Her laugh hitches into a sigh, soft and warm beneath me.
I kiss the hollow beneath her jaw, more lingering than greedy. I’m not in a rush. Not today, not with her. I want to memorize her voice, still soft with sleep, the way her body curves instinctively toward mine like we were always meant to fit.
“I like waking up with you,” she whispers.
My chest tightens. “Yeah?”
Sadie nods. “It’s not just the sex… though, that’s…” She blushes and squeezes her eyes shut. “It’s the safety. The warmth. I didn’t know I could have both.”
I rest my forehead against hers. “You get both. Always.”
She opens her eyes then, lashes heavy, and I see a flicker of unease.
I brace my forearm beside her head. “What is it?” I ask softly.
She swallows, her fingers curling lightly against my shoulder like she’s steadying herself. “Who’s Rebecca?”
I lift off her immediately—not away, but enough to see her clearly. “How do you know that name?”
Her expression isn’t angry. Or jealous. It’s… careful. “You said it last night in your sleep. I tried to wake you. You were—” She stops, biting her lip. “You sounded scared, Wyatt.”
The guilt hits hard.
For a moment, I almost shut down. The old instinct rises—seal the doors, lock the windows, keep everything inside. But that’s how men become their own cages. And she deserves more than the scraps I’ve been offering the world.
I shift to sit against the headboard, pulling her gently up to sit straddling my lap. Her thighs bracket my hips, warm and soft. Her hands settle on my chest, fingers splayed wide like she's steadying herself—or steadying me.
I take a breath that feels heavier than any I’ve taken in years. “Rebecca was my sister.”
“Was?” Grief blooms in Sadie’s eyes, the kind you feel for someone you’ve never met.
“She was eight years younger than me. Our parents died when she was ten. And I…” My throat threatens to close, but I force the words out. “I did my best to raise her. I wasn’t perfect, but she was my responsibility. My kid sister.”
Sadie’s palm lifts to my cheek, thumb brushing along my jaw. The touch is soft, grounding.
“What happened?”
The memory is a blade I’ve carried so long it feels like part of my ribs. “I was deployed. Middle of an op. Full blackout. No comms, no updates, nothing. When we finally made it back to base, the CO called me in.” I exhale slowly. “That office has seen a lot of broken men. That day, it got another one.”
Sadie leans in closer, her forehead touching mine like she’s bracing us both.
“Rebecca was out with friends. Late. Wrong part of town. There was an accident. Hit-and-run. They said she died instantly.” I shake my head. “Christ, she was only twenty. She died alone. And I wasn’t there.”
My voice cracks, and I swallow hard. “I thought I could shove the grief down. Work through it. But grief makes you stupid.Sloppy. You start second-guessing everything or stop thinking altogether. On my next mission, I lost focus for a second. I was clearing a house, and I missed a corner.”
I tap my side lightly. “Got two bullets for it. Tank and Tex dragged my ass out before the rest of the building lit up. Should’ve never happened.”
Sadie’s breath hitches.
“It wasn’t the bullet that wrecked me,” I murmur. “It was knowing I hadn’t just failed her. I’d also failed the men who counted on me.”
Sadie cups my face in both hands with a fierceness that clogs my throat with emotion.
“Wyatt,” she breathes, voice trembling with conviction, “you didn’t fail anyone.”
“Yes, I did.” The words rip out of me, raw and jagged. “I should’ve been there for Rebecca. I promised I would be. And I broke that promise the day I enlisted.”
She shakes her head slowly, firmly. “No. You gave her a life. You gave her years of being loved. You gave her everything you could in a world that took so much from you both. And you almost gaveyourlife trying to process your grief.”
