I set down the highlighted printout of Commander Ryan Tyler’s Wikipedia bio and picked up the remote, cueing the video of the interview that had originally aired last winter. Diana Hunter, esteemed journalist and primetime anchorwoman, appeared on my screen with her perfect updo and in her smart skirt suit, standing before a life-sized image of Ryan Tyler and Xander Freed in their dark blue NASA flight suits, arms slung around each other’s shoulders as they posed in front of a T38 Talon fighter jet at Cape Canaveral. Tyler was tall, dark-haired and blue-eyed while his close friend had tawny eyes and hair the color of wheat.
Their grins. Their rugged handsomeness behind their ubercool aviator sunglasses. They looked ecstatic, sporting mission patches from ISS Expedition 53, their doomed mission. Damn. I knew the overall story, but this was going to be difficult to watch nevertheless. I pressed play, and Diana began her narrative, her beautiful features placid.
“This is the story of two all-American boys from two dramatically different backgrounds who found the deepest of friendships through service to their country. They forged a brotherhood that would take them literally across the world and to the stars, only to be ruptured by tragedy and the ultimate sacrifice of death. An accident that would destroy them both in very different ways.”
The image of Diana was replaced by a pan across the campus of the United States Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland. A formation of sailors in their white uniforms marched in front of a myriad of historical buildings.
“That unlikely friendship started here when, as plebes, Ryan Tyler and Alexander Freed were assigned to be roommates. A relationship which quickly grew into an unbreakable bond.”
“We were complete opposites in almost every way.” Commander Tyler’s voice came on as a montage of snapshots and videos from their time at the Academy played out—their first military buzz cuts at the barber, an image of them running during physical fitness training, pictures of them studying. “Xander was the outgoing one. He could make friends with anyone—and he did. He was so popular. I was the more reserved one.”
The montage continued, this time of childhood pictures, first of Xander, as she described his background.
“Xander Freed was an All-American athlete, the eldest of four children from an upper-middle-class family in Ohio. The star of the baseball and track team. Ryan Tyler was the driven valedictorian and swim team champion. The only child of fallen Navy SEAL Joshua Tyler and his wife, Anya, who had emigrated at a young age from Ukraine, Ryan grew up in Las Vegas, Nevada. When he was still a child, his parents divorced, and at the tender age of fifteen, young Ryan was told his father would not be coming home from deployment in the Middle East.”
The montage of childhood photos faded, the last image a young Ryan with his father who bore the golden Eagle and Trident pin of the US Navy SEALs prominently on his lapel. The image resolved with Diana seated against a dark background, an image of the International Space Station orbiting the earth below, her seat facing Tyler.
He was dressed in dark slacks and matching blazer. A white dress shirt unbuttoned at the neck revealed the strong column of his throat. The NASA astronaut badge—a star with three rays extended beneath it encircled by a ring—was pinned to his lapel. It was gold, rather than silver, indicating he had flown in space. His ankle rested on his opposite knee, and he sat, despite the casual pose, looking tense. And he was as devastatingly handsome as ever, with no trace of the arrogance he’d shown toward me today.
He was speaking again. “Even our goals were wildly different. We were both in the Navy, but Xander was headed to pilot school from day one. I wanted to be a Navy SEAL, like my dad.”
“But those different goals didn’t seem to get in the way of you maintaining your friendship, even after you both graduated from the Academy,” Diana prompted.
He shook his head. “No, we kept in close contact. I was best man at his wedding.” An image appeared onscreen of Xander, smiling, standing beside a beautiful, petite brunette bride. As the image faded, Tyler continued talking. “He stayed in Maryland for flight training school. I went off to California for BUD/S. We talked all the time. Hung out whenever we could.”
“Like brothers,” Diana said.
He nodded. “Yes. Like brothers.” He huffed a sad, ironic laugh that speared me right through the heart, despite my resolve to watch the interview with an objective eye. “The brother I never had.”
