Page 9 of Second Song

“Got it.” The farmer shoves away his phone and fishes a multi-tool from his pocket. “Thanks a lot.”

“No problem.” I almost leave it at that. Honesty makes me tag on, “It wasn’t me who went over the cliff to save it.”

“Who did?” The farmer leans around me, perhaps scanning the camper van, but it isn’t Matt I mention.

“Someone a lot braver.”

This is what Rowan didn’t seem to have any idea of. I saw the edge he hurled himself over and I saw the rocks from close up that could have smashed his brains out. Him risking that outcome was stupid, but everything that came after? “He didn’t let go of it for a second.” That’s courage, plain and simple. So was him heading off for a last-chance interview that must scare him shitless given how his chest kept hitching. I’ve seen men react like that in combat and watched them grind to a dead stop. He kept going, didn’t he? And as for snatching a kiss from a bloke built like me?

Yeah, he’s brave. And bravery?

That’s what I’ve run out of.

It’s also why I shut Matt down when I get back in the van and he says, “The next meetup?—”

“Leave it, yeah? At least until I get this business meeting squared away.”

Five minutes later, I’m back at the campsite with Matt in step beside me. He matches my quick march to the shower block, the weirdo, but he also passes me a towel once I’ve washed away sand and sheep shit. He also tells me why he’s my shadow. “You can’t keep avoiding everyone.”

“I’m not.” I’m saving them from more pain. That’s different.

He huffs. “You missed every meetup last year. Miss another and they’ll send out a search party.”

This campsite is almost on the beach. The roar of waves is loud, but it still doesn’t drown out my guilt. “I know, I know.” I can’t help covering an ear as if that will muffle how weak that comes out sounding. Of course, Matt notices that move, the observant fucker.

“It’s bad today?”

“The tinnitus?” Such a stupid reason to blow up more lives than my own. “It’s the same as fucking ever.”

“Radio NSFW still playing nonstop in your noggin?”

Nonstop fucking whistles is exactly what I can’t tune out. Nonstop swooshing or whirring as well. Don’t get me started on different kinds of humming static or bells that wake me from deep sleeps.

Matt won’t quit either once I’m dressed for a business meeting. He keeps yapping all the way to the base of a different cliff, where a pair of boulders shield the foot of a stone staircase cut into its steep face. I climb while Matt lists people who’ve asked after me since my medical discharge. I’m almost at the top when he says, “And Twin Two asked?—”

I turn on my heel, and maybe that makes me as bad as Rowan—these steps are narrow and slippery, so I lurch, but Matt’s got me.

When hasn’t he?

He’s tracked me down so often. Found me on so many worksites since my discharge. Stayed with me when I’ve made it clear that all I want is silence. He hasn’t ever given up. Not even once. That means I have to listen, and not to what blast damage left me with as a permanent going-away gift.

In the background, surf crashes and seagulls swoop. These gulls don’t play chase like those down at Porthperrin’s harbour when Rowan surprised me into responding to a kiss, one I would have carried him back up those stairs to continue if a clock hadn’t been ticking. These gulls shriek, and so do more sirens at Matt’s suggestion.

“Come back to Devon with me after your meeting, yeah?”

I glance to the right as if I’ll see the county line between Cornwall and Devon—between me and Matt’s home turf. It’s also where we used to be stationed together and spent every leave rebuilding a pair of cottages. I wonder if he’s made much progress lately, but I still snap, “No.”

Matt isn’t done trying. “You can help me with the renovation.”

“You don’t need my help with that.” He doesn’t need me at all. These days, he’s safe and sound where no one wants to shell him out of existence while his bestie ignores the warning that could save him. “You don’t need me to watch your back.” Anyone else would be better than me. “You could finish renovating the whole place yourself with your eyes closed.”

The roar of the incoming tide almost washes away his answer. “I want you to do it with me. I miss your stupid face.”

Now that I’m a civilian, I shouldn’t still get knocked sideways by blasts, but each time Matt tells me I’m still needed fucks with my forward motion.

I can’t go back.

I clear my throat. “I won’t be in the West Country for long.”

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