My heart is in my throat.
“Grant,” I whisper.
He exhales a long, slow breath.
“Yeah,” he says finally. “It’s about the appointment.”
My grip on his hand tightens.
“Okay,” I say, even though I feel like I’m going to throw up. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it together, okay? You and me. We’ll figure it out.”
He glances over at me, and something softens in his eyes. Some of the tension in his shoulders eases.
“You really believe that, don’t you?” he asks quietly.
“Yes.” My voice doesn’t even shake this time. “Of course I do.”
He looks back at the road, jaw working. Silence stretches between us, filled only by the hum of the heater and the faint sound of the radio low in the background.
I’m terrified, but I refuse to let go of his hand.
I’ll hold on even if this is the part where he lets go of me.
We turn onto the base and stop to show our IDs before passing through the gate. The guard waves us through with a nod at Grant. They all seem to know him. They all know what he survived.
We pull into our housing area, the little row of duplexes and townhouses that all look vaguely the same. A few Christmas lights still hang from the eaves, even though the holiday is long over. A kid’s bike lies in a yard, half buried in old snow.
Grant pulls into our driveway and shifts the truck into park but doesn’t turn off the engine. The air feels suddenly too hot, too thick. I can hear my own breathing.
He stares straight ahead for a long moment, then lets out another breath and finally turns to face me fully.
“I love you,” he says.
The words hit me like a physical blow. My lungs seize. My heart stutters. For a second, I’m sure I misheard him.
“What?” I whisper.
His eyes are so blue. So serious. The faint light from the streetlamp outside hits the scars on his neck, the rough red lines disappearing beneath his shirt collar, and I’m struck by how… alive he looks.
Not empty. Not angry. Not distant.
Alive.
“I love you,” he repeats, voice rough. “I’ve been trying to say it all day, but… hell.” He squeezes my hand. “I’m not good at this.”
I stare at him, stunned.
He loves me.
He… loves me.
Not just cares about me. Not just thinks I’m a good investment, or a smart plan. Not just wants to help me reach my goals.
He loves me.
I suck in a sharp breath, my vision blurring.
“Grant,” I breathe.
