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“I Don’t Want to Hear a Word”: The Blind Pride That Cost a Young Veteran Twenty Years

Greg chuckled and pointed back toward the trailhead. He explained that the kid wanted to hike the last three miles to get a feel for the terrain. Greg assured Mac that the boy was a firecracker—spent the whole drive asking about conservation and local history.

A few minutes later, the intern appeared at the edge of the clearing. Mac watched him approach, and he was immediately impressed. The young man was tall, broad-shouldered, and moved with an easy confidence.

He had an honest face and a firm handshake. He introduced himself as Kyle. He didn’t act like a city kid; he went straight to the pump to wash his face and then sat down at the outdoor table when Mac offered him some lunch.

Over sandwiches, Kyle talked about the trees and the wildlife he’d seen on the hike up. Mac found himself nodding in approval.

The kid was smart and clearly loved the outdoors. It wasn’t just a job to him. Mac felt a strange, immediate connection to the boy.

Over the next month, they fell into a perfect rhythm. Mac started calling him “son,” a slip of the tongue that Kyle didn’t seem to mind. They didn’t talk much about their personal lives, focusing instead on the work.

Kyle mentioned he lived in the city with his mom and that he was working toward a degree in forestry. He had a girlfriend back home and big plans for the future.

Mac kept his own past locked away. He liked the kid too much to tell him what kind of man he had once been…

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