You want to live on your own, right? Have a chance to experience the world?”
“Yes.”
He rested his hands on his knees and leaned forward. “Then you can’t be naïve.”
She stared at him. She was holding the ice pack against her rib cage, and the feeling of numbness spreading outward was an exquisite relief.
“What are you talking about? How am I being naïve?”
“Dean is attracted to you, Airin. A lot of guys will be. You need to start adjusting to that reality if you want to keep yourself safe. I mean, not every guy is going to be as harmless as Dean. You need to be aware of the ulterior motives of the people around you.”
She blinked. “I see.”
“You just need to—”
“I want to show you something,” she said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out her phone—the new one her mother had given her to replace the one she’d lost.
“What are you doing?”
“Just hang on a minute.”
It took her less than that to find what she was looking for. She centered the relevant paragraph in the screen and held it out toward Hunter.
“Read that.”
He rose from the chair, came over to the side of the bed, and took the phone from her.
“‘Dean Bukowski lost his husband to cancer in 2013. After that tragedy, he—’”
Hunter broke off, looking down at the phone for a moment. Then he handed it back to her, went back to the desk chair, and sat down.
There was a short silence.
“Dean’s gay,” he said finally.
She nodded. “Dean’s gay.”
“I didn’t know that,” he muttered, frowning at the floor.
“Why didn’t you? Don’t mission team members get to know each other really well?”
He looked up again, his expression almost defensive. “Not always the personal stuff. And Dean and I weren’t on the same crew.”
“Right.”
Was she enjoying this moment a little too much? This was the first time since she’d met Hunter that he’d seemed in the least embarrassed. He was always so in control, so cool and competent.
She had seen him angry, though—that first night in the bar, when the racist tourist had threatened her. Remembering that, she sat up a little straighter and spoke.
“If this is going to work—me living here, I mean—then you can’t always be thinking of me as someone who needs to be protected. Not everything is going to be a threat to me. Not every guy I meet is going to look at me through some kind of sexual lens. Even the straight ones might see me as a person first and a woman second—even if you don’t.”
There was another silence, this one a little more tense.
Hunter’s eyes were full of things, but she didn’t know what they were. What was he thinking? What was he feeling?
“Airin,” he said finally. “This probably goes without saying, but . . . you know nothing’s going to happen between us, right? Physically, I mean.”
Actually, no. She hadn’t known that. But based on the way he’d been acting the last few days, she probably should have guessed.
“Because of my injury?” she asked, hoping she sounded cool and detached.
“Not only because of your injury. I just think it’s a bad idea. It was one thing when I was some kind of adventure you were having, a one-time thing with a guy you’d never see again. But things aren’t like that now.”
“Right,” she said, nodding. “Because now you’d have to actually see the woman you slept with. After the fact, I mean.”
He didn’t like that. She could tell by the way his brows drew together.
“I’m not some kind of player. I’ve been in relationships. But only when—” He stopped.
“Only when what? When the woman wasn’t a virgin?”
“When both of us knew the score.”
“The score,” she repeated, drawing the word out. “Of course. The score. Which is what, exactly?”
His gaze shifted away as he dragged a hand across his short hair. He looked like a man who didn’t want to be where he was right now.
“I’ve always thought astronauts are better off single,” he said finally. “I’ve had relationships, but only when both of us understood it wasn’t going anywhere. Anywhere long-term, I mean.”
“And you think I wouldn’t understand that?”
He met her eyes again. “That night at the beach, things were different. I was going into a biosphere for eight months. We both knew one night was all we had. But now . . .” He shook his head. “Now you’ll think I have a choice. And you could get attached.”
Attached. Like she was a stray puppy.
Her skin smarted, as though she’d been scraped raw by something.
Well, she’d wanted real life. Real interactions with people. What could be more real than a guy saying he wasn’t into commitment?
But that wasn’t the whole story. She was sure of it.
“My mother said something to you at the hospital. She told you to stay away from me. She threatened you or yelled at you or—”
“No. She didn’t.”
“Then what did she say to you that day? You never told me. In fact, you’ve kept your distance from me ever since.”
He looked stung. “Kept my distance? I was in the hospital with you every day.”
That was true.
What she’d meant, of course, was that the dynamic between them had changed. But how could she put that into words without sounding . . . desperate? Clingy?
One of those girl things men didn’t like. Especially when they thought she might get “attached.”
“I know she said something awful to you,” she said instead, reverting to a subject she was sure about: her mother’s instinct to be interfering and overbearing where her daughter was concerned.
“No, she didn’t.” Hunter rose to his feet and looked at the two suitcases on the bed. “Do you need me to unpack for you?”
So much for getting an answer out of him.
“No, I’ll be fine. The doctors said I can do most normal tasks if I take it slow.”
“Okay. But if you need anything at all, you text me. I’ll be downstairs.”
“I could, you know, just call out for you.”
“Don’t do any shouting. That might hurt your ribs. Just text I need you, and I’ll come. All right?”
Something about that sentence was way too appealing—especially after the conversation they’d just had.
“All right.”
And then he was gone, closing the door behind him.