When Ali woke the next morning, Hank was gone. She had only just gotten dressed when there was a knock at the door.

"My brother's back," Liz said with a sigh when Ali opened the door.

"I know." Ali smiled. "I was with him last night."

"No, I mean he's back by the garage, and—well, you may want to talk to him." She turned and walked away, not waiting for a response.

A knot formed in Ali's stomach. Hurrying to the other side of the building, she stopped when she saw him unloading some familiar-looking furniture from the bed of his truck.

She took a deep breath. "I guess you didn't like my idea," she said.

He carried two wooden dining chairs into the garage before tossing them by the wall. "You shouldn't have wasted your time."

Ali moved closer. "I just wanted to make the place nicer for you."

"I liked it just fine the way it was," he grumbled as he walked by.

"But it felt like you were neither coming nor going." She turned after him.

He looked over his shoulder. "Exactly."

"What?"

He spun around and threw up his hands. "Did you ever stop to think that maybe I don't want to be here?"

She remembered what he'd said about wanting to get his life to return to the way it was before the accident. "I'm sure it's just a matter of time. If that doctor is as good as you say he is—"

"So I should just sit around and wait for a solution to be handed to me?" He raised his voice. "Right. Thanks. Like you're the first one to suggest that."

She crossed her arms. "What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing, Ali." He looked down and kicked away a rock. "Don't say anything, and don't try to make my life into your version of perfection."

"Excuse me?" she asked in an attempt to draw out a specific accusation.

"Haven't you noticed?" he asked, leaning against the truck. "You can't handle it when things around you are less than ideal."

She shook her head. She may have been a perfectionist according to Dr. Sacher, but that didn't mean she couldn't handle a little disorder in her life. "That's not true."

"No? You made one mistake—and honestly, falling off that horse can't even be called a mistake but a plain old accident—and now you're intentionally sabotaging getting better because you don't want to fail again."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, walking to him until she was just inches away. "I'm doing everything I can. Yes, I resisted at first and there were some hurdles, but I'm making progress. And the funny thing is, none of it probably even matters because I was just offered a promotion."

Hank straightened up at the news. "What?"

"Yeah." She paused. This wasn't how she'd wanted to let him know, but it was too late to take the words back. "The senior VP is ready to put me in charge of a new office in Seattle. I just have to officially accept."

"Are you going to?"

She shrugged and touched his arm. "I don't know yet."

"Right," he said with unhidden sarcasm.

Ali stepped back. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I think you know," he said before turning around and unhooking a tether. "You're just afraid to admit it to yourself."

"So you're now an expert on what goes on in my head?" she asked as she balled her fists, watching him fiddle with something inside the truck's bed.

"Not an expert, but you're fairly easy to read," he called over his shoulder.

Ali gritted her teeth. "All right. What's the answer, then?"

He faced her again. "You should turn down the offer."

"Why would I do that?" Her eyes narrowed at the statement.

Hank stuck his hands in his pockets. "Because you hate your job."

Her jaw dropped. "That's so not true. I've worked very hard to get where I am, and I deserve that job."

"Then why didn't you say yes to this grand opportunity immediately?" He paused, but when she didn't reply, he continued. "That's right. Because deep down, you really don't want it. You don't want any of it. The only reason you're doing that job is because your mother set you on the path years ago. And of course you couldn't fail because then you wouldn't be you, so you excelled and climbed the corporate ladder. But it doesn't make you happy."

"Oh, like you're qualified to give advice on what makes people happy." She gestured toward the scattered furniture. "You're practically living out of a suitcase. If that isn't an indication that you're clinging to an unattainable past, then I don't know what is."

He scoffed. "You're such a hypocrite!"

"How's that?" She raised her chin defiantly.

"You're the golden child who breezed through Yale, got a cushy job, and now rules the financial world. Surely nothing bad can happen. Well, guess what? It did and it could again. Maybe your only fault was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It doesn't matter. You're human, Ali. Accept it and move on. At least you have that option."

When she just stared at him, Hank shook his head and returned to the truck to remove a wooden table.

"You don't have to haul everything back." Her voice quivered as she held back tears. "I'll call the movers—"

"Jesus, Ali!" Hank dropped the table onto its thin legs with a clank. "This isn't about the fucking furniture."

"Then what is it about?" She threw her arms up in exasperation. How could they have gone from the candor and intimacy of last night to such a sudden, inexplicable blowout? "Because you're sure as hell not making any sense."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Just forget it," Hank whispered, looking up and stepping closer. "I'm sorry. I—I need to work some stuff out."

He sounded defeated, and Ali allowed him to hold her in spite of knowing his argument—even if it was born from exhaustion and frustration over his own illness—wouldn't easily leave her.

Hank disappeared for the rest of the day—not that it made any difference. Ali kept repeating the awful scene in her head, making her wonder why he bothered with her in the first place if he thought she was so flawed. She even considered backing out of Saturday's party, but Liz's growing excitement leading up to the final touches was infectious, despite everything.

"I got you a little something, but promise not to open it until after dinner," Liz said as she met her by the reception desk the following evening, handing Ali a square, flat box.

Tied with a silk ribbon, the box was small enough to fit into Ali's palm, and she blushed at the unexpected gesture. "You're so sweet—but why are you giving me this?"

Liz grinned mischievously. "You'll see when you open it. But not before dinner," she warned again, flicking a piece of lint from her floor-length, maroon gown.

"Okay." Ali smiled, embracing her. "Thank you." She tucked the gift into her clutch as Liz's husband, whom she'd met earlier that day, entered the lobby.

