Will pivoted, instinctively moving his body away from the arc of the blade—or what would have been the arc, if she’d brought her arm down. But the moment she turned, and their eyes met, she froze. He seized on that split-second hesitation by disarming her, swiftly, skillfully, and with as little physical contact as possible.

The knife fell to the ground and he kicked it out of the way. Far enough away so she couldn’t reach it. Not that he suspected she would. He could already see from the expression on her face that the flashback was fading and reality was beginning to sink in.

He didn’t dare touch her, knowing, somehow, deep down, that that was what had set her off. He stood with his arms at his sides, his palms facing toward her, making sure she could tell that he wasn’t a threat. Adrenaline still surged through his body, carrying with it a hot rush of anger. Not at her. But at whoever had planted that fear inside her.

Someone had hurt her.

And, suddenly, all at once, her actions, her attitude, her isolation from the rest of the veterans made perfect sense.

Izzy’s eyes were wild as they darted around the room, as she took in the faces staring back at her. “I… I didn’t mean…” She trailed off when her gaze landed on the knife. She took a step back. Then another. Two more steps and she turned, pushed past the group of people in the hallway, and fled up the stairs to her room.

Will said nothing, because he knew what that felt like—how humiliating it was to have a flashback in public.

“My God, Will,” Della breathed, her voice shaking. “She almost… You almost…”

Will walked to the stove, switched off the burners. He picked up the knife from the floor, set it on the counter, and crossed the kitchen to where his aunt stood. Reaching out, he put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. They would talk later, in private, when he had the ability to offer her the comfort she needed. Right now, they had a mess to clean up. “I need you to go upstairs and make sure Izzy’s okay. We’re responsible for what just happened. She needs to know that it wasn’t her fault.”

Della wrung her hands. He could tell she didn’t want to leave him, that the image of what had just happened would be seared into her mind for months. But she took a deep breath and nodded before turning and heading for the stairs.

In the hallway, Becca and Ryan parted to let her through. Ryan was holding Taylor in his arms. She was clinging to him, her head buried in his shoulder. He’d probably picked her up as soon as he’d seen what was happening. Will went to them, mouthed a silent “thank you” to Ryan, and carefully took his stepdaughter into his own arms. “Hey, sweetie,” he said, his voice gentling. “You okay?”

She nodded bravely, then wrapped her arms around his neck and just held.

He took a moment to savor it—the relief at knowing she was safe. It was the only emotion he would let himself feel right now. The rest would come later, much later. He had learned a long time ago how to push his emotions aside. How to focus on what needed to be done and deal with the implications later.

He had a feeling they were going to be dealing with the implications of this for some time.

He looked down at Becca. “Where’s Annie?”

“In the garden,” Becca said, the worry evident in her voice. “We saw her when we drove up.”

“Good,” he said. At least she hadn’t seen what had happened. He needed to tell her as soon as possible, but at least she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes.

He turned to face Paul and Hailey, who stood in front of the sofa in the living room, looking shell-shocked.

“You all right?” Will asked.

They both nodded slowly.

“When Izzy comes back downstairs, try to make light of the situation,” Will said. “Joke around with her a little. The worst thing you can do is pretend like nothing happened or tiptoe around her like she’s going to break. She needs your friendship, not your pity. Understand?”

“Yes,” Paul said.

“Of course,” Hailey said.

Taylor tightened her grip around his neck and he whispered a few soothing words in her ear before looking back at Ryan. “Can you get the crabs started? Tell everyone to go ahead and eat as soon as the first batch is ready?”

Ryan nodded, grabbed the steamer pot Della had left on the counter, and carried it over to the sink to fill with water.

“I’ll help,” Hailey offered.

“Me too,” Paul said.

“Thank you,” Will said gratefully. “Maybe one of you could try to salvage what’s left of the food on the stove.”

“I’m on it,” Paul said, already walking over to inspect the contents of the pans.

Will headed for the doorway, pausing briefly beside Becca. “Find Colin,” he said, lowering his voice. “Tell him to put a call in to Erin, see how soon she can get here.”

Becca nodded. “Where are you going?”

He looked past her, to the front yard, where Annie was walking toward them with a basket of strawberries. “I need to talk to my wife.”

---

Izzy grabbed the last of her clothes from the bureau, shoving them into her pack. She walked into the bathroom, scooped her toiletries off the counter, and threw them in as well. It didn’t matter if the tops came off, if the liquids leaked through her clothes. They’d probably confiscate all her belongings as soon as she got to the jail anyway.

Her limbs moved mechanically, her mind racing from question to question. Would they send a police car? Take her away in handcuffs again? Should she call her probation officer? Tell her what happened before she found out from someone else?

