Page 62 of Hard to Lose

After a deep breath, he says, “After . . . everything, I needed to heal first. I was also still in the service and promised myself that I wouldn’t ever let someone get attached to me, because what if it happened again? I couldn’t put someone through that like my brothers who didn’t come home did.”

“Gunner, you don’t have to explain this.”

“I want to. Please. I’ve been sitting here serving drinks all night while feeling like shit that you opened yourself up to me and I didn’t do the same for you. Okay?”

“Okay,” I whisper.

“So it was my excuse while I was enlisted—I kept the women I dated during that time at a distance because I didn’t want to hurt them. It was only after I was discharged, and couldn’t use that excuse anymore, that I realized I also couldn’t let anyone get close until I dealt with the trauma of it all myself. I had to come to terms with the horrific things I saw and did. While I don’t think I ever will, I’ve learned to live with them. To cope with them. And for the longest while, I knew I had to fix myself before I’d let anyone else get close enough to see the scars on the inside that were way worse than the ones on the outside. I was afraid both sets would scare them away.”

A tear slides down my cheek and I shove it away. He just freaking laid bare his soul to me, his vulnerabilities, and I’m more than stunned. Men don’t do this. They don’t talk like this. They don’t open themselves up and explain.

Or at least I’ve never been with one who has. Then again, maybe I’ve never cared to listen.

But I care to listen to Gunner. I want to.

“You are amazing,” I whisper his words from earlier back to him, a smile on my lips as another tear slides down my cheek.

“I just needed to explain that to you. To let you know that I dated but didn’t get close like you, but for other reasons. You’re the first person I’ve ever shown both sets of scars to, Chase.”

“And both sets are beautiful to me.”

Gunner goes to speak and his voice breaks, so he stops and clears his throat. But I swear I hear him sniff on the other end of the line, and it makes me desperately want to wrap my arms around him and hug him tight.

It makes me hope that he’ll see the white lie I told at the beginning as nothing but a thoughtless, throwaway line I haven’t bothered to correct. And to beg him not to make it into a mountain.

He knows more about me than any other person. And I don’t want him to hate me. To think less of me.

Because I want more of him like this.

More of him.

Period.

“I, uh—need to get back to the bar.”

“Yes. Okay,” I say. Silence fills the connection, but he doesn’t hang up yet. “Liquid courage or not, telephone or in-person . . . thank you for telling me.”

“It was good to hear your voice. Night, Chase.”

“Night, Gunner.”

And when the connection breaks, I sit with my phone clutched in my hand against my chest. Isn’t that the classic Gunner I’ve come to know? Not the man he talks about being and having to heal from, but a man who wants to make sure I don’t feel more vulnerable than him. A man who called to answer a question that I haven’t thought twice about since I got back to my hotel room.

Who is this man and how is he so, so good?

My dandelion wish from earlier comes back to me, and I smile as I snuggle deeper under my comforter.

For more nights like this.

I thought that true at the time and I hope it more so now.

After our dance in the rain.

After the phone call I just received.

Definitely more nights like this.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE