Page 108 of The Soldier

I’m trying to decipher from his message if he knows what happened last night. It almost sounds like he does. He never calls mebaby.It’s alwayslittle wolf. The Marshall I know would’ve burned the hospital to the ground to get to me.

I’m so messed up. I want him to know. I want him to come to me, but I also don’t ever want to see him again.

Liar.

There’s a strong possibility that Aidan rang him, which makes sense. I would do the same in his shoes. So, if that’s thecase and he decided to respond by sending me a text message, then all his talk has just been that.

I start typingJust send flowers...then delete it.

If all I’m worth is a fucking text, then he can go to hell.

“What did he say?” Briar asks.

I place the phone on the counter upside down. “Just hopes I’m okay.”

No one knows that Marshall is the person I rang and rang (and rang!) when I was collapsed outside the hotel covered in vomit. When I was scared, drunk, and trying to get the restraints from my abuser off my wrists.

Marshall.

He was the one I wanted. Needed.

He was the one who ignored me as I sat there trembling.

He is the one who didn’t call when he woke and saw all those missed calls from a girl he fucked the night before. It was hardly a booty call.

It doesn’t matter what he assumed, if Marshall genuinely cared about me, he would’ve answered his fucking phone. Or called first thing in the morning.

Actions speak louder than words.

I take some responsibility. I went into that bathroom and had sex with him. I refused to admit my feelings and let him walk away upset.

I climbed into the Uber and used Roger’s bathroom.

But I never asked for what happened next.

Roger should have stopped.

What he did to me was to hurt Marshall and get revenge. The two of them have some history. Neither of them chose to tell me. Pretending all night not to know one another.

Then, after fucking me, Marshall left me behind with that asshole.

How dare he?

I let out another loud sigh, grab two sodas out of the fridge, and hand one to Briar. Then sit down beside her on the other stool.

We sip our drinks in silence.

I need to tell Alice but I don’t have the energy. Even if Mom replied, I probably wouldn’t answer at the moment.

Suddenly Briar starts crying—like really crying—and I wrap my arms around her. “Babe. It’s okay.”

It’s not okay.

“Oh god, I’m sorry. I’m supposed to be looking after you.”

I smile into her hair.

“You are.”

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