Page 35 of Blood Sweeter than Honey

The realization hits me square in the fucking chest.

It’s amazing how such a simple gesture like being an infallible, nonjudgmental presence can be so powerful. And while I’ve experienced it with my brothers in arms… It’s not something I’ve ever remotely experienced with the women I’ve been with.

My chest squeezes tightly with a myriad of emotions: surprise, gratitude, affection, and most of all, some inner knowing.

This woman is for me.

Who gives a fuck that it’s barely been two days.

My soul recognizes her the way the earth recognizes the quake before it breaks—silent, certain, and powerful enough to rewrite everything in its path.

Winnow proceeds to take my fucking breath away when her delicate hand curls around my much larger, rougher one and brings my palm to her mouth. She presses a firm but all-too-quick kiss to it before settling my hand on her thigh… as if she senses my tumultuous emotions and chooses to be my life raft, so I don’t fucking drown.

It emboldens me to power through to reveal at least a portion of what happened with Seraphine. Lest she one day stumble upon one of her deluded love letters.

“I should also mention that a few years before I retired from the military, some years ago, I ended a relationship with a woman who wasn’t terribly gracious about me ending it. To put it mildly.”

Winnow’s brow hardens. “In what way? And why’d you end it, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“In a nutshell, I caught her cheating on me, and when I ended it, she wasn’t keen on taking no for an answer. I haven’t seen her since, but I still receive letters from her every now and then.”

Memories of Seraphine surge to the forefront of my mind.

“How often do you get the letters? What do they say? Do you respond?”

“Once every couple of months, maybe. I haven’t opened one in years, I just throw them away, but I reckon about a year and a half ago is the last time I skimmed one of them. It was the same as the first ones she sent. She just talks about herself. Pretends like nothing happened. Tells me what’s going on in her life. How great her life is and how much she’s changed…”

The concern on Winnow’s face is like an anvil on my chest.

“And do you still feel anything at all for her? Wish that things would have gone differently?”

The answer I give does not even begin to express my vehemence, but it is completely honest nonetheless.

“Not even remotely. My only regret is that I didn’t leave sooner, but it was a valuable lesson. All the warning signs were there, and I was too stubborn, and perhaps naive, to accept them for what they were. Since then, I’ve learned to always ask myself, ‘What is this teaching me?’.That particular situation taught me to set boundaries, standards, and that when people reveal whothey are in all the things they do and don’t do—let them—and don’t make excuses for them.”

Winnow gradually nods as though seeing me through new eyes, and it makes my gut churn.

“What made you stay in the first place if it was so bad, though?”

I blow out a heavy breath. “An unwarranted sense of obligation and loyalty.”

“Obligation?”

Fuck, it’s been a long time since I talked about this to anyone. Winnow’s brows climb higher and higher as I explain the circumstances in which I met Seraphine. Instead of offering me empty platitudes, she reaches and gives my palm a squeeze. The expression on her face, clear:I’m not going anywhere.

Silence descends between us as Winnow’s thumb idly strokes the back of my hand. When she doesn’t pry and no look of judgement or misunderstanding comes over her face, I feel like a tremendous weight has been lifted, even if I still have some truth left to tell her.

One day.

“What about your childhood and parents and stuff?”

For some reason, she looks surprised I’ve even asked. Her brows lift, mouth opening and closing soundlessly before she draws a deep breath and chews her cheek as her gaze drifts.

“They were good parents. Both are dead.”

Aw fuck.

“How’d they die, if you don’t mind me asking?”

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