I shouldn’t have called.
The phone continues to ring.
Fuck, this isn’t a good idea.
I’m about to hang up when the ringing ends and a groggy but soft voice answers the phone, “Hello?”
My fingers grip around the phone harder as I hear her voice. It hits me like a sledgehammer. “Grace.” My voice cracks despite itself. A tear slides down my cheek.
Her voice becomes clearer and with it I hear concern. “Oak,” she says my name in that sweet voice of hers and for the first time since I woke up I feel like I can breathe.
I close my eyes, letting my shoulders fall with the relief she’s giving me.
“Oak,” she says my name again. “How are you?”
The casual question at close to four o’clock in the morning causes my lips to twitch. “How am I?” I can’t even hide the amusement in my tone. “It’s close to four o’clock in the morning and I’m calling you and you’re casually asking how I am?” This girl, she surprises me. Always keeping me on my fucking toes. And she doesn’t even know how much I need it let alone enjoy it.
“It sounds a hell of a lot better than, Oak, are you okay? What’s wrong? You know you can tell me anything. Anything at all. Or nothing if you’d rather. We can just talk and I’ll stay on the phone with you until you fall back asleep.”
God my heart fucking clenches.
People like Grace are few and far between.
And it’s a blessing and a curse that she’s using that heart on me.
“That’s exactly what I need to hear,” I tell her gruffly.
She breathes and it sounds pained. As if she’s hurting for me, feeling the pain I inflict upon myself. That’s a pain no one deserves to feel except me. And I don’t know how to stop her from feeling it if I don’t know how. But for the first time I’m willing to give it a try.
“Do you want to talk about it?” She asks softly.
“I’d rather not.” My tone comes out harsher than I intended it to. I curse under my breath. “I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted.” I can practically see the small smile that I know is on her face.
“You forgive easily.”
“I think the world could do some good with a little forgiveness.”
“Even the worst of us?” I half joke.
She hums thoughtfully. “Well, I believe in redemption.”
“What about those who are far past redemption? What then?”
“In a world that has more than seven billion people I believe that majority of them are good or at least want to be good. And the ones you speak of, the ones past redemption, that means they chose a path without wanting to be saved. But that isn’t you, Oak.”
“I wasn’t talking about me,” I swallow.
“Aren’t you?” She challenges me. “I only wish that you could see yourself through my eyes.”
But that’s the problem. “I do see myself through your eyes, Grace,” I tell her, my voice strained. “You see the man I was before but I’m not that man now. I’m not a hero. I’m not good.”
“Before,” she murmurs then asks, “Do you mean the man before you enlisted or the man before tragedy struck?”
I suck in a sharp breath. For a man that keeps everything close to the chest it startles me how much she sees.
“How could you know that?”
