Page 7 of Always You

“Trust it will work out,” he murmured.

“I’ll try,” I whispered, then steeled myself and headed to the welcome room, knocking on the door, not wanting to startle Jazz. For a moment, there was silence, and then, the sound of shuffling feet approached from the other side. The door opened, and a wave of citrus scent wafted out, the smell of the soap or shampoo he must have used.

This adult Jazz was so different from the boy I’d known. Twenty years had passed, and his dark eyes revealed an old soul. He wore clothes from the closet, but he’d put on so many layers that he resembled a Michelin man.

My heart clenched at the sight. The excessive clothing was a clear sign—he’d selected as much as he could, and it was apparent he wasn’t planning on staying. He was gearing up to go out into the cold, back to the streets. It made me want to grab him and make him stay. After everything he’d been through, that he still felt more at home on the streets than here broke my already fractured heart into tiny pieces.

“Hey, Jazz,” I forced out, trying to keep my voice steady and my expression neutral. “Ready?” I attempted a small smile, but it was hard to muster. Seeing him like this, on the threshold between the safety of these walls and the icy hell of a Chicago winter, I felt helpless.

He shrugged, not meeting my eyes. “I’m leaving,” he said.

He was clearly preparing to go, his bags held tight to his chest, all his possessions in them. I wondered if he’d taken anytoiletries—I hoped he had. I wanted to say anything that could convince him to stay, to give Guardian Hall a chance. But the words stuck in my throat, tangled up in the realization that maybe, just like the other veterans who’d been here, the freedom of the streets was still more comforting than the confines of any shelter.

I couldn’t stop him.

“Will you see the doctor first? He’s here for you now.”

I gestured down the hall, and he glanced that way, his breathing raspy, a cough breaking the silence. “No. I’m leaving.”

“Because of me?” I wished I could take back the words as soon as they left my mouth. Fuck. Why did I say that? His leaving was a choice he was free to make, clear of any connection he might have to me. Why was I making this personal? I knew better than this. Less than half of the people who walked through these doors actually stayed, the rest left searching for something else in their lives. “I get you hate me, but don’t walk away. You’re ill. Please, just let the doc look at you before you go.”

He stared at me then, and his eyes were bright. “I don’t hate you,” he grumbled.

Hope swelled inside me. “You don’t?”

He studied me for a moment, coughed, and then, in a soft voice he delivered a twisted version of the line I’d thrown at him all those years ago. “I don’t feel anything for you.”

Chapter Five

JAZZ

As soon asthey left my mouth, I immediately regretted the words, a raw slice of vulnerability I hadn’t intended to expose. It felt as if I’d opened a door I couldn’t close again, revealing too much when I was already struggling to keep it together. And there was Alex, standing between me and the door, making me feel cornered, although he wasn’t trying to.

I put out a hand, feeling suddenly dizzy. It was as if all the exhaustion I’d been ignoring hit me at once, along with a wave of panic. “I just…” I couldn’t finish, couldn’t find the words to explain the mix of fear and fatigue washing over me.

Seeing the worry on Alex’s face didn’t help. Physically, he hadn’t changed, not in twenty years, but his dark eyes were filled with pity.

Pity, for fuck’s sake.

I was a grown man. I’d fought for my country. I’d killed people to keep him safe—what right did he have to pity me? I blinked. Was it pity or compassion?Fuck.Seeing him made everything more real, more immediate, and I was terrified, but not of him. I was scared of breaking down, of losing whatever control I had left over myself.

Everything felt too intense, too much. The panic I thought I had managed to bury deep down began to surface, fast and unforgiving. With a shaky hand extended, trying to get him to move, I was ill and close to collapse. I held up my palm toward Alex, a silent plea for space, for a moment to collect myself, and the pity or compassion became concern. I needed to catch my breath.

I wasn’t able to articulate the maelstrom of fear, exhaustion, and terror threatening to engulf me. I was terrified, not of Alex, but of what was happening inside me, of all the broken pieces of my heart that scraped and tore and left me bleeding out.

The dizziness intensified, a disorienting spin that made the room tilt. I was aware of how close I was to crumbling, to falling apart right in front of him. It was a vulnerability I had never allowed myself to show, a crack in the armor I had taken care to construct around myself.

“I need to go,” I think I said, and hugging the wall, I made my way past Alex.

He stepped back and held up his hands to tell me he wasn’t stopping me from leaving. Only he was talking to me. I couldn’t hear what he was saying over the rushing in my head. Then another man was there, smaller, in a white coat. A doctor? I focused on the way light hit the stethoscope around his neck, and I inched closer to the door.

“… Jazz…” He was talking as well.

It was too much; it was chaos.

“Leave me alone.”

“… breathe… in… out…”

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