The first thing that occurs to me is that my eyelids feel like someone sewed weights into them while I was knocked out. My blinks are painful and heavy when I finally manage to open my eyes long enough to see the light coming in from the window. Clearly, I slept through the night, and by the sounds of the nuisance woodpecker outside, well into mid-morning.
Last night seems like a dream. A bad fucking dream.
I remember the mascara streaked down Breck’s swollen face the most. Fear and pity were the dominant emotions that stared back at me from those reddened eyes. I wanted the pain to go away so badly that even those tears didn’t stop me from letting Anniston inject me with a sedative.
I’m a coward.
I should have endured.
I should have overcome the demons in my head.
I should have comforted her, but I didn’t.
Instead, I let Hayes carry my girl out of the room and do it for me. But no matter how bad I beat myself up about it, the fact remains the same. I couldn’t ease her pain when I couldn’t even ease my own.
All I saw was her face.
All I could hear were his cries as he held my hand and gurgled out what an honor it was to serve by my side as he took his last breath.
Because of me. Because of her, my team lost their lives.
And I’ll have to live with that fact for the rest of my life. I blow out several deep breaths and attempt to scrub away the memories before pushing up on my elbows to look around. My bedroom is clean—not that I keep it dirty—but my discarded clothes and the sports drink I left on my nightstand have all been picked up. The only thing out of place is the green detox drink sitting on my bedside table, letting me know Anniston has recently been in here.
I’m already dreading the seaweed-like cleansing drink. It’s supposed to help clear the after-effects of the sedatives from your system. I don’t believe it. The taste is unlike anything I have ever tasted. It’s putrid and reminds me of when my mom used to make Drew and I eat the cold zucchini we’d leave on our plates.
Chugging this beast of a drink down first thing in the morning seems like a punishment, but it isn’t. Anniston just wants me feeling better as quickly as possible, and for her, I’ll drink it, as much as it pains me to do so.
The muscles in my legs ache when I drape them over the edge of the bed, a side effect of having a flashback. I’ve been told I clench and stay locked in a position until I’m able to pull out of it. I’m grateful for the help but I’m also not, all at the same time. I deserve to suffer for being a murderer, not get a free pass of a good night’s sleep.
But like every other time I’ve been sedated, I tell myself that today is another day. Another start to be better. So I grab my puke-like drink and drag my tired, sad ass downstairs toward the kitchen.
Theo is perched on a chair in the breakfast nook when I lumber stiffly into the kitchen. A tablet in one hand and coffee in the other, he watches the screen intently. “Morning,” I greet him gruffly.
He pulls his gaze from the screen and says flatly, “This prick is going to make me a fuck-ton of money.”
I pull out the chair next to him, leaning over to see what he’s talking about. It’s scouting footage of a college kid, pitching a no-hitter game. “Is that the kid that propositioned you for Ans?”
Theo called me over his honeymoon ranting about some brazen kid who had the audacity to ask him, as a condition of his signing, for one night with Anniston. I don’t know all the details, but I can assume he did not let that happen since the kid is still alive.
“Yep. The devil himself,” he mutters.
“You got him to sign?”
Theo makes an offended noise that makes me smile. “Of course I fucking did, Jameson. Who do you think you’re talking to?”
I take a long pull of my detox drink, only gagging slightly. “Gross. Ans making you drink that poison?”
I nod, swiping my hand across my mouth, checking for any spills. “Yep.”
Theo’s face screws up in disgust. “Pour that shit down the drain. I’ll be your witness that you drank it all.” I give him side eye and he laughs, correcting his statement. “I’ll be your witness until it benefits me to rat you out.”
“That’s better. For a minute there I thought you were going soft,” I observe, taking another sip, trying to empty my cup quickly so I can wash it down with some coffee. “You run yet?”
Theo, back to watching his new rookie, shakes his head at me. “No.”
Any other time I would give him shit about waiting to run with me, but this morning, I’m feeling gracious. I heard him last night, sought out his voice, like an anchor to my new life, trying to pull me out the madness. It’s not the first time he’s talked me through an episode. He and Ans have both become instrumental in my recovery. Theo and I never speak of it, though, because Theo doesn’t do thanks or sentimental chats. So when he does something like waiting to run with me after a rough night, it reminds me of what a great guy he is underneath all the sarcasm and rude commentary.
I push down the emerging emotions and ask him, “Wanna go in a little bit? I need to find Breck first and apologize, make sure she’s okay after last night.”
Theo looks up from his screen, a knowing smile tugging at his dimple. “I wouldn’t sweat it. She handled it like a lady.”
I’m confused with his reassurance, and the way he says it sounds like he knows something I don’t. “What do you mean, ‘handled it like a lady?’”
