Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 117177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Hallie processed this, slack-jawed. “But . . . but there are men who go up there all the time.”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “And they are very aware of the risks and what they’re putting their bodies through in the name of science. We need to know what space travel does to our bodies so we can figure out ways to stop it in order to travel farther into space, in order to get to Mars, for instance.”
“But you don’t want to risk it.”
I smirked. “I know it’s not heroic to admit, but I didn’t like how I felt when I got back. Up there, zero gravity is amazing and exhilarating, and I have never slept better in my life. But when I got back, my body felt foreign. It wouldn’t do what I needed it to do and, yeah, I worked hard to find my normal, but it took some time. For someone like me, someone as physical as I am, I found that daunting. It was the reality of what they’d warned me about before I went up. And in all honesty, and I admitted this a little in my later videos, I wanted to come home by month four. I missed life on Earth.” I chuckled at the thought because I never thought I’d say it after the shit I’d seen in the air force. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d take that job over being a fighter pilot any day of the week. I’m always going to be a scientist over a soldier. So, yeah, I miss NASA. I do. I miss the mission. But I don’t miss space as much as an astronaut should.”
Hallie reached out to stroke my cheek, and I leaned into her touch. “You amaze me. You are heroic. And you’ll find your way, Chris. I know it.”
Words that felt like too much too soon to share bubbled up inside me, and so I kissed her, hard, before they poured out of me.
Hallie
I was still reeling from what Chris had divulged about the toll on his body from his time in space as he switched the volume up on the TV and we settled back in. Barely paying attention, all I could think about was how selfishly glad I was he wasn’t going into space. Not just because I’d miss the hell out of him and fear for his life every second of every day, but because I’d also worry constantly about what it was doing to his body.
Since the point was moot, I tried to shake it off and not worry about it.
When the TV show relocated to Thailand for a scene, I allowed myself to be distracted. “Thailand is on my bucket list,” I commented. “It was going to be my first port of call on that backpacking trip I told you about.”
“It’s on my list too.” Chris seemed to take a breath. “What if . . . what if we did it?”
“Did what?”
“What if we went backpacking together?”
A thrill shot through me, and I scrambled up into a sitting position to stare at him. I needed to know if he was serious. His expression said he was. “What? When? How?”
He grinned at my barely contained excitement. “We could take next summer off. You could ask for a sabbatical at work, and it would give us all year to save.”
The prospect sounded as daunting as it did wonderful. “What if Lia won’t let me do that?”
“Then we won’t go. No pressure.”
“But we could seriously try to figure out how to do it?”
“Absolutely.” He tugged on my hand, his sexy smile giving me butterflies. “I want to travel the world with you.”
I love you so much.
Swallowing the words I was afraid would send him fleeing, I confessed, “I want to travel the world with you.” And there was a particular country that popped into my mind first. “What about Mexico?”
Chris’s fingers tightened in mine. “What about it?”
Since his tone was neither defensive nor sharp, I forged ahead, “Maybe we could start there.”
Something I didn’t quite understand brightened his dark gaze. “Yeah,” his voice was a little hoarse. “Yeah, I’d like that.” He pulled me into him again, and I rested my head on his chest.
“So we’re doing this? We’re planning a three-month trip around the world? Mexico first . . . then Asia?”
“Sounds like a plan to me, mi cielo.”
I raised my head at what sounded like an endearment. “Mi what?”
His eyes darted over my face, and there was no hiding his affection. I could only hope that his affection was as deep as mine. “I had a friend in the air force, Juan, second-generation Mexican and raised in a big Mexican American family. He’s the one who taught me the basics of Spanish. And he called his fiancé ‘mi cielo’ all the time. It means ‘my sky,’ ‘my heaven.’ I never really gave much thought to it—” He stared deeply into my eyes. “But now, every time I look at you, those words fill my mind. Mi cielo.”