She opened the door to the closet, pulled out the basket of laundry, emptied it onto the bed. The last time the cops had come for her, she’d surrendered herself willingly. She hadn’t even considered the possibility of a plea bargain in her future—the opportunity for a second chance. She’d been so numb back then, she wouldn’t have cared if they’d told her they were locking her up for life.

But she did care now.

She had started to feel something today—the tiniest sliver of hope. She had actually started to think that she could contribute. That, even if she couldn’t cook anymore, she could at least use the knowledge she’d picked up from years of working in kitchens to help Ryan understand his new clientele. That, maybe, it hadn’t all been for nothing.

She grabbed fistfuls of laundry, shoving them into her pack. Stupid, she thought. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. She should have known better than to think, even for a second, that things could be different. That she could actually belong somewhere again.

The only place she belonged was in jail.

At the knock on her door, she let out a long, shaky breath. She knew it would either be Will or Colin, telling her it was time to go. She set down the clothes and called out, “Come in.”

The door creaked open and she rolled her shoulders back, mustering one last shred of pride. She wouldn’t leave without thanking them first. For giving her a chance. For trying to save her. She understood what they were doing here, now—why they had opened this place. It wasn’t their fault she was damaged beyond repair.

But it wasn’t Will or Colin.

It was Della.

And the expression on her face didn’t quite fit with the message Izzy was expecting.

Della paused in the doorway, her hand on the knob, her gaze dropping to the clothes on the bed. “What are you doing?”

“Packing.”

“Why?” Della asked. It was obvious from the tone of her voice that she hadn’t put two and two together yet.

Izzy stuffed the rest of the clothes in her bag. She needed to keep moving, to distract herself from the emotions rising up inside her. “They’re not going to let me stay after what just happened.” She turned, grabbed her laptop, and started to slide it inside the bag, then paused, wondering if she should email herself the spreadsheet first.

Would they allow her to access her email in jail? Or would she have to start her research all over again, from the very beginning?

She flinched at the sudden hand on her shoulder. She hadn’t even heard the other woman cross the room. She looked up, into Della’s concerned blue eyes. “Do you think they’ll call the police,” Izzy asked, mortified when her voice cracked, “or let me turn myself in?”

Della pried the laptop gently from her hands. She set it on the desk, led her over to the edge of the bed, and sat. She waited for Izzy to sit down beside her. “No one’s going to ask you to turn yourself in.”

“But—”

“What happened down there wasn’t your fault,” Della said. “It was mine—mine and Will’s.”

Izzy shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Let me explain.” Della drew Izzy’s hand into her lap, covered it with both of hers. “Last night, after you cut your therapy appointment short, Will and Colin met with Erin. She told them she was worried about you, that she didn’t think you were adjusting well. They asked if there was anything they could do to help…pull you out of your shell. She said she’d heard from one of the other veterans that you didn’t cook anymore. She thought, maybe, if you started cooking again, it might help you heal.”

Della took a deep breath. “Colin figured they’d put you on kitchen duty this week and see how it went. But Will decided to take it a step further. He thought that if anyone could connect with you on that level, it would be me. So he called this morning and asked me to try to lure you into the kitchen today. I assumed you’d just lost your confidence, that maybe you needed a little encouragement.”

She looked away. “I didn’t need your help down there today, Izzy. I’ve been cooking those dishes all my life. I knew those beans were bland, and I would never have left those biscuits in the oven to burn. I created that situation on purpose. I had no idea you’d…” She lifted her gaze back to Izzy’s, her eyes filled with remorse. “I’m so sorry. Can you forgive me?”

Forgive her? “I almost stabbed your nephew.”

“I know, honey. And I’m still pretty shaken up about that.” She put a hand on her heart, breathed. “But I should have talked to you first, asked you why you’d stopped cooking, given you a chance to explain. If you wanted to cook again, I could have eased you into it slowly. Or not. That was your call to make. Not mine. And not Will’s.”

Izzy was quiet for several long moments as she let Della’s words sink in. Was it possible that Will felt the same way? That he wasn’t going to ask her to leave? That he would give her another chance?

“Izzy?”

“Yes?” she asked, and her voice sounded different now—hopeful—even to her own ears.

“Did something happen to you…in a kitchen?”

