Only Ghost remains.
He walks over to where Jackson is sitting. He leans against the table, crossing his arms. He looks at Jackson—really looks at him—not as a commander, but as a brother.
“You scared us,” Ghost says quietly.
“Part of the job.”
“No.” Ghost shakes his head. “Taking a bullet is the job. Jumping in front of one you can’t stop? That’s something else.”
“I calculated the?—”
“Shut up with theI-calculated-the-mathbullshit,” Ghost says, but his voice is warm. “I remember the VA hospital. I remember the Glock in your lap.”
My breath catches in my throat. He told me about the grief, the anger—but not the end of the line.
A Glock?
In his lap?
Jackson looks down at his hands—the hands that defuse bombs, the hands that held mine in the dark, the hands that saved my life. “Mason …”
“You told me you were done,” Ghost continues, his voice low and intense. “That the fuse was burned out. You were ready tocheck out.” He gestures to me. “Now look at you. Fighting tooth and nail to stay in the game. Taking a bullet to buy one more day.”
Jackson looks at me. The vulnerability in his eyes is terrifying and beautiful. He looks exposed in a way that has nothing to do with his injuries.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “I guess I found a reason to stick around.”
Ghost smiles. It’s a genuine, rare expression. He claps Jackson gently on the good shoulder.
“Put the Glock away, Fuse. You don’t need it for the demons anymore. Just the bad guys.” Ghost turns to me. “Take him home, Talia. Keep him there.”
“I will.”
Ghost leaves. The glass door slides shut with a soft hiss.
We’re alone.
The hum of the servers is gone. The rain drums softly against the glass, a steady, soothing rhythm. The war is paused.
Jackson exhales, a long, shuddering breath that seems to deflate his frame. The adrenaline of the briefing is fading, leaving the pain exposed. He rubs his face with his good hand.
“You okay?” I ask, moving to his side.
“He talks too much.”
“He loves you.”
“He’s annoying.”
“He’s right.” I reach out, my fingers brushing the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s soft. “What was that about the hospital?”
Jackson doesn’t look away. He doesn’t hide. “I was—I was in a hole. Very dark place. Didn’t see a way out. Didn’t want one.”
“And now?”
He reaches up with his good hand, trapping my fingers against his neck. He pulls me closer, until I’m standingbetween his knees. He rests his forehead against my stomach, surrendering the weight of his head to me.
“Now I see the world clearly,” he murmurs against my shirt. “And you’re at the center of it.”