The interviewer leaned back and allowed a moment of dramatic silence while she told the audience they’d be right back after the commercial break.
I was streaming the episode so there was no commercial break, but I fast-forwarded regardless, aware of my time limitations.
“You and Xander applied to NASA the same year.” Diana prompted.
“Yes. That was Xander’s goal from the start,” Tyler replied.
“And not yours?”
He shrugged and gave a lopsided grin. “I had to be talked into it.”
Diana’s eyebrows rose. “But you were the one accepted right away. Xander didn’t make it that first round.”
“Xander was injured in an accident around that time. So his application was put on hold.”
“So you got to start your training. You flew first… Did he ever resent that?”
Tyler’s expression did not change. “No. Not once. That’s not the type of person Xander was.” I scribbled more observations, frowning, noting how he spoke of his friend and glorified him. Whether or not that was for the sake of the broadcast or how he really felt would be another matter, but it led me to wonder what amount of guilt he might have been suffering since the accident.
Did Tyler feel responsible since he was the lead astronaut on that EVA and Xander was the rookie? I added that to my list of questions and briefly glanced at the variety of headlines he’d racked up since the accident.
Drunken and disorderly conduct. Assault. Tabloid rumors almost every week pairing him with various women—single, married, it made no difference. The motorcycle accident. The media certainly weren’t leaving him alone, but he wasn’t helping the matter. I scribbled another question down on my bullet list.
Alcohol consumption?
By the point in the interview where Diana started asking questions about the accident, Pari had arrived with snacks and sat down to join me, thankfully having left the potato chips at home. I hit play after finishing up my latest batch of notes.
“It’s standard protocol that astronauts are constantly tethered to the Space Station by either one or two cables. So how did Xander become untethered from the station?” Diana Hunter asked.
Tyler hesitated, tightening his strong jaw, which only served to make him more handsome than he already was. There was an intensity in his blue eyes, and his right fist tightened where it sat atop his knee.
“It’s unclear. We were in the middle of a situation. A stream of pressurized ammonia had blown me back against the truss. My suit was punctured and began losing pressure. But we had to get the valve shut off to stop the leak. We were losing coolant at an alarming rate, and beyond that, the venting of gas was causing the station to veer off course. And even a minor leak can cause major problems for orbital stabilization.”
Diana nodded. “And as you fought to get the valve closed, Xander was knocked against the live current on the solar array.”
“Yes. His EMU—his extravehicular mobility unit, which is what we call the spacewalking suit”—he clarified for viewers—“was shorted out. He lost control of his mobility, many of the joints in his suit were frozen and unmovable. He couldn’t even use his SAFER.”
“Can you explain what the SAFER is?”
The less threatening question seemed to cause him to relax. His shoulders dropped a little, the fist on his knee loosened. His foot, resting atop his other knee, bobbed a little.
“Sure. NASA loves its acronyms. The SAFER stands for Simplified Aid For EVA Rescue. Essentially, it’s a little jetpack at the base of the life support backpack that allows, in the event of an
astronaut becoming untethered and knocked away from the vehicle, to fly his or her way back to the airlock.”
“The accident had frozen half of Xander’s suit so he couldn’t use the SAFER jetpack to get back to the station? And he’d been thrown out and was continuing to move away very quickly. Could you not have activated your SAFER to go after him?”
That jaw tightened again, and though he fought hard to hide it, I could see the pain in his eyes before he cleared his expression and returned the interviewer’s gaze. “I had to follow orders and get the valve shut. Moreover, my own suit was quickly losing pressure from the initial blast—”
“The pressurized ammonia breach?”
“Yes.”
Diana leaned forward as if to emphasize the dire story being told. But it was riveting enough on its own.
“So your suit is losing pressure, and if you don’t get the valve shut, what are the consequences for the station?”
Tyler’s features were absolutely blank, as if talking about launch sequences instead of the life-and-death event he’d lived through only months before. “The array overheats and fries. The entire station loses power. Life support. Orbital correction ability. Possibly even a way to launch the Soyuz capsules for the astronauts and cosmonauts to return to Earth.”
