“I liked the scholarship money, and the contests I entered typically included talent or a social platform the contestants endorsed and worked to improve.”

“What was your talent?”

“Violin.”

“Of course it was,” he replied dryly.

“Why do you say it like that?”

He shrugged. “Because you’re perfect. Of course you’re a concert violinist on top of everything else.”

“I’ll let you in on a secret. I’m actually a pretty mediocre violinist. I practiced three difficult pieces for about five years until I could play them flawlessly, then I rotated them at the various competitions I entered.”

Griffin grinned at her. “So your skill at cheating the system started early.”

She grinned back. “I’m born SEAL material.”

“What was your social platform?”

Her smiled faded. “Domestic violence prevention.”

He studied her intently enough that she felt an urge to squirm. Then he said quietly, “Well, shit. I’m sorry.” Then more quietly, “How bad was it?”

“He never hit me. But I watched him beat up my mom more times than I can count.” Images crowded forward in her mind of her mother, bruised and broken. Of her own helpless rage. Of grief and fury, and vowing never, ever to be that vulnerable or weak. She pushed her past back and said aloud, “I got out when I was sixteen—graduated early from high school and went to college on the scholarship money from the pageants. When that ran out, I joined ROTC to pay for the rest of my school. That’s how I ended up in the Navy. But I got out of that house, and I owe him nothing.”

“Father or stepfather?” Griffin asked.

“Father.”

“Damn. That’s even worse. At least if you’re not their blood, you can hold on to that.”

Sherri shrugged. “He gave me DNA, but I choose what to make of it. And I choose to be nothing like him.”

“Good for you.”

She smiled ruefully. “Oh, I’m undoubtedly messed up twenty ways from my childhood. But I’ve done my best to move on and become my own person.”

“I’d say you’ve done a pretty spectacular job of it,” Griffin commented.

“My dad is ex-military. He fought in some seriously messed-up places and saw some terrible things. War broke him. My mom swore he was different before he went off to fight.”

“Don’t kid yourself. War breaks everyone to some degree. What matters is how you handle the shit in your head when you get home. Warriors like us are just trained to handle it better than the average grunt.”

Sherri went dead still. He included her in the ranks of elite warriors? Really? Did he even realize what he’d just said?