Page 90 of Sniper's Pride

“Believe me, I know.” She felt as if he’d taken one of those stones he was made out of and heaved it onto her chest. Then strapped it to her, leaving her to figure out how to breathe. “That’s part of the problem.”

And Mariah had done too many hard things to count recently.

But the hardest thing, the absolute hardest thing she had ever done in her life, was make herself turn her back on Griffin when she could still feel him all over her like a brand.

And then walk away.

Leaving him there in the dark, because one way or another—with him or alone—she was heading for the light.

Twenty-one

“I’m fine,” Griffin growled at Templeton.

For the nine hundredth time. That morning.

It had been two months since that night in the Georgia dirt, surrounded by the woods and the war inside him he knew he’d lost. Two months since Mariah had left him with the taste of her on his mouth and nothing but emptiness inside.

A man could get used to the emptiness. He kept telling himself he could. Any day now. All he had to do was commit to it.

He’d spent years swept clean of emotion. He’d turned himself into a machine years ago, then had gone even deeper into it after he’d left Arizona. He didn’t know why it was taking so long to get there this time.

Rory had come back to work and workouts after the first month, still pissed some loser had gotten the drop on him, but even more coldly determined to provehimself. Earning Jonas’s high opinion of him, as far as everyone else was concerned.

Everything and everyone wasfine.

“News flash, brother,” Templeton barked at him, half a shout and half that booming laughter of his. “You’re not fine.”

They were out on a partner sandbag carry after an early morning session of hand-to-hand combat and grappling that had left everyone bruised and amped up. Griffin and Templeton were sharing the weight of a two-hundred-pound sandbag along a nasty mile-long loop down by the water. Every time one of them dropped the bag, they had to bang out ten burpees before they could continue.

“The workout sucks,” Griffin bit out while the bag crushed his chest. “I don’t have to like it, but I will survive it, and yeah, that makes me perfectly fine.”

Templeton made no attempt to hide his skepticism, making Griffin wish he’d hit him harder during the hand-to-hand drills. “If you say so.”

The carry went on forever, because a measly little mile was never longer than when a man was staggering beneath extra weight for the length of it.

Worse than the physical discomfort, which Griffin was good at ignoring, was the time and space the mile gave him to note all the ways he was a failure to himself.

He couldn’t find his breath. He couldn’t lose himself in the workout the way he liked to. And as much as he pretended otherwise when anyone asked, he couldn’t seem to build back up all those compartments inside him.

He compensated for it by reinforcing the boundaries around him instead, hoping that if he armored up, itwould all work out the same. That he could fake it until he made it.

But so far, all it had done was make everything worse.

After the workout, he went back to his cabin, showered, and found himself staring off into space, the way he often did these days.

It was that weakness, he knew. It was taking him over.

Griffin couldn’t tell anymore if there was anything left in him but that weakness.

He was late to the morning briefing, and he knew that he was in for it when no one said a word. They all just exchanged glances, like he’d accidentally stumbled into a lunchroom filled with teenage girls to discover they’d all been sitting around talking about him.Terrific.

But no one approached him to get in his face about anything, not even after the meeting.

Griffin told himself he wasn’t the least bit let down. That he didn’twantto pick a fight with anyone.

He pushed his way out onto the lodge’s wide porch, pulling in a deep, settling breath—like that might work this time, when it hadn’t in two months. He paused when he saw he wasn’t alone in the crisp morning.

Everly was out there, crooning sweet nothings to Isaac’s dog, Horatio, as the moody cloud cover surrendered to the sunshine out over the far mountains. And Horatio was smarter than most humans, so he didn’t bother to turn around and look at Griffin. He leaned in to Everly’s hands instead, his tongue lolling out.

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