Page 102 of The Vigilant

And now, I finally paid the price for my mistake all those years ago that cost Jon his life. I finally had the woman I wanted within reach, finally laid all I wanted as a choice for her to make, only for the truth to make her turn away.

For five days, I hadn’t felt the bite of her words or the fire of her determination or the heat of her touch. Five days, she’d avoided me, and I respected her choice and gave her her space.

But no amount of respect had been able to quash my hope—hope that she’d change her mine. So, like an almost-forty-year-old fool, I slept on the damn couch with the door open like a closed door was the only barrier stopping her from coming to me. From forgiving me. From letting me give her all the things she deserved.

Tonight, I’d even lit the fire like some kind of lure to tempt her to come in on her way back from her evening workout. Instead, I’d laid on the couch and listened to her stealth-like footfalls pass right by the door.

It was at that point I closed my eyes and began to wonder if, in an ironic turn of fate, the daughter of a man whose death I was responsible for would, in turn, be responsible for mine.

“Hard to rest when we’ve got a girl missing and a trifecta of criminals involved.” The Pakistani drug lords. The Wah Ching. And good old-fashion American corporate criminals.

“Or when you’re missing a girl and have a trifecta of pain plaguing you.”

“Trifecta of pain?”

“Mental. Emotional. Physical.”

I grunted, his words hitting that nail on its head. “I’m fine.”

“You know…I don’t think you’ve ever lied to me before.”

My eyes sprung open, the notion snapping the weak defense I was clinging to. There was no point in lying to him. Or to myself.

“I told her what happened to her father, Harm. My part in it,” I rumbled low. “She has every right to hate me for the loss I caused her, and I have zero right to ask her not to.”

“How many times are you going to fall on your mighty sword for Jon’s decision?”

Harm was the only one who knew exactly what happened on my last mission. The other guys knew Jon didn’t make it, but they didn’t know my part. Never seemed right to share it. Rhys and Dare were still reeling from Ryan’s death. So was Harm, but he was the only one who would understand the kind of responsibility I’d carried. And he was the only one who’d sat me down in this very room with a bottle of expensive whiskey and said we weren’t leaving until I told him the truth or the bottle finished.

Both things ended up happening.

“Only fell on it once,” I muttered. “Not the kind of thing that comes out easily.”

“Especially when you make no attempt to remove it.”

I let out a deep sigh. “What do you want me to do, Harm?” My voice cracked at the end, and I’d pretend it was just from exhaustion. “You can’t force forgiveness.”

“You’re not responsible for Jon’s death. Not only was it what he signed up for, it was his team. His mission. Ultimately, his call.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t shoulder some of the blame…or that she shouldn’t hate me for my part in it.”

“Does she hate you?” He paused, letting me think he was done before he delivered the final blow. “Or is she just doing what you want her to do?”

“What?” This time, I didn’t just sit up. I stood and faced him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You want to blame yourself, Ty. Tell me you didn’t tell her what happened to Jon and paint him the hero and you the villain?” He let out a sad mockery of a laugh. “Hell, you talk about forcing forgiveness, but knowing you, I bet you didn’t even apologize.”

“I—” I broke off, my strained mind picking through the conversation for the millionth time and realizing I couldn’t tell him he was wrong. Fuck. “I didn’t,” I admitted roughly, fresh pain splicing between my ribs. “But not because I’m not sorry. Jesus. I’m more fucking sorry than she’ll ever know.”

“There’s a big difference between not apologizing because you’re not sorry and not apologizing because you don’t think you deserve forgiveness,” Harm replied slowly, his firm gaze unwavering where it held mine. “And Sutton’s a sharp fucking girl. I’m pretty sure she picked up on which reason kept you from saying sorry.”

I took a slow breath, surprised I could fit any air through the tightness in my chest.

“You took the blame and then basically told her you didn’t want to be forgiven—that you wanted to continue to walk around with the damn sword in your chest forever.”

“Fuck.” I reached up and rubbed the back of my neck, feeling like a fucking fool. Not because I want this to change her decision about me—about us—but because she deserved a goddamn apology.

“You also deserve to be happy, Ty.”

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