Voices from the yard drifted up, through the open window. The scent of vinegar, grilled corn, and Old Bay seasoning mingled with the salty breezes floating off the water. The faintest rustling of leaves, from the highest branches of the tulip poplars, drew her gaze out, to the edge of the yard. She watched the leaves dance, a playful fluttering of silver and green, before nodding slowly.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Izzy shook her head. No. She didn’t want to talk about it. She wanted to pretend it had never happened. But as the voices beneath her window grew louder, and more people came out of the house, gathering around the tables, preparing to sit down to eat, she realized that wasn’t going to be possible anymore. Too many people had seen what had happened in the kitchen.

How many of them would look at her differently now? How many of them would jump to the same conclusion as Della?

How long would it take before they suspected the truth?

“Do you think everyone knows?” Izzy asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know, honey,” Della said, squeezing her hand. “But what I do know is that everyone here is on your side.”

When Izzy said nothing, Della shifted slightly on the mattress to face her. “Do you know why Will opened this veterans’ center?”

“To help people,” Izzy said.

“Well, sure,” Della said slowly, “that’s one reason. But that’s not the only reason.”

Izzy waited for her to go on.

“My nephew is a proud man,” Della said, “and he doesn’t confide in a lot of people, so I hope that you’ll keep what I’m about to say between the two of us.”

Izzy nodded. “Of course.”

“Will left the SEALs because he was suffering from such debilitating flashbacks that he wasn’t able to perform his job anymore. He was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder about six months ago and has been receiving treatment ever since.” Della looked up, met Izzy’s gaze. “He opened this place because he knows, firsthand, what it feels like to need help, and not know how to ask for it.”

Izzy’s lips parted as, suddenly, everything clicked into place. That was why he’d tried to pull her out of the flashback. That was why there’d been nothing but compassion in his eyes after he’d taken the knife from her. That was why he wasn’t up here right now, telling her to pack her bags.

“Everyone here is fighting some kind of battle,” Della said gently. “The sooner you can accept that, and recognize that you’re not alone, the sooner you’ll begin to heal.”

Izzy rose slowly and walked to the window. She looked down at the crowd of people below. They were seated around the tables now, talking and laughing and passing big plates of food around. “I need to apologize to Will,” she said. “To everyone.”

“Why don’t we get you something to eat first,” Della suggested, “then we can worry about apologies.”

Izzy nodded and, together, they walked back downstairs.

Sprawled across the entrance to the kitchen, Ryan’s dog, Zoey, thumped her tail against the floorboards at the sight of them. Ryan and Paul—the only two people left in the kitchen—glanced up when they stepped into the room.

“Hey, Izzy.” Paul turned toward her with a bag of seasoning in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other. “I told Ryan about that list you made—of the chefs. He’s pumped.”

Pumped, Izzy thought as her gaze shifted to Ryan. She doubted that her boss had ever used the word ‘pumped’ in his life, and she was fairly certain that the list of chefs was the last thing on his mind right now.

He stood at the stove, his hand resting calmly on a sixty-quart steamer pot. He was wearing the same clothes he’d worn out on the boat that day—the gray T-shirt, the faded jeans, the fraying baseball cap—but there were questions in his eyes now, so many questions, in those pale, almost see-through gray eyes.

The timer on the oven binged and he turned slowly back to the stove, lifting the top off the pot. A cloud of steam billowed out, and he reached in with the tongs, pulled the steaming hot crabs out of the pot, and transferred them onto the tray.

Paul slathered them with a few more handfuls of seasoning, then picked them up and looked at Izzy. “Would you grab the door for me?”

Izzy nodded, crossed the room to the door, and held it open for him.

Paul paused in the doorway and lowered his voice. “You all right?”

“Yes,” she said, looking away.

“Good,” he said, then grinned. “You’ve got some pretty badass reflexes for a cook.”

Izzy blinked, stunned. She lifted her gaze back to his, but he was already walking away. She stared after him, noticing, for the first time, how easily he navigated the steps with two prosthetic legs, how well he hid the slight limp on his right side when he walked. Slowly making her way across the grass, she met the eyes of a few people who glanced up from the picnic tables. There was no judgment on any of their faces, just kindness and compassion and understanding.

Why had she assumed they would all judge her? That, just because her wound was invisible, they couldn’t possibly understand?

Hailey scooted over as soon as Izzy got to the first table, making room for her. Izzy sat down, and saw that Hailey’s plate was already filled with fried chicken, butter beans, coleslaw, and sliced tomatoes. She was about to offer her a crab from the pile Paul had left in the center of the table, when she remembered that Hailey wouldn’t be able to pick it.

She only had one hand.

Was that why Della had made all this extra food? So Hailey wouldn’t feel left out?

Wondering if she should offer to pick a crab for her, she saw Kade snag a big crab from the pile, rip all the claws off, and hand them to Hailey.