Diana tilted her head empathetically. “So you had to make the choice then and there to sacrifice the chance to save your friend in order to save the station and everyone on board.”
Pari grabbed the remote and hit pause as I added to my notes. I listed some of the “tells” of his facial expressions and body language that I’d noticed from this and a few older interviews. Anything that might denote hiding deeper emotions. These things would be useful for when I dealt with him one-on-one…hopefully.
Pari shook her head. “Horrible situation,” she said breathlessly. “I’ve read articles about what happened, but to hear him tell it like that.” She mimed putting a fist to her gut. “Gets me right here.”
My eyes flicked up to the paused image, his face frozen in a half grimace, half frown. He’d eulogized Lieutenant Commander Freed a week before that interview, during the memorial at Arlington National Cemetery. Of course, there had been no body to bury.
I hit play and listened to the last bits of the interview. Tyler’s recount of his last moments with his friend. Xander had not been recovered, and Tyler could only speak with him over the intercom. And then Xander Freed had said goodbye to his family while he waited for his life support to run down. It had taken hours. Hours where Xander drifted farther and farther from the station and had eventually died.
The scene of the interview faded to black, and the credits rolled.
“I wonder if he blames himself,” Pari asked, scraping a fingernail along her bottom lip thoughtfully. “I mean, these military guys—especially the SEALs—they get it drummed into their heads constantly. Leave no man behind. But he had to do exactly that. Exactly the thing he’d been trained for years never to do. He was ordered to leave Xander there while he fixed what he had to fix and got his leaking suit back to the airlock. And then he had to hear his best friend die—suffocate—over the intercom. How fucked up is that?”
I shrugged, thinking of his words to me today. You have some shrink wet dream in your little head about fixing me.
He’d been such a jerk, but even now, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Emotion welled up in my own throat as I imagined the situation. But he’d been insulted and angered when I’d implied that no one could go through what he had and come out unscathed. A dragon should never show its underbelly, the chink in its armor.
And Ryan Tyler was heavily armored, indeed. But I swallowed that emotion, the sting of empathetic tears that threatened my own impartiality. I couldn’t allow myself to feel for him. That would be my downfall.
Ryan Tyler was a means to an end for me. That was it.
“His issues are his problem. He made that clear to me today. I’m going to focus on managing him.”
Pari turned shining eyes on me, a knowing smile. “Ah, c’mon, doesn’t the whole challenge of healing that marvelously wounded hero light your fire, even a little bit?”
An ache throbbed deep inside me. I’d like nothing more, but he didn’t want that. And I couldn’t help a person who didn’t want my help.
“A lot of people are depending on him to rehabilitate his image back to the All-American hero everyone wants to love and root for. If he does that, we get funding for XPAC.” I turned back to her. “XVenture is already doing a great job making and launching their rockets—and thus, you have your dream job. Working as a flight psychologist is my dream job. If XPAC doesn’t get funded, there will be no astronauts for me to work with—and thus, no job for me.”
Her smile deepened. “So, you’re his babysitter.”
I raised my eyebrows at her. “I’ll be his freakin’ jailer if it means we don’t see a repeat of this crap.” I waved to the printed-out headlines on the coffee table. “He has a chance to clean up his image. Still, I’m not leaving it all up to him and mere providence to get him to that launchpad in Florida on September 14th in one piece.”
“But if he’s being so belligerent with you, how are you going to make sure he cooperates?”
I adjusted my glasses on my nose and fought rolling my eyes. “That is the money question. Astronauts are notoriously suspicious of psychotherapy and flight psychologists.”
Pari smiled. “Then don’t be his shrink. Be a friend.”
“Hmm. A friend?” I wrinkled my nose.
She laughed. “Yeah, you remember how to do that, right? Don’t ask so many questions, and don’t do that—that look you do.”
I frowned. “What look?”
