Half of me gluts on how naïve she is and how easily led she seems to be. The other half wants to shout in her face and demand she smarten the fuck up.
You’re in a dangerous man’s scope, little girl. Kick me out and lock the fucking doors. Dammit!
She kicks her shoes off and sets socked feet on the coffee table, then she leans back and lazily turns just her head to the side. “If you eat too slowly, I might take all the fries. You’ll have only yourself to blame.”
Why is she so pretty? So innocent? So fucking trusting, when I know there’s a voice in the back of her head telling her not to be. And why, when I glimpse the abrasions and completefucking devastation on one side of her face, does anger become my one and only companion?
“I was kidding, by the way.” Looking toward the television, she rests her chin on her chest and surfs channels with barely more than a second of consideration for each. “You can eat whatever you want. And if you’re still hungry at the end, you can make a sandwich or something. It’s not so deep.”
“Sorry.” I force a chuckle along my aching throat, shoving my rage aside. “I was kidding, too. But then I got caught up thinking about your stitches.”
She frowns and gently probes the injured area with the tips of her fingers.
“Kinda made me sad, that’s all. Terrible shit happened to you, Nova. And to add insult to injury, you got gravel rash on your face and stitches that would annoy the shit out of you by now.”
“So annoying,” she murmurs, trying, I think, to smile. “They’re the dissolvable kind, so I’ve just gotta wait. Some are already falling away, but there are a few stubborn ones still holding me together. And the scrapes and stuff are scabbing, which itches, too.”
“How long were you in the hospital?” I bring my knee up and place my arm over the back of the couch, so I can turn her way, but not touch. “A while?”
Her cheeks warm again, but I’m already learning the difference between a shy blush and the absolute fucking agony she experiences every time she thinks of the accident. “A few days, I guess. Three or four. My injuries weren’t too bad, the doctors said. No broken bones, no internal issues. Their biggestconcern was my concussion. But I survived the first few nights, so they sent me home.”
“What about?—”
“Can I ask you a question?” Sitting tall and turning on the couch, she brings her knee up, so we could almost touch if only we were a single inch closer. Her eyes are glassy and exhausted, her cheeks a sorry mix of blushing red and devastated pale. White lines snake away from the wound above her brow, so each time she frowns, I know the sutures tug. “I mean, you don’t have to answer if you don’t wanna. And I’ll understand if you don’t want to talk about it. But I just…” She draws a long breath, filling her lungs and expanding her chest. “I have no one else to talk to, and I’m dying keeping it all in.”
“You can ask me anything.” I don’t know if it’s Richard Aster’s Lincoln who places a hand on her leg. Or if it’s me, the man, who can’t help but touch. But it’s my hand, no matter which way this shakes out, and my stomach, rolling with nerves. “I’ll do my best to answer.”
“Do you think it’s weird the guy who hit us is just…” Her supple lips flatten into straight lines. “He’s just gone. No one vanishes into thin air like that. And a drunk driver? Someone who isn’t even thinking straight? How could he have ducked away so easily and stayed gone, even with the police looking for him?”
“Well—”
“And why has no one from the military called? I mean, I know Ry’s just another number to them. Just another soldier, molded to be like all the others, so they’re hardly distinguishable from the guy on their right. Butnothing?” Her eyes swim, and, surprisingus both, she reaches out to fuss with the watch on my wrist. “He’s not retired. He wasn’t dishonorably discharged. He was on active duty, home for a couple of weeks between tours. And now he’s dead, and it’s like he never existed. How is that okay?”
“Nova… I don’t?—”
“Doesn’t it make you sad?” she snaps. “You’re just another number, too. You risk your life for them, but when you’re no longer useful, they forget you even existed?”
I think he wasn’t the soldier she believes he was. Not in the motor pool. Not even on tour when she thought he was. The files Aster sent over state that Nichols was Special Forces. Intelligence. He sure as shit wasn’t some lackey standing between mortar fire and his country.
“I think the US military is a giant moving machine,” I explain. “With a million parts and a constant stream of priorities. Paperwork takes eons to be stamped and passed along, and a soldier dying, butnotin battle, makes for a different process than the norm. I don’t think they’ve forgotten him, but Idothink his paperwork is in process, and a giant fucking apology will eventually make its way to you. He protected his country, and for that, he deserves recognition. Sadly, these things take time.”
“I can’t help but feel like he never mattered.” She brings her hand up and swats a tear from beneath her eye. “Like, he doesn’t matter to the military, and he doesn’t matter to the police because they’re hardly even trying to solve his case. The accident hasn’t been on the news except for one tiny clip the evening it happened. No one acknowledged his death, or said his name, or that he sacrificed his entire adult life for his country.When no one came to his funeral exceptmyfriends, it felt like he didn’t matter to anyone. But thenyoucame, which was like a soothing balm on a nasty burn. Finally,” she moans, “someone cares. But the balm is just a balm, Lincoln, and the burn still exists. And now Ry’s gone, and it’s just…” She shakes her head. “How could such agoodperson exist, but it feels like I’m the only person who noticed?”
“I noticed.”Shut the fuck up, Lincoln! Stay out of it, you conniving prick. “Ryan Nichols was my best friend.”Godddd. Shut the fuck up. “He was kind and brave and funny and a better man than I’ll ever be.”That, at least, is true. “He existed, Nova. I assure you, he did. Because if he didn’t, how the fuck did I hear a million different stories aboutyou?”
She chokes out a breathy sob, only to clamp her lips shut and swallow it down again.
If lying to her is my crime, then the least I can do is bring a little peace to her soul.
“He was so fuckin’ annoying,” I joke. “Because he wasobsessedwith you. The baby sister he dreaded to leave. The one he worried about every single day we were gone. The one he declared the prettiest he ever knew, and how he loathed that someday, he’d have to break some hands and teach anyone who wanted you a lesson.”
“He was obnoxious,” she cries. She laughs. She whimpers. The sound is a devastating mix of all three. “God. It’s ridiculous how certain he was that every male in the continental US wanted me. He wore those big-brother-tinted glasses and acted as if the entire world revolved around us. Now, I’m not sure I’ve experienced enough self-doubt to prepare me for a world thatisn’t. I’m not ready for him to be gone. Because I was sheltered before, and now I’m all alone and unprotected and there’s no one around to convince me I’m strong and capable and pretty.”
“I can be that for you.” I slide my hand off the back of the couch and stroke the side of her neck. And damn her, shedoesn’tpull away. “I’ll remind you that you’re brave and amazing and so fucking beautiful it makes my stomach ache.”
Tears swell over and trickle down to her trembling jaw.
“I’ll be your obnoxious guard for as long as I can be. I’ll tell anyone who listens how fucking strong you are. I’ll be the guy who builds you up until you’re ready to stand on your own two feet.”
