Page 52 of Shades of You

“I turned and walked away. It was the longest walk of my life. I drove straight to Key Largo, where the military recruiter’s office was located. I told the guy to sign me up with the Marines. He wanted to know if I was in trouble with the law. I assured him that wasn’t the problem, though I refused to tell him what the problem was. He asked if I was sure about this decision. All I could say was that it was the only certain thing about me.”

I stared at the distant horizon where sea met sky but only felt the gaping wound of the empty, tortured boy I’d been. “I’d heard that the Marines break you down and then build you back up. I thought maybe they could make me into someone worthy of forgiveness. That night, I called Dad and told him I wasn’t coming back. I left Calypso Key and the person I used to be behind.” I let out a long breath, a weight lifting off my chest as I finally reached the end. “And I didn’t look back. I never spoke to Evan until Gabe’s wedding brought us together again.”

Brenna’s soft hitch pulled me back to the beach where we sat, her warm, giving presence a stark contrast to the chaotic whirlwind I’d just recounted. A single tear rolled down her cheek, and I resisted the urge to reach out and catch it.

“I’ve heard about the accident, of course,” Brenna said,her wavering voice betraying her own turmoil. “But I thought you were diving for… lost gold?”

“Gold?” The word felt foreign, almost laughable now. “No, it was never about that stupid imaginary gold. It was a trophy—a goddamn baseball trophy.”

She nodded, absorbing the gravity of what a simple object had cost. And her eyes brimmed not with judgment but with a deep well of understanding. It was hard to look at her, to see the sympathy written all over her face. Harder still to admit how a gesture meant to celebrate my brother’s achievement had spiraled into the worst event of my life.

“Nobody knows about the trophy,” I murmured, my voice hoarse with emotion. “You’re the first person I’ve ever told that part to.”

“God, Hunter,” Brenna murmured, raising our clasped hands to kiss the back of mine. “I’m so sorry.”

I gave her a half-smile, the effort it took making my face feel like it was cracking. “It’s not your fault, Brenna. It’s no one’s fault but mine.”

“Stop,” she said firmly, fiercely. Her willowy figure turned toward me like a reed in the wind, strong despite its slenderness. “You always do this—take the world’s weight on your shoulders. But some things are just… out of our hands.”

God, I wanted to believe her. And as I searched her imploring eyes, a sense of relief washed over me. Brenna’s presence was as calming as the gentle sea breeze, and for the first time since that fateful day, the crushing weight inside me lifted ever so slightly.

“It feels strange,” I said, my voice stronger now. “Like I’ve been carrying around this lead anchor, and it’s just gotten lighter.”

“Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting, Hunter,” Brennasaid softly. “It means you’re choosing not to let it pull you down anymore.”

Her words struck a chord within me. This woman, whose family had been pitted against mine for over a century, was offering me solace and understanding without a second thought. I lifted her hand to brush my lips over it.

The brush rustled softly, a whisper of life that drew our attention away from the dark memories swirling between me. A doe, the size of a large dog, nudged her way into the clearing, followed by two tiny, spotted fawns that stepped with spindly legs. They were a picture of innocence and resilience, completely oblivious to the weight of human sorrow.

I couldn’t help it—the corner of my mouth twitched upward, a reluctant smile breaking through the storm clouds in my soul. The animals before us knew nothing of treachery or the bitterness of regret.

“Well, would you look at that,” I whispered.

“Hard to believe how these deer thrive in such a changing world. But they’re survivors.” She reached up to brush her fingers against my beard. “Just like you are. And your brother.”

A tremor ran through me, a seismic shift threatening to shatter the fragile composure I’d cobbled together. My heart clenched, the pain sharp and sudden, but I swallowed it back, refusing to unravel before her.

Instead, I bridged the distance between us, a force stronger than gravity pulling me. Our lips met in a kiss that was both a balm for old wounds and the spark of something new, something bright and terrifying in its intensity. Her lips were soft, yielding, and every bit as healing as the words she had offered me. Pulling back just enough tosee her face, I rested my forehead against hers, the warmth of her skin seeping into mine.

“I feel better,” I admitted, the truth of it surprising me. “Thank you for listening.”

“Of course.” Her gaze locked onto mine with an unwavering certainty that made my chest ache. “I’ll always be here for you, Hunter.”

The doe glanced over at us, then turned and led her small family back into the bush. And without either of us needing to say anything, the moment was gone. Pushing to my feet, I pulled Brenna up, and we padded through the soft sand. I couldn’t quite shake the image of those deer from my mind—the stubborn persistence they represented, the unspoken promise that life endures against odds.

Hope in its most natural form.

As we approached Brenna’s car with its faded blue paint reflecting the bright sun, I fought an internal battle. I had laid bare the darkest parts of my past, exposed the festering wounds I fought so hard to conceal from everyone. Brenna’s presence, her quiet strength and patient ear, had become an integral part of my healing, as vital as air.

I loved her.

It was as simple and as complicated as that. I loved her now more than ever. More than the desperate wishes I’d clung to in my dark moods over the years.

Yet, how could I ask her to love a man who had caused so much pain?

My heart raced with the words I yearned to say. Her hand felt warm and sure in mine. She didn’t recoil from my touch, even knowing the ugliness I hid inside. That alone should’ve given me courage, but it only intensified my trepidation.

Her obvious feelings for me, the way shelooked at me like I was more hero than villain, only convinced me further that she deserved better than a broken man with a fractured past. But as she unlocked her car and we got in, I knew I wasn’t noble enough to end things between us. I might have had the courage to face down the Taliban, but I didn’t know how to face a future without her in it.

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