Page 58 of Citadel

But sitting in the dark next to the small campfire afterward, I keep picturing Breanna. What is she doing right now? What’s happening to her? What she’s forced to experience in order to stay alive.

It hurts so much I have to twist up my face to keep from crying. I look to the side so Cole won’t see.

“Stop it,” he mutters.

I blink and turn back. “What?”

“Stop imagining it. That does no good.”

“What makes you think you know what’s going on in my mind?” I ask the question because being obstinate with him is easier than falling apart over Breanna.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I know what’s going on in your mind. You’re the most resilient person I’ve ever met. What else would make you crumple like that?”

At those words, I break down for real. My shoulders shake, and my face twists dramatically in an attempt to hold back audible sobs.

He makes a rough sound in his throat and wraps an arm around me, pulling me against him. I cry into his shirt for only a few seconds before I manage to compose myself.

I try to pull away then, but he won’t let me. His arm won’t budge. So I lean against his chest, occasionally gasping when emotion surges too high, and accept the comfort he’s offering me.

“We’ve got to get her back, Cole. What are we going to do?” I ask at last.

“I don’t know. I’m still thinking. I haven’t come up with any ideas yet, but I will. I promise.”

I pull away from him just enough to see his face. His eyes. They’re dead sober. Intense. He means it. “I keep thinking of what she’s having to go through—”

“I told you to stop that.”

“I can’t control what happens in my mind.”

“You can control it some. Think of something else. Don’t keep circle thinking on it—spiraling—when all it does is hurt you.”

I swallow hard, trying to do as he suggests. Clear my mind of all these bleak, futile visuals of Breanna. When I try to straighten up, he pulls me back against him, and I somehow end up slumped over with my head in his lap.

I shouldn’t allow it. It doesn’t seem appropriate. But he starts to stroke my hair gently, and it feels better than anything has in such a long time.

So I readjust to get more comfortable, and I stay there.

“We can’t keep doing this,” I whisper. “Keep chasing them down but never getting anywhere. We can’t keep doing it.”

“I know.” He twists my messy waves around his fingers. I took out my braids this evening so I could brush my hair.

“It’s accomplishing nothing but making us miserable.”

“I know that too.”

“It’s no way to live.”

His hand grows still in my hair. His voice is gruffer. Softer. “That, I know.”

I turn my head to look up at his face again. “Is this how you’ve been living all this time? Endlessly chasing after your brother but never getting anywhere?”

For a moment, I don’t think he’s going to answer. Then, “Yeah. It’s been exactly like this. Except I’ve been alone.”

I shake my head. Lick my lips. Think before I respond. “Do you ever think about… think about doing something else?”

“Giving up on my brother, you mean?”

“Y-yeah.”

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