“I owe a debt,” he managed with his eyes closed, his hands still light on the controls as if he were flying them to safety before the suicide bomber could blow his crew and his aircraft off the face of the planet.
There was the softest of sounds beside him and then a fingertip traced along the back of his left shoulder. Despite the t-shirt he wore, Kara traced the worst of his scars where the seatback had not wholly protected him from the initial blast.
He couldn’t speak.
Justin thought of himself as a brave man, but he didn’t dare try to speak.
Not with what his heart was feeling for Kara in that moment.
Like blessed water, her warm fingers traced the scar as if offering a benediction.
They didn’t go to dinner but neither did they speak much.
Instead, they sat and held hands above
