“Yes.” I can feel her eyes still on me, and I force myself to meet them. “I shouldn’t want you the way I do. I shouldn’t …” My throat tightens. “Christ, Elena. I watched your husband die. I came home, and he didn’t. Some days it feels like I came back by mistake.”
Pain flickers across her face, but there’s no pity. “I know Tyler was your friend.”
“He was more than that.” My voice roughens. “He was one of the best men I ever served with. And now every time I look at you, I’m reminded that Tyler’s gone—” I swallow hard. “And that I care about you more than I have any right to.”
She doesn’t say anything, and the silence is both mercy and torture, so I keep going.
“I told myself it was just guilt. Leftover loyalty to Tyler. Then I told myself it was the trauma. That I’m too damaged to drag anybody into this, especially you.” I brace my hand on the back of the nearest chair and keep my grip there. “But that’s not the whole truth, and the trauma gives me a reason to pretend keeping my distance is noble.”
Elena starts to speak, but I keep going. “I’m not good at this part. I know how to carry weight and how to take a hit and keep moving. But I don’t know how to stand in front of my dead friend’s wife and admit I want her. That I care about her. That some selfish part of me is glad she looks at me the way she does, even knowing I have no business wanting that.”
Her breath catches, and I look away.
“I should keep myself out of it,” I say. “You deserve that much.”
For a second, it’s quiet enough that I hear sounds from elsewhere in the station. Air in the ducts. Voices blurred into white noise. A faint click of metal.
Then Elena steps closer.
When I lift my head, she’s right there. Her eyes are still red, and her mouth is trembling a little, but she’s firm on her feet. “You don’t get to decide what I deserve.”
She reaches up, no hesitation or pity in her actions, and lays a hand against my jaw. “And you don’t get to make caring about me sound ugly because you survived and Tyler didn’t.”
I close my eyes for a beat at the warmth of her hand and the weight of her words.
“You were there,” she says softly. “You came back carrying something awful, and I hate what it cost all of you, but I’m not going to punish you for being alive.”
“Elena—”
“No.” She brushes her thumb along my jaw. “You cared about Tyler. You care enough about me to tell me the truth when you knew it would hurt me. I don’t want distance from you, Calder. Not the kind you’ve been forcing because you think it’s the right thing to do.”
My hands ache to touch her again, but I won’t. “I care about you, but I’m damaged enough that getting close to anyone is a bad bet. Whatever I have to give would come with too much darkness. Too many nights where I’m somewhere else in my head.”
“Calder—”
“I’m not built to love you the way you deserve.”
She should step back, but instead, she lifts up on her toesand takes my face in both her hands. When I look down at her, she tugs me closer, then kisses me.
For one stunned second, I don’t respond.
Then instinct, hunger, and relief hit all at once, deep and hard enough to make me falter. I set my hands on both sides of her waist and press carefully, then more firmly as she moves closer.
I start to kiss her back, and there’s grief and sadness and anger tangling between us. There’s the sharp edge of two people who’ve been circling something for too long.
She slides her fingers into my hair, while I kiss her like a man who’s spent months starving. A growl comes from my throat as I pull her so close, our bodies bleed together.
When the need for air finally forces us apart, I’m breathing hard.
“Elena.”
“I know,” she whispers.
I almost laugh at that. “Do you?”
She keeps a hand on my face, another on my shoulder. “I know you’re scared of hurting me. I know you think your damage makes you dangerous to love.” She slides a hand down to my chest. “None of that changes what’s here.”
Something in me cracks open fully.
