Letting myself laugh.
Letting myself forget but the moment I imagine it—his hands on mine, his smile close enough to taste—all I see is him.
All I feel is the phantom weight of Dax’s body over mine, syrup and sin and that low, broken voice whispering “mine” like a vow and a threat.
I hate him for this.
For making me this.
For turning me into a girl who flinches at kindness and waits for cruelty just to feel close to him again.
Outside, the wind kicks up. Somewhere in the shadows, I think I hear boots crunching gravel and I close my eyes, already knowing it’s not him.
It never is because Dax Kingston is a ghost and I’m just the idiot still calling him home.
Chapter
Nineteen
Dax
The night bleeds into the base like smoke—slow, creeping, relentless.
Heat still clings to the sand even though the sun’s been gone for hours, radiating upward in shimmering waves that blur the outlines of the tents. The whole outpost hums with distant noise—generators groaning, radios crackling, boots trudging through dirt, men barking orders over the static of their comms.
Out here, darkness isn’t quiet.
It’s loud.
Heavy.
Always moving.
And I shouldn’t be here.
Not near the medic tents.
Not near her.
Not fucking watching her smile at someone else like it didn’t cost me everything to let her go but I am because I’m weak. I’m an idiot. Even after all this time, even after all the blood,the bone, the goddamn body count—She’s still mine. Even if she doesn’t know it anymore.
I stand just beyond the canvas, shoulder pressed to the rusted pole, dirt in my teeth, sand in my boots, a storm in my chest.
The canvas wall flaps lightly in the evening breeze, lifting just enough for the warm med tent light to spill out in broken strips across the sand. I can hear soft voices inside, metal clinking, someone groaning through sedation.
And over it?—
Her.
Laughing.
I watch her laugh.
Soft. Sweet.
The kind of laugh that’s supposed to mean something. The kind that used to be mine but it’s not for me anymore.
It’s for him.