Theo snorts, pressing the button on his tablet and laying it down on the table. “I mean, she handled it like a woman scorned.” He draws out the explanation, watching me, waiting patiently for the reaction he wants. I don’t give it to him though. I wait him out until his grin morphs into a wide, beaming smile before he makes my world explode. “She and Hayes got shitfaced at the bar. I heard her snoring from his room this morning.”
I see red.
Blood. Fucking. Red.
“Come again?” I ask very calmly, clenching the revolting drink in my hands.
Theo chuckles and stands, walking over to put his empty mug in the sink.
“Holler when you finish spanking some sense into her and we’ll go run.”
I chug the rest of my drink, not even tasting the putrid liquid sliding down my throat, and toss my cup to Theo who catches it easily. I charge out of the kitchen, intent on kicking Hayes’ ass. I throw open the door to his room and find the sweet beauty asleep against, more than likely, his filthy sheets. Alone.
Breck’s hair is fanned out across his pillow, her lips parted ever so slightly, her soft breathing calming down the rage I was just feeling. The mattress indents and she rolls toward me when I sit down next to her. My fingers itch to touch her, but I refrain. She looks so peaceful as she breathes evenly, her eyes fluttering like she’s dreaming.
I’m being a total stalker hovering over her, Hayes’ beer t-shirt askew, showing her flat stomach ever so slightly.
“Oh.” Hayes pokes his head through the door, sweaty and a little green from his run with Anniston. “I came to check on B.”
I swear Breck woke up on her own accord and not because I literally growled an animalistic sound at Hayes that had him backing out the door, closing it, and yelling, “Theo picked us up. I slept on the couch and Anniston helped her to bed. I kept my hands to myself, I swear.”
He better fucking had.
And of course, Von Bremen spared me no mercy by jerking my chain this morning just to see me get worked up. Fucker.
“Hey,” Breck drawls, all groggy from sleep, pulling me from my thoughts. God, I want to touch her. Kissing her would be even better. Honestly, I’m seconds from just groveling at her feet with different renditions of an apology.
Instead, I go with, “Hey.”
Her lip twitches and I think she’s going to smile but then it goes flat. “How are you feeling?” she asks, pulling the blankets up so I can’t see her body. All the air feels like it rushes out of the room.
I did it.
I finally broke her.
I should feel relief but that’s not the emotion I’m currently dealing with. This emotion feels foreign and I’m not quite sure what to do with it.
My hand moves on its own accord, caressing her face, my thumb lingering on her lips. “I know I keep having to apologize for my behavior,” I start, pulling my hand away. “I can’t lie and say I won’t behave poorly again—”
She cuts me off. “You couldn’t help it.”
A ghost of a smile tugs at my lips and I drop my head in shame. She’s right, I couldn’t control it, but fuck if I don’t wish I could.
“I’m sorry you had to see that.” I really am. I thought maybe I had gotten better—that I wouldn’t be triggered by intimacy.
I was wrong. Being with Anniston these past eighteen months have changed nothing in that regard. I’m still as fucked up as before. Breck closes her hand around mine. “Cade.”
I stare at her hand draped over mine, tiny and breakable, just like her heart. “You deserve better than me,” I whisper down at our hands. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her rise up to her knees, pulling her hand off to place it around my waist, her head resting on my shoulder.
“We’ll agree to disagree,” she mutters. “I want you, Cade. Not just the sex. All of you. You’re stubborn and annoying …” I scoff and she squeezes tighter. “But I kind of like you. Every broken piece. I want the whole enchilada.”
I laugh at her ridiculous food reference and then I go still before admitting my issues. “It’s been five years since I’ve tried being with a woman. I don’t know if I’m capable of giving you the ‘whole enchilada.’”
Breck’s breath falters against my neck. “Did the same thing happen then?”
I want to lie.
I want to feel like a normal man who can run through an entire town of pussy without getting emotionally attached to any of them, not a man who can’t make love to a woman without having flashbacks of his gutted team. She deserves the truth even if the truth paints me as a monster. “Yes. It happens every time. I can’t control it.”
Breck’s quick intake of air is the only indication she heard my confession. Hayes’ bedroom stinks, the air feeling stagnant as Breck and I stay quiet.
And then she asks the question that everyone who tries to help me wants to know. “Will you tell me what happened to your team?”
It’s none of her business what happened to my team, but if I ever want to form some kind of relationship with her, I need to be honest. Anniston says purging is the first step to healing. I don’t know if that’s true, but I guess I’m about to find out.
“Take a walk with me?”
