The captain came over the loudspeaker, announcing they were next in line for takeoff. Brock wasn’t used to the waits and delays of commercial flights. When Titan wanted to go somewhere, they’d go. If he wanted to go somewhere, he’d fly ’em. His hands itched for the control of the cockpit. In there, everything was measured and displayed. Every calculation scientific, a known reaction for every manipulation.

Sarah looked out the window as they took off then back to him. “You’re assuming this will work?”

Yeah. “Maybe the same way you’re not? I don’t fail, angel—”

“You did.” The tart words flowed over her sweet lips as her eyes hardened. “And that’s why we’re here.”

That stung a dagger to the damn heart. He was shut down, nowhere to go, and wanted to scream, You’re alive, aren’t you? The kids are safe. I didn’t fail! A restless tightness in his chest itched to escape. He might’ve gotten her on the plane, but her tone said that was all he had.

He and Sarah sat a million miles apart, climbing toward their cruising altitude. The therapist’s voice rang in his head. She’s been wounded. You’ve been unavailable. For everything that went wrong, you’re the scapegoat. Not that it’s right, but that’s probably the way she feels. You both need to heal, together. If that’s really what you want.

It was what he wanted, and even though he didn’t believe he’d failed, Sarah thought so. Damn, he wasn’t used to failing in her eyes and certainly not getting called for it with such anger from his wife. He swallowed his pride, ignored the pressure in his chest, and let minutes pass.

The cabin’s overhead lights dimmed, and after the flight attendant offered him another drink, he turned his attention to Sarah. “Tell me about more.”

Her eyes bounced away from him, nervously avoiding him. She nodded and smoothed her hands over her pants. After a moment of rifling through her purse, she pulled out a purple fabric-covered book. “You have a battle plan. I have chicken scratch.”

Handing it to him, her hesitancy was overpowering, and she waited, sitting still as a statue. The brightly colored suede cover showed cared-for wear, and his thumb toyed with the edges of thick paper. “What is this?”

It looked special. Treasured, and he’d never seen it before.

“Open it.”

Butterflies swirled in his stomach at the secret in his hands. Since when did Sarah keep secrets from him? Probably since he’d been so open about why he’d had them live off the grid and hidden the details of what he did for a living.

Or hell, had it not been a secret? Had he just not noticed?

He opened past the first few pages, watching her expressive eyes watch him, then looked down.

His breath caught in his chest. “This isn’t chicken scratch, angel.”