“You’re a menace, you know that?” I whispered, my voice rough. He didn’t care. He just kneaded my knee, purring like a tiny, erratic engine, demanding to be the center of my universe. It wasn’t the noise of the real world I’d been waiting for, but as the purring vibrated through the floorboards and into my bones, it was enough to keep the ghosts at bay for one more hour.
73
Jackson
The ice was loud, but my head was louder. Every time Coach yelled an instruction, the word “Breathe” echoed in my mind. I was fighting the puck, fighting my concentration, fighting the constant, grinding anxiety that I shouldn’t have left Ryan alone. I’d promised to be back by noon, but the clock on the rink scoreboard was moving too slowly. I kept seeing his face, still, tense, wrapped in my hoodie, staring at the blank Seattle fog. Logan skated past, giving me a pointed look. “Head in the game, Hayes! You’re sloppy.” He was right. I was useless. I couldn’t shake the fear that in the silence of my house, the ghosts would finally corner him. He’s alone. The thought hit me with the force of a cross-check. I slammed my stick against the boards, the sound sharp and final. I skated straight off the ice, pulling off my helmet. “Coach, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go,” I said, not waiting for the inevitable fine or lecture. I didn’t give a damn. I just ripped off my skates and threw on my jacket, already sprintingfor the exit. The drive back to Tidehaven felt agonizingly slow. Every red light was a personal insult. My hands gripped the wheel, white-knuckled, praying I hadn’t made a terrible mistake. I burst through my front door, slamming it against the wall, not caring about the noise. “Ryan!” I shouted, dropping my bag instantly. The house was silent, but the air was heavy, charged with something dark and electric.
74
Ryan
The sudden, randompopfrom the central heating fan was enough to send a sharp jolt of ice through my spine. One moment, I was safe, wrapped in Jackson’s arms; the next, the ceiling was drywall, the scent of fresh sheets was replaced by diesel fumes, and I was back in the hallway. I physically recoiled, a low, guttural cry tearing out of me. I pushed Jackson away, adrenaline flooding my system, my hands shaking violently as I scanned the room for a threat that wasn’t there. Jackson didn’t panic. He didn’t try to hold me down or shout my name. He just waited, his presence a steady weight next to me. “Splash,” he whispered softly, using the name he only knew from the letters. “Look at me. Look at my chest.” I turned, my eyes wide and unfocused.
He guided my trembling hand, placing it flat over his heart. “Do you feel that? It’s me. Not the war. Listen to my heart. It’s beating. It’s here, Ryan. You’re home.” I buried my face into hisshoulder, clinging to the rhythm of his life, letting his steady beat drown out the ghosts of gunfire in my ears. He was my anchor, a quiet, immovable weight in a world that had just been blown apart.
I was still clinging to him, my body racked by tremors, letting his steady heartbeat drown out the ghosts of gunfire. My breath was ragged against his neck, pulling in the clean, safe scent of him. He held me tighter, a quiet, immovable weight, stroking my back with a steady rhythm. The intense fear began to recede, leaving behind a raw, shaky vulnerability. I realized I was pressed against his chest, completely unarmored, and he hadn’t flinched. He just kept holding me.
When the shaking finally subsided, I lifted my head slightly, resting my chin on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” I choked out, the word feeling small and inadequate. “Don’t you dare apologize,” Jackson murmured, kissing the top of my head. “Never. I’m right here.” I took a deep, shuddering breath, looking at the familiar shape of his collarbone. The memory of the flashback was still sharp, but the shame of it was less intense now that he had seen the worst and stayed.
I felt an urgent need to give him something, the most vulnerable piece of myself, the piece I’d hidden even in my letters. “You asked, in one of the letters,” I whispered, the words barely audible. “Why ‘Splash?” Jackson didn’t move, just waited, his attention absolute. “It was a training drill in Alaska,” I admitted, a ghost of a smile finally touching my mouth.
“We were crossing a frozen river, full gear, in the middle of the night. I hit a patch of black ice and went straight through, fuck, I thought I was going to die right there and then. The guys had to fish me out. It was terrifying; it was the first time my life flashed before me. I was ‘Splash’ before I even finished the week.”
He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against my side. Jackson leaned down, his eyes steady and full of a fierce, soft light.
He kissed me, a soft, long touch that promised eternity. “The soldier is impressive, Ryan, but the man who draws ducks to find his quiet? That’s the one I love. That’s the one I’m never letting go of.”
75
Jackson
The click of the front door locking behind me sounded too loud, too final. I hated leaving Ryan alone, even for the fifteen minutes it took for Logan to drive here from the rink. Ryan was asleep on the sofa, clutching the hockey jersey I’d sent him, and the sight was a constant, raw ache in my chest. He was home, but the desert was still very much in his head.
“He’s not going anywhere, Hayes. Go talk to Coach,” Logan had murmured, his hand resting on my shoulder before he settled onto the armchair, a silent, steady anchor in the living room. Logan understood. He knew Jackson Hayes, the defenseman, was now tethered irrevocably to Ryan Carter, the soldier.
I drove back to the rink, the familiar smell of melted ice and rubber a confusing comfort. I found Coach in his office, Donovan sitting across from him, already deep in conversation. They looked up as I walked in, their faces serious.
“Take a seat, Hayes,” Coach said, gesturing to the empty chair. “Logan told us you skipped the mandatory film session, as well as leaving training early.” Guilt washed over me. “I’m sor..”
“Skip the apologies, Hayes,” Coach said, his usual gruff tone replaced by a sincere warmth. “Logan gave us the rundown. We’re a team, Jackson. We know you’re looking after one of our own now. We know how important Ryan is to you, but no more leaving early.”
Donovan nodded, his expression open and supportive. “We’ve got the schedule covered, but we still need you on that ice. It’ll be good for you to keep the routine, and it’ll give Ryan some quiet space to decompress. You keep coming to practices and games, and let the team handle the heavy lifting for a while.”
I felt a massive wave of relief. “Thanks. I just… I worry about him when I’m at the rink. The quiet in the house can be just as loud as the desert for him sometimes.”
Donovan leaned forward, his voice low and steady.
“Listen, Jackson. Nate went through the same thing when he got back. Adjusting to the civilian quiet is a battle of its own. While you’re here with us, there’s a local veteran’s support group—The Forward Watch. It’s specifically for guys who just got home and are struggling with the transition. It might help Ryan to talk to people who actually speak the same language. I’ll send you the details.”
Coach stood up and clapped me on the shoulder. “The team’s behind you, Hayes. You bring your A game here, and we’ll make sure you have the support you need at home. Ryan’s family now.”
I walked out of the office feeling a fierce, raw gratitude. They didn’t just see Jackson the hockey player; they saw the man who had found his purpose in a soldier’s eyes. I climbed back into my truck, the fear replaced by a solid, unbreakable resolve. I wasn’tgoing to let the world break Ryan, and I wasn’t doing it alone. I had a team, and now, I had a mission to protect my new home.
76
Ryan
Jackson had told me we were leaving Tidehaven for the day, only revealing our destination when he pulled up to the curb of a wide, welcoming a house with a perfectly manicured lawn, Brody and Anna’s house, fuck. My stomach twisted into a painful knot. This was the one line I never wanted to cross; this was the physical space where my best friend was supposed to be. I needed to see Anna, to confirm that the world he left behind wasn’t crumbling, like I was.
