“Fighting. Facing new challenges and battles gave me a thrill I never could have imagined.”
I think of my own battles—the ones no one pinned medals to. The ones fought in locked rooms.
“I think we both know something about that,” I say.
His forehead creases as his gaze softens. “Yeah, I imagine we do.”
It’s at this moment that I realize once again that Jett doesn’t know the full extent of my truth. Only that I’m running from my past. I’ve never told him about Elias and how much pain I’ve suffered at his hands. This is a conversation we need to have, but there’s no way in hell I’m bringing it up now.
I trace upward, over his ribs, his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my palm. I focus on each beat, at every reminder he’s here with me.
“There was a guy,” he says after a moment. “My best friend over there, Rafe.”
Something about the way he says the name tells me everything.
“Tell me about him.”
A real smile touches his mouth this time.
“Absolute smartass,” he says. “Always pushing boundaries and buttons. Always joking, even when shit was bad.Especiallythen. He was like this puppy you couldn’t escape. But man, did he have your back. He knew when shit was serious and was dedicated to the job.”
I smile, even though I can sense there’s something deeper to his revelation.
“He used to say, if he didn’t make it out to tell his wife he died a hero,and handsome. Which was a lie… Fucker was brave, but handsome… I’ve seen goats better looking than this fool.”
I laugh, pressing my cheek to his chest.
“He would’ve loved you,” he adds.
The word catches.
“Loved?”
He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply.
“IED,” he explains. “During our second deployment. Somewhere in God knows where. We were twenty-two.”
I gasp as pain grips my heart for this man who lost another person close to him.
“I’m so sorry, J,” I say, but the word tastes bitter on my tongue. It’s too insignificant of a word.
“He was standing right next to me.” He continues, a shakiness to his voice before he clears it. “One second, he was there, talking about how he couldn’t wait to get home to his son, teach him how to fish, and the next…”
He trails off, and silence washes over us.
“I still hear it sometimes…the loud blast and the silence after.”
My throat tightens. “Did you…talk to anyone about it?
He shrugs. “I went through some counseling the military mandated, but never shared too much. Didn't want to look like a guy who couldn’t handle it. I kept going, kept leading, kept pushing to make sure my guys got home.”
“But what about you?” I ask, worry edging my tone.
“I didn’t know how to deal,” he admits. “I left you, and Dad died right after basic training from a freak accident. I wasn’t there for any of it. Rafe was gone. Then…I knew I lost you.”
The words hit harder than anything else he’s said.
“I’m still here.”
