“No, I’m good.” She grinned to herself and caught his raised eyebrows. “Frankie teases me about being a lightweight since more than two drinks makes me sick. And she can outdrink a lot of guys.”

“Yep. Seen that.” His smile faded. “I’m sorry I can’t get you home to Aric.”

“Fog is hardly your fault, and I think you know how much I love flying.” She sighed. “Aric’s getting better. Even his counselor is pleased with his progress.”

“Counselors.” Making an irritated noise, Hawk ran his finger over the tattoos on his arm as if tracing memories.

She laughed. “The visits leave me frazzled for a while afterward, but I’m really grateful to have help for me and Aric. And the group sessions are…” She couldn’t find the right word.

“Helpful?”

“In a different way, yes.” She tipped her head back. The fog was so thick she couldn’t even see the dark sky. “It helps to hear others talking about the same problems I have and that the way I react is, kind of, just part of dealing with the aftermath.”

“What about one-on-one?”

“I’m done for now. She said to return if anything came up.” Kit poked a stick in the fire. Seeing how much she enjoyed feeding the fire, Hawk had assigned her the job, then crushed her hopes by refusing to let her build a six-foot blaze. Darn it. “Have you ever seen a therapist? I mean, soldiers do, right?”

“We should. I didn’t till this year.” A corner of his mouth tilted up. “Got the same guy the sarge saw.”

“That’d be strange. Does it bother you?”

Hawk shook his head. “Mako got better. Was even seeing a woman.”

“Someone in town?”

“Lillian.”

“Whoa. You mean seeing, like the in bed kind of seeing?”

Hawk’s raspy voice held amusement. “Yep.”

“Huh.” From what she’d heard, the sarge had been a hard-ass military lifer, tough as nails, and paranoid as all get out. How’d he win the elegant British actress? Then again, Lillian obviously liked rugged men, since she lived with Dante, also a veteran. “From the stories, your sarge must have been scary when you were a child.”

“Yeah, some.” Hawk took a sip of his drink. “We were lucky he found us.”

She snorted. “Found you? That sounds like he tripped over you on a walk or something.”

“Pretty much.”

Seriously? He wasn’t going to explain? She gave him a “use-your-words” look.

Making a grumbling sound, he continued, “We were in foster care. In California. The guy in charge had a thing for boys.”

Kit’s eyes widened. “Like a pedophile?”

At the memory, Hawk felt his jaw clench, his gut twist. “He grabbed me.” Pinned face down on the bed. Screaming, fighting, biting, doing everything he could to keep his pants from being ripped off. “I fought back.”

He’d been losing.

Kit made a horrified sound.