My fingers curl into his shirt.
“He wasn’t sleeping well for weeks. Nightmares. Mood swings. I saw it but didn’t…” His chest rises with a deep breath that he holds too long before releasing. “I should’ve reported it. Had him evaluated. Pulled from active duty. But he begged me not to. Said it would ruin his career.”
“So you protected him.”
“He got everyone out, and when it was his time.” The words fall like stones. “He cut the rope and fell.”
I fight against his hold, peering up at him. “That’s not?—”
His eyes lock with mine, raw and burning. “If I’d insisted he stay behind. If I’d seen how bad he really was…”
This is why he’s always checking, always vigilant. Why he came back for me when everyone else left. Why he made me promise…
“You can’t save everyone,” I say.
“I know.” But his expression says he doesn’t believe it. “After that, I promised myself I’d never miss the signs again. Never let someone I’m responsible for down.”
Is that what I am to him? A responsibility?
“I’m sorry.” I wrap my arms around him tighter, molding my body to his with a desperation I didn’t know I had.
One of his hands slides up to cup the back of my head, cradling it.
“Thank you.” My words come out muffled against his shirt. “For telling me about him.”
His fingers spread through my hair, careful to avoid the tender spot. “Thank you for trusting me with your truth.”
“Didn’t really have a choice.”
He chuckles, and it makes me smile.
Trust.
Such a simple word for something that feels like stepping off a cliff without knowing what waits below.
“Weird timing for a sharing circle.” I laugh weakly. “Zombie apocalypse therapy session.”
“Better late than never.” His thumb caresses my neck. “Come on. We should get moving.”
I nod, suddenly awkward again now that the moment has passed. We pack up our meager lunch supplies, and as I’m shouldering my backpack, a splash of color catches my eye.
A tiny wildflower, deep lavender with a yellow center, growing stubbornly between the dirt and gravel of the roadside. It’s no bigger than my little finger.
Perfect and fragile and somehow still alive.
“What’s wrong?” Julien asks.
I crouch down, carefully plucking the bloom, and turn back to him.
“Look.” I smile, holding it up. “Growing here, of all places. It’s beautiful, right?”
He stares at me, his expression frozen in… shock?
NINETEEN
JULIEN
Her smile stops my heart.
