“No? B-But…but at the safehouse you came on?—”
“I swore an oath to your father,” Falco cuts in flatly, shattering my dreams instantly. “You’re off-limits. Untouchable. And I’m far too old for you.”
10
FALCO
Aerin’s face crumples like I’ve just struck her and she steps away from me. My hands fall to my sides.
The urge to say more rises in me like a surge of vomit. I should tell her that she’s not misreading things and my interest grows by the day.
That I can’t stop thinking about every detail of her, from her gorgeous green eyes and autumn curls right down to her sharp attitude.
I should tell her that even when she’s arguing with me, I like listening to her and how her terrible act of handcuffing us together was exactly the kind of abrupt action I like.
I should tell her that I admire her kindness and her determination to better herself in the face of such a terrible month, and that if I could I would make sure her mother never says another unkind word to her ever again.
I should tell her that after decades of being a soldier, of being a grunt told where to go and who to kill, I haven’t felt a single dropof peace until I touched her and it was like my world was draped in blissful, peaceful silence.
I should tell her all those things.
But I can’t.
If I admit them, I’m signing my own death sentence and I’ll lose her forever.
Besides, Aerin deserves someone better than me. So I remain silent and watch her leave the gym, my heart souring with each step.
We’re incompatible. We’re opposites. She has her entire life ahead of her and doesn’t deserve to be tied down to someone like me.
I try to distract myself by showering under scalding water, but I can’t get my mind off her.
Every time I entertain just a glimpse of her in my thoughts, I force myself to think of Gina, my ex-fiancé.
She’s the blueprint of what my presence can do to someone, and Aerin is too good for that.
She doesn’t deserve to be hurt or scared, and I would do both of those things to her.
Then I would die knowing that I’ve left a scar on her that will never heal.
I scrub and scrub until my skin is raw, replaying my last night with Tina over in my head to remind myself that relationships and I don’t work.
It doesn’t matter how hard I try, how much I give myself to others, or how desperately I care for them.
One trigger, one second of thinking I’m back in the middle of a warzone, and everything good I’ve earned is snatched away from me in an instant.
Managing my PTSD has grown easier over the years, or so I tell myself. Sleep is still hard. Loud noises can drag me back if I’m unfocused. Touch is difficult.
But with Aerin? All those things come easily. I slept on Pidge’s couch after knowing Aerin was safe.
The explosion at the safehouse didn’t send me spiraling back because I was focused on her. I was able to maintain contact while helping her wash her hands.
She’s different.
Something about her is different.
Stepping out of the shower, I tuck a towel around my waist and face myself in the mirror after swiping some of the condensation back. Dark eyes stare back at me from above, eye bags, and weathered skin.
“She’s not different,” I scold myself. “You’re making excuses. Stop justifying it.”