The air is sticky, but that’s not why sweat is beading along the back of my neck. I’m nervous—first-date-teenage-boy kind of nervous.
“I was supposed to be giving an interview that day,” I start, clasping her hand in comfort as we trek through the blistering heat, another seaweed drink in my hand, Breck with one as well. Anniston insisted we both needed some detoxifying—for obvious reasons. Me from the sedative, Breck from the unknown amounts of alcohol she consumed last night.
My gaze, locked on the pear tree ahead of us, stays steady as I continue with my story. “She was an embedded observer, more commonly known to civilians as an American journalist. She was doing a piece on humanitarian efforts in Afghanistan.” By my side, Breck stays quiet, giving me time to put my thoughts together. My breathing is choppy and harsh when I finally pull in a cleansing breath and start again. “But instead of interviewing me, we decided our time would be better spent engaging in other oral activities.” Breck’s face flinches. “I can stop,” I tell her, knowing no girl likes to hear about past conquests.
She shakes her head. “No, keep going.”
I wish she would tell me to go to hell and never talk to me again. She’s crazy for even entertaining my story. “Well, I’ll spare you the details, but my team, this kid Brannon to be exact, called me saying they had a lead and wanted to know if they should proceed or wait on me.” Bringing up Brannon and Drew always sends my blood pressure through the roof, but I know she needs to hear it. Relationships have to be built on trust, and although I’ve never cared to have one in the past, I do now. I want to do things right by Breck.
Breck’s steps falter for a second but we keep walking toward the barn. “I wasn’t finished with the journalist, but Brannon said they needed to move quick before they lost their guide.” I cough to relieve the tightness in my chest. “I sent them on without me. Drew was their captain, and would have taken over the team after our tour ended. I was being groomed to become a colonel. It was my last field assignment before I would join my fellow commissioned officers behind a desk.”
A tear falls down Breck’s face and I squeeze her hand. “My past is not an easy one to digest,” I tell her. “Men would line the streets of Madison for a chance to date you. You don’t have to settle for me. I’m fucked up and I can’t promise I’ll ever be normal.”
Breck shrugs a shoulder, trying to soak up the tear with her shirt. “I know what I’m getting into, Cade. Please continue with your story.”
I don’t really think she does. I think she believes there is something in me that can be saved. It’s like trying to salvage moldy cheese. You can cut off the bad spots and it looks normal, but it’s still rotten cheese.
But I indulge her, allowing my demons their platform. “For an hour, I entertained my American companion—work seemed like a foreign concept until the sun set. I had almost forgotten that I sent them, but then my radio chimed out a broken sound—it was a call for help.” My voice turns gravelly and Breck now has a steady stream of tears running down her face.
I spare her the gruesome scene of finding Drew with his eye hanging out of its socket, his leg completely detached from his body. I leave out that I couldn’t even recognize Kyle, Parker, and Lewis. Their bodies were mangled, the IED obliterating everything that was caught in its path. “I heard the explosion while I was en route.”
Breck sucks in a sob and I pray she doesn’t run screaming after this. “By the time I got to them, my brother and the three others were dead. The only one alive was the kid, Brannon.” Breck releases my hand to cover her face, her cries becoming almost uncontrollable. “I sat with him, amongst the rubble, my dead brother staring at me. I sat there …”
A memory tugs at me. One I’ve pushed down for years. I swallow, my brain purging the last memory I have of Brannon. “I sat there while this kid told me a story of his little sister who had this amazing spirit, selfless and free. He proclaimed how he had always admired her but was pissed that she was more fearless than he was.”
Breck whimpers beside me but I keep going, unable to stop the memories. “He said he knew she would be okay without him because she had the heart of a warrior.” I swipe at my eyes, surprised that I’m showing emotion in front of Breck when I’ve smothered it down every time before. “He pulled a letter out of his pocket—some guys keep a letter on them in case they don’t make it back home—and told me that when I delivered it to tell her that when it rains, the heavens would open and he would be watching her.”
I take a breath, his request sending painful spasms through my chest. “I was supposed to hand deliver the letter with his message.” Shame churns in my gut. “I tried once, but no one was home, so I passed it on to another officer to handle. I couldn’t bear to face Brannon’s family or the sister he spoke about so reverently.”
Breck looks away from me, swiping at her face. “I’m sure she knew,” she says, her voice meeker than I’ve ever heard. “I’m sorry, Cade. I don’t feel so well. The alcohol is finally catching up with me. Would you mind if we continue this conversation later?”
Disappointment settles around me, thick and stagnant, just like the weather. “Sure. I’ll walk you back.”
“Actually, I think I would like a ride home, if that’s okay.”
This time, the last thing I want to do is take her home.