I give her arm a reassuring squeeze, a silentI’ve got youbefore closing the door behind me. I grab a pair of my softest boxers and a faded hoodie—one she used to steal in high school—and leave everything on my bed before leaving my room. With the soft click of the door, I feel like I can finally take a deep breath.
My footsteps carry me down the stairs, where I grab my milkshake from the kitchen table. I pause in the doorway and decide to place Wren’s in the freezer. I don’t see her eating anything right now.
Dropping onto the couch, I take a swig of the thick chocolate milkshake. A cold wave rushes through my brain, and I bring my hand to my head. I squint my eyes as I fight the brain freeze and I’m thrown back in time.
While I was away fighting a war, she was here fighting her own battle, one she fought alone when I had my platoon.
I can’t let that thought go.
Everyone knew what I was facing—six years of sand, fire, and bodies…so many bodies. Waking up in a sweat with the acrid smell of smoke and gunpowder burning my lungs. Losing Rafe. Fuck. Watching the light go out in one of my buddy’s eyes. Coming home and realizing I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t fit the shape of this town. War changed me. It carved me into this new version of myself. One who isn’t a fuck up anymore. I’m calmer. Broodier, if you ask my sister. Quieter. I don’t let my emotions control me. Except that night at the bar when Wren was being harassed.
People knew the reason for my changes, but her?
She fought her war alone, behind closed doors. Against someone who was supposed to love and support her, not turn her into someone she couldn’t recognize.
I fought with weapons.
She fought in silence.
Everyone failed her. Producers, employers, friends. No one saw the light tamper out of her eyes.
But most of all, I failed her. If I hadn’t convinced myself she was better without me, she could have avoided all this pain.
I drag a hand down my face, staring at the blank TV as the familiar taste of acid burns in my throat from the guilt I carry. When she needed someone the most, I was gone. Hell, I was the one to blame.
The stairs creak, and when I look up, my breath catches in my throat.
Wren stands at the bottom of the steps, hair piled on top of her head, cheeks flushed from the heat of the shower. She’s wearing my high school football hoodie with Silo Bay Hawks cracked and faded across the chest. It’s big on her, the hem kissing the tops of her thighs, my boxers nowhere in sight.
She’s not Wren Drummond, former reality star. No, she’s Wren Drummond, the innocent girl I fell in love with. The girl who used to steal my clothes because she wanted to be closer to me. My childhood best friend, who grew into a woman in frontof me. She challenged me, allowed me to be vulnerable. She was my safe place, and I took her for granted.
“You look beautiful.” The words slip from my lips in a whisper.
She ducks her head the way she used to when she’d get shy around me. Except this time, there’s hesitation in the movement, like she’s waiting for another shoe to drop.
“Come here,” I say gently.
She walks toward me, slow and unsure as she rounds the couch. When she’s close enough, I wrap my hand around her wrist and tug her toward me. Wren falls on my lap, melting into my chest as she tucks her head under my chin.
She smells like me.Like mine.
I press my lips to her forehead and feel her shoulders relax even more. “I’m so fucking sorry for everything you went through. For leaving you.”
Her breath hitches. “It’s not your fault.”
“But it is,” I argue.
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” she whispers. “It’s all out in the open, and we can move on.”
I sigh. “Are you hungry?”
She shakes her head.
“What do you need?”
She shifts on my lap, her head tipping up so she can look at me. Soft, delicate fingers trail up my chest and goosebumps erupt over my skin before she grips the fabric of my shirt.
“You.”
