“Don’t be.” I force a smile, shame burning in my chest. “Old habits.”
His hand drops to his side, but his eyes don’t leave mine. They’re tightening at the edges like he’s angry.
Not at me, I hope.
“It’s scary out here,” I add quickly.
“How long?”
“Hm?”
He says nothing, waits, his silence drawing the truth from me like poison from a wound. My fingers find my inner wrist, circling.
His eyes flick down then back up. “Your father.”
I look away, staring at the distant treeline. Part of me wants to brush it off, change the subject, or lie. But another part, a part I barely recognise, doesn’t want to. Not with him.
“After Amelia got sick,” I say.
“And you were convenient.” It’s not a question.
“I was invisible.” I shrug. “Until I wasn’t.”
He runs a hand through his hair, tension radiating from every line of his body. “You’re not invisible now.”
The way he says it makes my stomach flip. Like a promise. Or a threat.
“I thought about fighting back,” I whisper. “But then I remember Amelia needs me. Needed me. If I got kicked out or hurt worse…”
“Come here.” His voice is gruff but gentle.
I hesitate, then step into his space. His arms encircle me, drawing me to his body. It’s different from last night, not for warmth or comfort in the dark.
“I keep thinking,” I mumble, “that if I just do better, do more?—”
“Stop.” His palm presses firmly against the small of my back. “That’s their voice in your head. Not yours.”
Is it? After so many years, I’m not sure I know where their voice ends, and mine begins. “I don’t know how to make it stop.”
His thumb traces circles at the base of my spine. “You start by recognizing it. Then you fight back.”
“I thought avoidance was the first step?”
“Not in that case.”
“Speaking from experience?”
After he doesn’t answer, I tilt my head back to look up at him.
His eyes are fixed on some distant point, and his throat works. “I wasn’t always…”
“Like this?”
A humorless laugh escapes him. “Liam would call me an asshole, too.”
“Liam?” I prompt softly, not wanting to break whatever’s happening.
“My best friend. Loved him like a brother.” He guides my face back to his chest, away from his and the expression on it. “We served together. Eight years. We were on an extraction. Civilians trapped in a collapsed building, and Liam volunteered to rappel down.” His voice flattens, like he’s giving a mission report rather than sharing a personal story. “I was on the rope. Securing him.”
