For me.
Delaney’s fingers curl lightly in my shirt. “I remember the flashing lights.”
The memory stabs. I swallow hard.
“The cops pulled up by the dock,” I say, forcing the words out slow and steady. “They asked if I was Nash Hawthorne. And I thought… I thought I was in trouble.” I let out a humorless laugh. “I wasn’t. Not like that.”
Her hand slides to my jaw, grounding me. “They told you to get home.”
“Yeah.” My voice turns rough. “They said there’d been an accident. That my dad—” I close my eyes for a beat. “That my dad’s truck was found down by the creek road. Door open. No sign of him.”
Delaney’s breath catches.
“You never talk about it,” she whispers.
I open my eyes again. “Because if I talk about it, it’s real.”
“It’s real either way,” she says, voice shaking but firm.
I nod, because she’s right.
“He’d been drinking with the fire crew,” I admit. “Not drunk. Just… celebrating. He told me earlier that day he was proud of me.” My throat tightens like it’s trying to choke me into silence. “And then he was gone.”
Delaney’s eyes shine.
“They searched for weeks,” I say. “Divers. Dogs. Volunteers. Every inch of that creek and every stretch downstream.” I stare into the darkness, seeing the water instead of the ceiling. “They never found him.”
Her palm presses to my cheek. “Nash…”
I swallow, hard. “You know what’s sick? Part of me still expects him to show up. Like he just… wandered off to cool his head. Like he’s gonna come back mad about the mess he left behind.”
Delaney’s face crumples, and she buries it into my chest.
I hold her tighter, because if I don’t, I might come apart.
“After that,” I say into the quiet, “I didn’t know what to do with myself. I had these brothers looking at me like I was suddenly the standard they had to live up to. I had my mom trying to keep us all breathing. And I had this hole where my dad used to be.”
Delaney shifts, listening.
“I knew I had to prove something,” I continue, voice low. “Prove I wasn’t just… the kid left behind. Prove I could be the kind of man he’d respect. So when the recruiters came around talking about purpose and brotherhood and doing something that mattered…”
I exhale. “I signed my name like I was signing my way out of grief.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. Then she whispers, “You thought war would fix you.”
“I thought war would make me worthy,” I admit.
Her fingers tighten on my shirt. “You were already worthy.”
I almost laugh. Not because it’s funny—because it hurts.
“I thought about you every day,” I say, and the confession comes out like a surrender. “Every day. In places that didn’t feel like earth anymore. I’d picture you at the creek. In the barn. At your kitchen table with flour on your hands. And I’d tell myself if I could just get back to you… I’d be okay.”
Delaney lifts her head. Her eyes search mine like she’s trying to match this man to the boy she waited for.
“When I came home,” I say, “I wanted to tell you I loved you. I wanted to grab you, kiss you, make it all make sense. But I wasn’t right.” My jaw tightens. “I was loud inside. Angry for no reason. Numb for reasons I couldn’t name. I didn’t want you to see how broken I was.”
Her voice is soft, but there’s no judgment in it. Just truth. “I could see,” she whispers. “I could see it in your eyes. In the way you flinched at doors slamming. In the way you couldn’t sit with your back to a room.”
