“And us?” he asked softly.
I looked down at my plate, then back up.
“We’d fight,” I said. “I’d push. You’d retreat. We’d circle the same argument about secrecy vs. safety until we both bled from it. But we’d also go for groceries and argue over cereal brands. We’d watch bad TV and make fun of plot holes. We’d learn what it’s like to touch each other without wondering if it was the last time.”
Silence.
The sounds of the restaurant swelled and receded around us—laughter from the next table, clink of dishes, the distant clip-clop of a carriage passing outside.
“You still could,” he said finally. “Have some version of that. Without me screwing it up.”
The idea of a life without him in it made my chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with old wounds and everything to dowith the man across from me tracing the rim of his glass as if it were the only thing keeping his hands steady.
“I don’t want the version that never had you,” I said quietly. “I just wish the version that did hadn’t come with so much collateral damage.”
His throat worked. “Yeah,” he said. “Me, too.”
12
LEVI
Iwas cautiously enjoying dinner.
Cautiously, because I'd learned a long time ago not to trust moments that felt too good. But Amelia was sitting across from me, candlelight catching in her eyes, talking about bad TV and grocery store arguments like they were real possibilities instead of fantasies I'd buried years ago.
And for just a second, I let myself pretend.
I'd dreamed of this. More times than I could count.
Not the fancy restaurant or the Charleston humidity or the black credit card that wasn't mine. Just … this. Sitting across from her. Talking. Laughing. Being two people who'd figured out how to make it work instead of two people who'd crashed and burned before they'd even had a chance.
It was the soldier's dilemma, wasn't it?
Protect your country, or fight for a happy ending.
I'd always chosen the first. Always. Because that's what soldiers did. We sacrificed the personal for the mission, the individual for the greater good. We buried our wants under duty and pretended it didn't cost us anything.
But it did. It cost me her.
And sitting here now, watching her take another sip of wine, watching the way her mouth curved when she smiled—I'd missed that smile—I couldn't help but wonder if I'd made the wrong choice.
Not because the mission hadn't mattered. It had. It always would. But because maybe there was a version of the world where I could've had both. Where I could've protected what needed protecting and still kept her.
Maybe. Or maybe that was just the fantasy talking.
"You're doing it again," Amelia said.
I blinked. "Doing what?"
"Going somewhere I can't follow," she said. "Your face gets this look. Like you're running calculations in your head."
I huffed out a breath. "Old habit."
"Yeah, well, stop it," she said. "You're here. With me. For once, just … be here."
I met her eyes. "I am."
She held my gaze for a beat, then nodded. "Okay."
