Once, years ago, fresh back from deployment, I ran into a different man from my unit, not the guy in the grocery store, in a gas station bathroom. High as a kite, pupils blown, nose bleeding. He looked at me like I was a ghost.
The weight of that version of me slammed into the man I was trying to be, and I spent an hour in my truck after, hands shaking on the steering wheel.
She doesn't know that story. I've never given it to her. Just like she's never handed me the worst of hers. That's what makes it hurt. We keep building a life over things we refuse to name. Now she's down the hall, alone with her ghosts, because she thinks letting me see them will change how I look at her.
Outside, sirens wail again. In the basement of the clubhouse, a monster we should have let die is breathing because my wife wouldn't let him go. My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
Nash. Two words. He coded.
I stare at the ceiling. Sloane told them she wouldn't bring him back a third time. I wait for the follow-up. It comes ninety seconds later.
Didn't make it.
I set the phone down. The world has one less monster breathing tonight.
Down the hall, behind a closed door, the woman I married is coming apart in quiet, controlled pieces.
I love her. I still don't know how to fix this. So I do the only thing I can tonight. I lie back on the bed we're supposed to share, stare into the dark, and stay awake. Waiting for morning and the next fight we're not ready for.
Chapter 26
Sloane
Iwaketothesound of my heartbeat. It pounds against my ribs, too loud and too fast. For a second, I have no idea where I am. The ceiling is unfamiliar; just a shade off-white, hairline crack running from the corner.
I'm in the guest room. The sheets carry detergent and whatever dryer sheets Maggie insists on, and everything in me reaches for a scent that isn't here.
Last night slams back in pieces. Donovan on the table. Blood on my hands. Malachi's voice slicing through the air as a blade. Knox's questions. My refusal to answer. The look on his face when I shut down. Again.
You don't get to—
You don't understand.
I can't—
Then my feet on the floor. My hands grabbed a pillow and an extra blanket. His voice at my back, rough and cracked, saying my name.
Sloane. Don't go.
I'd gone anyway.
I stare at the ceiling until the edges blur, until a younger version of me surfaces beneath a fluorescent light in a hospital wing, clipboard in hand, smile too bright. I blink hard, shove the image away, and sit up.
The house is quiet. Too quiet. I only hear the heating system hum and the faint tick of the hallway clock. That's it.
My phone reads 5:14 a.m. I doubt I slept more than an hour, all of it in jagged pieces where dream and memory tangled. My body feels flimsy and overused. I swing my legs over and wait for the room to settle. It doesn't. A low, vibrating tension under my skin, nerves firing on instincts I can't shut off.
If I stay… he'll wake up. He'll come find me. He'll knock on this door with that determined jaw and that stubborn tenderness, then he'll say talk to me.
And I'm not sure if I can hear that without breaking. I push to my feet.
Scrubs. Scrubs and layers. My body moves on autopilot as I dig in the dresser for the extra set I keep here. Dark blue, already soft from wear. I pull them on, then a long-sleeved shirt, then a hoodie over that.
Volunteer channels had lit up late last night. There was a mass casualty response, overflow triage, and a downtown pop-up clinic being erected because the local ERs were packed past capacity. I'd heard the notifications pinging in the kitchen where I stood staring at the fridge without seeing anything. Of course they were overwhelmed.
Olivia. Donovan's blast. The Holloway Building. Leo. Frankie's face when she heard, and the way her whole mouth crumpled before she turned away from everyone, grief a private injury she refused to let us touch.
I study my reflection with the thin light sneaking through the frosted window. My eyes ringed with shadows, the hazel dulled, red lines spiderwebbing the whites. Hair is a mess from sleep and stress; I rake it back and braid quickly, fingers on muscle memory.