"Ready, ladies?" Jason McGhee cut an impressive figure in his Air Force officer's dress uniform. Similar to a tuxedo, the dark blue suit was decorated with colorful badges over the heart, rank insignia on shoulder boards, and silver braids at each sleeve, and finished off with a satin bow tie.

"Holy cow." She nudged Liz as they followed Jason out to the waiting car. "I feel like the evil stepsister attending the ball with Cinderella and her Prince Charming."

"Oh, please." Liz waved off the comment as she slipped into the passenger seat. "Your shoes probably cost more than my whole outfit."

Ali blushed. Maybe it was possible, but it was irrelevant. "Seriously. You two are gorgeous," she said as she took the backseat.

Liz turned her head and smiled. "Well, these formal military events are the only times I get to look even fairly decent, so thank you."

"I always think you're beautiful," Jason said as he slid behind the wheel and gave his wife a peck on the cheek.

A twinge of jealousy ran through Ali at seeing the happy couple. Feeling like a third wheel, she attempted some light conversation to get her mind off Hank. "So, how's Alaska?" She buckled her seat belt with a click.

"Quite lovely this time of year. October to March, though? Not so much." Jason laughed, pulling away from the lodge and driving toward the city.

All she knew about Alaska fit into the tidy "last great frontier" archetype: breathtaking landscapes mixed with exotic wildlife and a rugged existence. "What exactly do you do there?"

"I turn already-great pilots into the world's best combat aviators through realistic threat replication." He kept his eyes on the road but glanced at his wife when Liz put her hand on his knee in a subtle display of pride.

Ali was reminded again of Hank's struggle with his inability to fulfill his potential since his accident, and she was unexpectedly overcome with emotion as she realized how much harder it must have been for him with a brother-in-law who had no such hindrances. Biting her lip, she looked at the passing scenery, where the tall pines melted into a blur in the approaching darkness. "That sounds dangerous."

Jason shrugged. "It has its risks, but someone has to do it."

"I suppose," she whispered before remaining quiet for the rest of the ride.

Hank continued to occupy her thoughts. She'd forgiven his outburst, but wondered if he still held ill will toward her. As they pulled onto the academy's grounds, she got a good look at the chapel building she'd seen on her original ride to Pebble Creek. Lit from within, its triangular spires stretched toward the ink-colored sky like multiple jets soaring horizontally toward the heavens.

"That's where we got married." Liz caught Ali gazing at the structure before glancing at her watch. "Shoot, we're going to be late."

They rushed into the modern, glass-encased building labeled conference and event center located across a broad expanse of manicured lawn. Inside, twenty or so round tables were set up in the open, multistory atrium lavishly decorated in a silver and blue color scheme. Men and women in uniform, as well as those in civilian clothes, had already taken most of the seats, but Liz led them to a prime spot in front where half of the eight chairs were still empty.

After Liz greeted both of the older couples already at the table with hugs, Jason took his turn shaking hands with the men and kissing the women on the cheek. Ali stood quietly in the background, searching for the Mathis siblings' physical traits in their parents' appearances. It wasn't hard. Hank definitely had their mother's luminous smile, while Liz appeared to have inherited their father's piercing gaze. The siblings' equally tall stature, however, must have come from a more distant relative, because neither parent even reached their children's eye level.

"Ali, if you could come over here, please." Liz motioned for her to step closer once the group was done with pleasantries. "I'd like to introduce you to my parents."

Ali rounded a chair and used the cover to wipe her sweaty palms on her dress. Taking a deep breath, she smiled and offered her hand. "Alejandra Barros. It's so nice to meet you."

Mr. Mathis had three shiny stars on the shoulder board of his dress uniform. He squeezed her fingers vigorously. "Alejandra, is it? You can call me Henry," he replied in an authoritative, yet laidback drawl.

"Thank you, Henry." There was something she already liked about this man, and Ali felt relaxed enough to continue. "And congratulations on your retirement. I'm honored to be part of the celebrations."

Henry nodded. "It was all this little lady's doing." He put an arm around his wife's shoulder and shook her playfully. "I just wanted to quietly leave the force, but she wouldn't hear of it. Insisted on having a big shindig, isn't that right?"

"Forty years in the Air Force is quite a milestone, wouldn't you agree, Alejandra?" asked the woman as she extended her hand.

"Oh—absolutely," Ali stammered, surprised by not only the question, but the slight Eastern European—Slavic, maybe—accent with which Mrs. Mathis spoke. "But Ali's fine, Mrs. Mathis," she said.

"Pleasure to meet you, Ali." Hank's mother didn't offer her first name. Instead, she introduced the other couple at the table, taking care to point out that he was head of the academy and she was a state senator. By the time they had all taken their seats, Ali was positive her own mother would have gotten along perfectly with Mrs. Mathis, which wasn't necessarily a good thing.

Looking at the lone empty chair next to her, she was just about to ask if anyone knew why Hank was so late when the main lights dimmed. The conversations dropped to a low murmur as the guests turned their attention to a podium at the head of the room. After a few seconds, a man in a military dress uniform stepped out from the shadows and stopped in front of the microphone. Ali couldn't quite focus on his face through the harsh glare of the spotlight, and she squinted, trying to get a better look.

"My father was an airman even before I was born," he began, and Ali's breath caught in her throat as she recognized the voice.

Hank continued with what was most likely a speech honoring his father—it was the elder Mathis's night, after all—but Ali couldn't concentrate on his words. She couldn't even think coherently and, instead, sat with her fingers balled in her lap, staring in confusion at the man she'd thought she was finally beginning to know.