“Thanks,” Hailey said, admiring the big chunks of meat hanging off the end of each claw.

Kade looked over at Izzy. “Yo.”

“Yo, yourself,” she said, watching him carefully. She couldn’t tell from his expression if he’d heard about what happened, if he knew anything at all.

He cracked the body of his crab in half, then nodded to a spot on the table in front of her. “We gave you a mallet instead of a knife.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in, for the meaning behind them to register. But when she looked around the table and saw that everyone else had a knife for their claws except for her, she started to laugh. And then Hailey started to laugh. And then Kade started to laugh—a deep, infectious rumbling that had everyone around them laughing, too.

By the time she got a hold of herself, and started to pick her first crab, she had to wipe away a few tears. She looked around the yard, at the people seated at the other two tables, searching for Will so she could apologize as soon as she finished eating. But it didn’t take long for her to realize that he wasn’t there. And neither was Annie…or Taylor.

And she knew, as her heart sank, that that was a very bad sign.

---

Annie waited until Taylor was safely tucked away in her bathroom with the shower running, before turning to face Will. “I’m not okay with this. I’m not okay with it.”

“I know,” Will said calmly. “I understand.”

“No,” she snapped. “I don’t think you do.” Sunlight streamed through the skylights, flooding the second-story landing with light. On any other day, she might have taken a moment to admire the way it enriched the warm, golden hue of the walls.

But not today.

Today, all she could think about was that her husband had almost been attacked by one of the veterans he was trying to help. “This is our home, Will. I have boundaries. And she just crossed one of them.”

“I understand,” he repeated, in that same calm, measured tone that was starting to piss her off. “But I’m okay. Everyone’s okay.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child!”

“Annie.” He reached for her, but she took a step back.

This wasn’t some lover’s spat that he could soothe away with a hug and a few murmured apologies. He could have died down there. She could have lost him. “What if it had been Taylor? What if it had been Della?” Her voice broke, betraying the fear underneath the anger. “She could have sent someone to the hospital today, or worse.”

“She could have,” Will said evenly. “But she didn’t. She stopped. The moment she turned around and saw me, she stopped.”

No. Annie shook her head. That wasn’t good enough for her. “The woman shot someone, Will.”

“Allegedly.”

“She pled guilty in court. Under oath.”

“To get the deal the prosecution offered,” Will said. “I might have done the same thing.”

She stared at him. “Accepted a criminal record for life? Even if you didn’t commit the crime?”

“If the evidence was stacked against me. Sure.”

Annie turned, walked to the window, and laid her hands on the sill. How could he be so calm about this? How could he not understand that this had changed everything?

She took in the crowd of people gathered around the picnic tables. They were picking crabs as if nothing had happened, as if no one had pulled a knife on her husband less than an hour ago.

Violence might be normal to them, but it wasn’t to her. And she wasn’t going to pretend, even for a second, that what happened downstairs was okay. “I’m all for helping veterans who want to be helped,” Annie said, “but Izzy’s had an attitude from the moment she walked through the door. There are plenty of other veterans who would be happy to take her place. We’re only one week into the program. It’s not too late to open up her spot for someone else. Maybe this isn’t the right place for her. Maybe she needs to be somewhere else.”

“Where?” Will asked incredulously. “Jail?”

Annie turned back to face him. “Maybe.”

“No,” Will said, shaking his head. “This is exactly why Colin and I opened this place. To catch the people the system failed. To make sure that no one under our care slips through the cracks. She doesn’t belong in jail.”

“How do you know?”

Will dragged a hand through his hair. “Because that could have been me, Annie.”

It was the one thing he could have said to make her pause.

“That was me,” Will said, lowering his voice. “Six months ago, I was the one having flashbacks. I was the one waking up in a cold sweat every night. I was the one wishing I’d died instead of my friends.”

Annie said nothing. Because she knew it was true. She’d been right there beside him through most of it.

But she’d never once thought that she and Taylor were in any kind of physical danger.

Could they have been, if he’d let his PTSD go untreated? If he’d let all that pain and trauma bottle up inside him until it came out in an explosion, like Izzy’s had today?

“The thing is,” Will said, taking a breath. “I think someone hurt her. And I think it might have been someone on the inside—someone she worked with. It would explain why she’s been so isolated from the other veterans. Why she doesn’t trust anyone.”

Yes, Annie thought. It would. And she could read between the lines of what Will was saying. But she wasn’t ready to make that leap yet. Not until she got some answers first. She pulled her phone out, dialed a number, and lifted the device to her ear.

“Who are you calling?”

“Grace,” Annie said as the shower in Taylor’s bathroom clicked off. “To find out if you’re right.”