The breath left my lungs in a rush.
Me: Same. For the record, the lake was the second most beautiful thing I saw this weekend.
Holly: Oh yeah?
Me: Yeah.
The seconds stretched. My chest hurt. In a good way. In a terrifying way.
Holly: You’re still leaving.
Me: I am.
Holly: I’m scared. I know I said that already. Just gonna be honest. This… whatever it is? It’s a lot.
Me: We can be scared together.
Holly: You’re not allowed to be scared. You’re the strong one.
I tapped my fingers against my knee, then typed.
Me: That’s not how it works, Malibu. I can be scared AND strong. So can you.
No reply for a long moment. After a minute she sent back:
Holly: You’re annoyingly good at saying the right thing, Dr. Phil.
Me: Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my rep.
Holly: Too late. I already know you’re a softie.
Me: Lies.
Holly: Sure. Keep telling yourself that.
I swallowed, a smile tugging at my mouth even as my eyes burned.
Me: I should let you sleep. Gonna be a long week.
Holly: Yeah. Probably.
Me: Thanks for… everything.
Holly: You don’t have to thank me, Jackson.
Me: I want to.
Holly: Goodnight Jackson.
Me: Goodnight, Malibu.
I set the phone on my chest and closed my eyes.The fear was still there. So was the tight, anxious buzz that came with the thought of leaving, of screaming sergeants and endless drills and being stripped down to nothing so they could build me back up.But under it, braided into it now, was something else.She’d held my hand in the truck.She’d danced with me by the fire.She’d admitted she didn’t not like me.I fell asleep with her name on my screen and the echo of her hand in mine.And for the first time since signing those enlistment papers, the idea of leaving hurt for a reason that wasn’t just getting out—it hurt because of what I’d just started to find.
Chapter Fourteen
? Holly ?
It had been eight weeks since Jackson left. Not that I was counting. Or noticed. But at some point yesterday, a desperate and rampant rage to do something burned through me. Thus, I’d been up all night.