“The one that makes it feel like you are peering into the depths of my soul. It’s unnerving.”
I shook my head and laughed. “I do not have a look.”
“Yes, you do. Don’t do it with him, or he’ll close off. Better yet, find something to bond with him over. You’re a space nerd, he’s an astronaut. You know… Be his friend.”
I scoffed. “While maintaining a professional distance?”
Pari shrugged. “You’re gonna have to figure that one out.” She tapped the image of Tyler in his dark blue flight suit that had printed out with his Wikipedia page. “Look at this man. He’s the perfect package. Navy SEAL. Master’s degree in mechanical engineering. Physically fit and gorgeous. Too bad he’s broken as hell.”
I pursed my lips but didn’t reply with what I wanted to say. And too bad he acts like an asshole at will.
“So, what’s the plan?”
My eyes glided down over the legal pad of notes I had been taking—items circled, other things starred or underlined. I’d been meticulous in my observations. “I’m going over to his house tomorrow to get the lay of the land.”
“Hmm…would be way more interesting if you got the lay of the man. Wink. Wink.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re hopeless.”
“So my mom tells me all the time,” she said with a light laugh.
“All innuendos aside, Commander Tyler has no idea that I’m going over there yet, but I’ll get Tolan to set it up for me. Any suggestions on getting him to meet me halfway?”
Her thick dark brows went up. “Wear body armor?”
I laughed. “I’ll do this. I’m determined.”
Determination had got me through a lot. It got me through school years earlier than I normally would have been. I was a doctoral candidate at twenty-five with a dissertation already defended. All I lacked were the necessary clinical hours to have my PhD.
Pari understood me. We’d bonded over being among the youngest—and among the best-educated—at XVenture. Our friendship had started from there, and we had each other’s backs. I’d been trying to inch my way into this job for nearly a year. And it was close. So close.
My boss had pretty much told me that if XPAC was a go, a permanent spot on the behavioral health team was assured. So now,
all I needed to do, thanks to my dear ol’ dad, was deliver one shiny, squeaky-clean astronaut to the launchpad in the early fall.
Easy, right? I blew out a breath, my stomach knotting with the stress of the thought.
My laptop rang way too early, and I remembered groggily that Mom said she was going to call today. Moving it to my lap, I fought to sit up in bed. As usual, my darling mother had forgotten the exact time difference between California and Wales.
I was still rubbing the sleep from my eyes and blinking at the clock at the upper right-hand corner of the screen. Barely after six a.m. Ugh, Mom.
“Hello, cariad,” my mother chirped too loudly—and far too cheerfully—at this time of morning. Which obviously, wasn’t this time of morning in Cardiff. The afternoon sunshine beamed across her garden behind her.
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. “Did you forget what the time difference is again?”
“Oh—” She glanced off the screen as if to look at the clock. “I forgot to check the time. Well, you need to get up for work soon anyway, right?”
I struggled to sit up. “It’s Saturday, Mom, ya ditz.”
She laughed that musical laugh of hers. Her blond hair was disheveled around her head and partially pulled into a messy bun—though not quite long enough to stay there. Her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed, the only times lines showed on her face despite her being over fifty.
“Well, you used to be such a morning person. College certainly changed you.”
Lots of things had changed me, but Mom hadn’t been around for much of the last seven years, so she wouldn’t know.
“How did your big investors meeting go? I was thinking about you yesterday—or was that this morning? I can’t keep track of the eight-hour shift. Whenever it was, if I wasn’t sleeping, I was thinking about you.”
I scratched my nose. “Thanks. It was late afternoon yesterday, so you were probably sleeping, but I appreciate the gesture.”
Mom’s mouth creased. “Did your dad show up like he said he would?”
I nodded, my mouth pursing. I hadn’t quite decided how much I’d tell her. Mom and Dad were amicable with each other when in the same room or in contact over things that pertained to me. But they didn’t go out of their way to stay in touch with each other otherwise.
High Risk (Point of No Return Book 1) Page 6
