“This isn’t about bleeding.” Henley smiled softly. “It’s about healing. Moving forward when parts of us have been stuck somewhere else.”
“I don’t dwell on what I can’t change.” “Another falsity to add to the collection because Lark dwelled on it all the damn time. Every second she wasn’t doing her damndest to redirect her mind elsewhere.
“Shoving things aside so you can exist is different from dealing with the fallout so you can live past survival mode.”
Christ. Lark had heard it all before. Every flipping Army shrink she’d been forced to have a sit-down with had all told her the same thing. While she had real emotions like everyone else, Lark wasn’t processing them the way most people did. It wasn’t because there was something wrong with her. Nope. She wasn’t void of emotion. She just didn’t wallow in it.
But she couldn’t run from this, and she knew it. It didn’t mean any of this would come easily, though.
Lark shifted her weight. “Look. Before you get into whatever line of questioning you’ve prepped, I need to know about Specs.”
Henley tilted her head. “I can’t discuss her care.”
“That’s bullshit,” Lark snapped. “She’s part of my team—what’s left of it. I have to know if she’s mentally sound enough to work—if she’s mentally sound at all.”
She couldn't lose Specs too. Not like this. The dead were gone—Lark had failed them, but at least their suffering was over. However, Specs was still here, still hurting, and Lark had no idea how to fix what she'd broken.
“I understand you’re in the middle of something. That you can’t sit idle. That too much is at stake.” Henley shifted, resting her hands in her lap. She was calm. Relaxed.
Lark knew how to release tension in her body. To uncoil her muscles. But she didn’t know shit about how to settle herself into a quiet space where she could just be. The one thing she’d taken from a therapist that did help resolve the chaos that floated through her brain was that damn stress ball, and so far, she’d been unable to find a new one.
“But I can’t discuss Specs’ session. That would be unethical,” Henley said. “You care a great deal for her.”
“Of course I do, and I need to know she’s going to get to the other side—that this didn’t—break her.”
“Okay. But I’m only going to speak on a generic level.” Henley stayed calm, her gaze annoyingly patient. “You don’t have to be me to see that Specs is somewhere between grief and blaming herself, but she’s processing, and she doesn’t want to be in that space. She’s letting people in—Jupiter, mostly—but she hasn’t closed herself off. You should be less worried about her and more worried about the person staring back at you in the mirror.”
Lark’s jaw tensed. “Specs needs this more than I do. I’ve been at this part of the job longer, and I’ve learned to compartmentalize.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re better at coping.”
“I’ve managed all these years just fine.” A breath hitched in Lark’s throat. Everything was so close to surface. It was like a massive wave right before it crested and crashedonto the shore.
Henley leaned forward. “Tell me, Lark. Are you asking me all this because you want to wind down the clock and avoid speaking about yourself? Or is this because you’re worried that Specs is somehow going to become you?” Henley waved a hand at the other rocker. “Because the thing is, she’s just newer atdealing with this level of broken. And broken and can be healed. Even if it’s been years.”
Lark blinked, throat suddenly thick as the wave of emotion began to break. “Is that what we are now? Broken toys left out in the sun too long?”
Henley didn’t smile. “No. I think you’re a woman who learned too early how to survive in a world that’s taught you life’s not fair and going to come for you no matter what. And now, surviving is all you know how to do.”
Lark looked back out toward the hills. “I’m still standing.”
“That’s not the same thing as living.”
Lark turned toward her. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“I don’t think you are either, or you wouldn’t be here… talking.”
Silence fell again, heavier this time. The porch boards creaked under Henley’s slow rocking. Lark rubbed her fingers together, feeling the dryness of her skin from years of neglect.
“Where are we supposed to start?” Lark eased into the other chair with a long sigh, as if that breath was the ocean as it rolled onto the shore. An exhale of years of exhaustion. Years of running on fumes. Dodging bullets. Avoiding attachments.
“I’d like to know a little about you,” Henley said. “Kawan has always spoken highly of you. But I don’t know anything about you other than being tough as nails, a badass at your job, and the kind of person who keeps going when others would have packed up and gone home.” Henely shifted in her chair. “All good traits. Traits I personally admire. I also know those are the very things that have protected you. But they’ve also hindered you from actually dealing with some of the things you’ve experienced. They’ve made you hyper-focused.”
“Sounds like you know a lot about me.” Lark chuckled.
“Okay. Tell me something I don’t know.”
Lark stared at Jupiter’s cabin. The porch was empty now. Just a faint flicker of a shadow in the window. “I don’t remember them,” Lark said, voice barely a whisper.
