“Gray, are you—” She pressed her full lips tightly together and tilted her head just a fraction before continuing, her voice so much softer and more careful than I’d ever heard it. “Are you suicidal?”
My muscles ached at how quickly they locked up. My pulse felt like it flatlined before taking off at a punishing pace. My lungs strained against the invisible hands gripping them.
All due to a question I’d never expected to hear.
Not from her.
My chin tipped toward Mallory, sure I’d, once again, heard her wrong. “What?”
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, worry and uncertainty wrapping around her words when she said, “Just before we passed out, you were talking to me—telling me what I meant to you. You said from the first day, I saved you. You said I kept you from the darkest parts of your mind.” Anguish twisted her beautiful features. “You said I gave you every reason to live, like you hadn’t had one.”
I sat back with a heavy exhale as I absorbed her words. Frustration and shame and worry wound through me as I struggled to figure out what all to tell her.
“Gray,” she softly pleaded when I just sat there.
“No,” I finally said, then met her stare. “I’m not suicidal.”Anymore.
As if sensing that wasn’t all, Mallory just sat there. Watching me. Waiting for the rest.
“I just...never planned on making it out of the military,” I finally admitted with a weighted shrug and watched as she seemed to deflate in front of me. “I always figured the worse the place I was sent—the more dangerous the mission—the higher the chance of not making it out. So, that was my plan. That’s why I worked as hard as I did to become what we were. That way, it wouldn’t be this dark cloud over my family when it happened. Because the idea of them living with those questions and that grief was what stopped me every time before that.”
Fresh tears were slipping steadily down Mallory’s cheeks as she stared at me like she was seeing me for the first time.
Her hand slid up my arm until her fingers were pressed against the scar on my shoulder. “Is that what this was?”
“No,” I said adamantly. “No, I couldn’t let you die.”
Her features twisted in a way that let me know she was struggling to make sense of everything, not that I was sure I could fully explain it.
I hadn’t had a bad home life or childhood. In fact, it’d been just the opposite. But mental illnesses don’t always work that way. Sometimes, they just...are. Depression ran in my dad’s side of the family, so I’d known exactly what was tearing at my mind and dragging me into dark places when I’d started battling with it. Still, I hadn’t wanted to say anything.
I’d known my dad was terrified he’d pass it onto one of us, the way his dad had passed it onto him. At the time, I hadn’twanted to burden him with the knowledge that the suffocating darkness had continued in one of his kids. Which is why I’d thought I’d come up with a flawless plan when I’d joined the military.
“I don’t understand,” she finally said, her voice soft as a breath. “You’re—” Her head shook frantically. “You’re always happy. You’ve always been joy when I needed it and even when I didn’t. How did I not know?”
“People can hide a lot with laughter and smiles, Peach,” I informed her just as quietly, forcing a breathless sob from her.
“And now?” she asked thickly before struggling to swallow. “What do you need? What can I do to help?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
Disbelief and fear practically bled from her as she sagged even more. “Gray?—”
“I’m fine,” I assured her as I sat forward again, reaching for her and curling one of my hands around her cheek to keep those glassy eyes on me. “I won’t tell you I don’t still struggle with depression, because I do. But even when those days creep in, they’renothingcompared to what it was like when I was growing up. I promise you, I’m fine.”
“Then tell me how to help you on those days. Tell me what you need.”
I knew she was freaked out. I knew she wanted to help. But there was nothing to do. “I don’t need anything,” I promised her. “How I was before?” I lifted a shoulder before letting it fall. “Yeah, I needed serious help and was too afraid to say anything. But now? It’s almost just like acknowledging I’m having an off day. Thatch usually picks up on it before I do.”
“Thatch knows?” she asked, only sounding partially offended that he’d known, and she hadn’t. Mostly, she sounded relieved.
“He figured it out long before you were placed on our team,” I confirmed. “Wouldn’t let me out of his sight on the bad days and made me tell my family when we retired.”
The smallest suggestion of offense slashed across her face before she whispered, “And why didn’t you tell me?” Her head faintly shook before she repeated her earlier question, “How did I notknow?” Only this time, it seemed like she was asking herself instead of me.
I hadn’t told her—despite Thatch’s constant insistence over the years that Mallory needed to know—because I hadn’t wanted her to start treating me differently.
Besides, when you’re afraid of losing your best friend, how do you explain that meeting her shifted your entire world? For me, I clearly hadn’t.
