“That’s the plan. Court orders hold weight, and subpoenaing records is a matter of getting the right signatures and paying the administration fees. Did you know Seth was posthumously awarded the Purple Heart?”
My heart stutters and breaks, tears trickling over the bridge of my nose and down to soak into my pillow. “Really?”
“Mmhm. Not only because of his sacrifice, but because his last mission included a sneaky little skip-hop across enemy lines to rescue an American reporter who was taken hostage. She’d been held for weeks already. Brutalized. Starved. Tortured. They made an example of her, hurting her until she was nearly dead… over and over and over again. Only to bring her back again. It was like a game to them. A cruel, sadistic exercise in depravity. There’d been other attempts to rescue her in the past, but it was Seth who got her out in the end.” He tucks his face forward so I feel the brush and kiss of his lashes on my flesh. “Seems bravery runs in the family.”
“How did he die?” I blink, blink, blink fresh tears from my eyes. “Did he suffer?”
“He was shot,” he rasps. It’s clear he doesn’twantto tell me, and whatever hedoessay is sure to be a watered-down, less violent version of the truth. But he wraps me up close, holding me through the pain. “Her name is Marilyn. The reporter. She was weak and scared. Malnourished. Traumatized.” He sighs. “They were keeping her in a bunker, heavily guarded by dozens of enemy soldiers who did unspeakable things to her. But he carried her out on his own. He saved her, and when the enemy opened fire, he absorbed more than a dozen rounds.”
My breath hitches.
“He didn’t falter, Rose. Even when, from a medical standpoint, I know he should have. He got her to safety, and only then did he succumb to his injuries. I read Marilyn’s statement, where she said he was so kind to her, so comforting when she was scared. And then, at the end, she got to hold his hand until it was over. She said how brave he was and, even when ithurt, he smiled. He said…” He blows out a shaky, shuddering breath. “He said,did you know they give out medals for this shit?”
I choke out a ridiculous laughing cry. “Hedid you know’d her?”
“And then he said his baby sister will probably come and get it for him. Because he probably wasn’t gonna make it back, and he was sorry he didn’t zigzag like you told him to.”
“I told him to zigzag?” I drown in the tears nestled in my throat. “Really? That’s the best advice I had?”
He places the sweetest, gentlest kiss on the back of my neck. “I’ll show you the statement whenever you wanna see it. He spoke of you with his last breath, Rose. Literally. He loved yousomuch.”
ROUND FIFTY-FOUR
OLLIE
I walk into the kitchen the next morning at a little after five, just like I always do when I’m on day shift at the hospital. But I long ago became accustomed to having a beautiful woman sitting at the counter in the dark when I walk in. A pencil in hand. A notebook spread out on the stone, and small eraser sprinkles littering the floor.
The first time scared the bejeesus out of me.
Now, the idea that shewon’tbe there is what scares me most of all.
Today, though, I wander through the shadows and stop behind her delicate frame, hunched over the counter, her legs lifted, one knee pointed to the side, while the other juts straight toward the ceiling. She pretzels herself into position in nothing but my shirt and a fluffy pair of socks to keep her toes warm. Best of all, she doesn’t startle when I place my hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t jolt.
Hell, she merely turns the page and peeks over her shoulder, smiling up at me from under the long, dramatic wisp of her lashes. Through one-of-a-kind kaleidoscope eyes that have the power to destroy.
Or give life.
To torment.
To give peace.
“Hi.” She nuzzles into my hand for a beat, exactly how Poopy McStinkypants does it. But she doesn’t extend her neck and pucker her lips for a kiss the way we’ve done almost every other day since the first time.
I don’t bend and take her lips like I would if the circumstances were different.
But we have this moment, at least, and the ache I feel in the base of my stomach, the risk that the woman I love may soon leave me… Fuck… I try not to think of that.
“Poppy still in bed?” She glances past me in search of her silly kitten. “Late night must’ve tired her out.”
“The best thing about being a cat is that she can stay in bed all day and no one will call her lazy.” I stroke her cheek and relish the way she burrows into my touch. The way her lashes come down to kiss her cheeks, and her lips quirk into a beautiful smile. But then I step away before she has a chance to. To seal our moment with this, instead of her eventual retreat.
Circling the counter and making a beeline for the coffeepot, I spy the drawings laid out in front of her. Liam. His eyes. The wire-frame glasses. His lips wrinkled with a smile. “Did you dream of him again?”
She wraps her arm around her pointed leg, resting her chin on her upturned knee. “Thought of him. Didn’t dream, per se.”
I tug the top basket from the coffee machine and slap a new filter in, followed by a heaped scoop of crushed beans, before pushing it back in again and pressing the button to get it started. “You wanna talk about it?”
“It’s just…” Her brows furrow and dig a deep line between her eyes. “I was certain he was my friend. I swear, I dreamed of him almost every single night at the hospital. It was never romantic. Never weird. I never got creepy vibes or felt anxious around him, and now that I have Seth on my mind, I keep thinking the way I felt around Liam is how I would feel around a brother. It was comfortable. Protective. But then I left the hospital and came here, and like we’d flipped a switch, he turned.” She spins her pencil upside down and erases a small line from the curve of his lips. “I can’t stop thinking about it.” Frowning, she erases and brushes the mess away. Erases a little more. Brushes. Then, turning the pencil over, she gets back to work outlining what may have been a scar. An imperfection. “Why doyouthink he changed like that?”
