Her wide eyes meet mine again. "Really? You've never—?"
I hold her gaze, letting her see the truth for herself. "It's just you, Sarah."
Her lips part, her expression soft with awe. Even though I promised myself I wouldn't push too far or demand too much, I can't help but kiss her. She's looking at me like I just gave her the world. Ihaveto taste her awe.
She sighs against my lips, opening for me. I take a tiny taste, just enough to make my cock beg for another taste of her, and then pull back, groaning.
"You're too damn sweet, baby girl. Too sweet."
She likes hearing that. She smiles up at me, and I'm pretty sure I'd rip the world apart just to see her smile at me like that every day.
"Can I ask you a question?" I ask, leading her out to her car after lunch. We lingered at the table for well over two hours. Sarah didn't say much—she never does. But I'm finally figuring her out.
If she doesn't say what's in her head, she doesn't have to let anyone close enough to hurt her.
I think she's probably been hurt more than anyone even realizes.
"Yes," she says, drawing to a stop next to her car.
"What happened to your family, baby?"
She flinches, paling slightly.
"It's okay," I murmur, pulling her into my arms. "I'm right here."
She clings to me for a long moment. "My dad and grandma raised me," she says, her voice soft. "But there was a fire…"
"You lost them in a fire?"
She nods, and my heart clenches.
"My c-cousin and uncle, too. I barely got out."
I groan, pulling her into my arms. They shake around her. Jesus. She was there, trapped in the flames while everyone she loved died around her.
I'm not a man who cries often, but I want to fucking weep for her.
"How old were you?"
"Thirteen," she whispers.
Goddammit.This is what she's been hiding. This is what's been hurting her. And she's been carrying it alone for years. Not even Olive knew.
"I'm so fucking sorry, sweetheart."
"M-me too."
"What about your mom?"
"I never had one. I mean…I have one. I just…" she sighs, shrugging a little. "She left when I was a few days old and never came back. They tried to find her after…well, after my dad was gone, but I don't think she wanted to be found. I ended up in boarding school instead." Her smile is tenuous. "I guess that's the silver lining to being a bookworm. They thought it was a better place for me than a group home."
Judging by the way she says it, I'm not sure that's true. God only knows what she went through there. But I understand a little better now.
There was a sailor in my unit with a past like hers. It didn't matter what people threw at him; he just carried it silently. Nothing we did haunted him. It was the other shit he struggledwith—being part of a team, letting himself relax, talking to people. Those were the things he couldn't master, almost like he was afraid to let himself believe he could get close or let his guard down.
I only realized why when I read his personnel file and saw what he'd been through before he ever enlisted. The battlefield was never his war. It was rebuilding himself from the wreckage of navigating a world that doesn't care enough about the children left behind. That shit doesn't cause scars; it carves fissures right across your soul.
Sarah's war is the same. Her silence is armor, forged because it was the only weapon she had back when she needed an army.
