Page 76 of Aftermath
I reached for his hand.
You’re comforting him. He would do the same for you.
“You tried to protect her,” I said slowly.
He shook his head.“Tried and failed. We got inside, and the place was a maze. We were running out of time; the little girl had no time left. We had to find her. So, I made a choice, one I will live with for the rest of my life. I suggested we split up. It was a calculated risk. The probability of us finding her alive increased, we both had our guns, and were both trained agents.”
I listened in horror, pulling the rag away and realizing my nose bleed had finally ceased. The rag landed on the side table as I tossed it aside.
“You couldn’t have known,” I said.
“But I did. I knew from the start what the risk was. I knew the statistics of waiting for back up. The statistics of agents killed and assaulted in the field are much higher for those who do not wait.”
“Stone,” I tried, squeezing his hand even tighter. “What happened is not your fault.”
“The chance of fatality is two times higher when an agent does not wait. Two times! I never should have been okay with that number. I never should have let her go into that building. And now, I live with the consequences every single day.”
“It’s not your fault,” I repeated.
“I found her still alive,” he said. “When I arrived, it was too late. The unsub had stabbed her. I shot them, but it was far too late. She’d just fallen to the ground, limp. I’ll live with the picture of that for the rest of my life. If I had gotten there seconds earlier, maybe it would be different. The little girl lived, but Blythe didn’t. Those first few months after were brutal. I tortured myself, thinking about what I could have done differently. I drank myself into oblivion and took a leave of absence from the FBI. It wasn’t until Agent Grey found me and dragged me back to Quantico that I got sober. I knew Blythe would hate what I became, and somehow, that was far worse than hiding from the memory of what happened.”
I had no words. Nothing I could say would make this better. I wanted to pull him close, for Stone to know someone cared. I was there and listening, and I would never run from this. There may not be anyone in the world who understood this type of pain better than me.
I tortured myself with the thought of what if I never ran from the hospital. What if I had stayed and helped the police? Maybe they would have already found the killer by now.
“I’m here,” I said, the one thing I could think of that might bring him some comfort.
“I’m here, and I’m not leaving. You did everything right; you can’t keep torturing yourself like this. I didn’t know Blythe, but I can guarantee she wouldn’t want this. You don’t know if that little girl would have lived if you didn’t go in there when you did. You saved her, gave her a chance at living life. That is not nothing; it’s not something to keep tearing yourself apart over. Nothing I say can bring back Blythe or make the memory of her hurt any less, but if you are going to play that memory over and over in your mind, you need to remember what she sacrificed herself for. You saved a life, a little girl with no one else to protect her. That to me makes you both heroes.”
Stone nodded slowly, averting his gaze from mine. He stared down at my hand that he now held with both of his.
“You are covered in blood,” Stone said suddenly, as if just noticing the red on my hands.
“Let me help,” he said and jumped up from the couch.
His suitcase sat across the room, and he sifted through it, pulling out a band tee I’d never seen him wear. He handed it to me.“I’ll wash the one you’re wearing for you,” he offered.
He just shared his deepest trauma, and now he’s offering to rinse the blood from my own shirt?
Men like this didn’t exist. Stone couldn’t be real. Three years ago, I would’ve done everything to hide the stain so I wouldn’t be yelled at for it.
I stood and pulled my white shirt over my head without thinking. My bralette kept me covered, but Stone’s eyes trailed down my torso the second it was exposed. The moment his eyes halted, I knew what he saw: the grotesque scars still prominent across my skin. His gaze settled on the one I hated most.
The reminder of everything I lost that night.
“Sorry,” I muttered, trying to scramble to untangle my arms from the white shirt.
“Don’t apologize,” he said firmly, moving closer to me.His hand reached out, but he paused before touching my skin.
“It’s okay,” I told him.
His fingers brushed gently against my skin, running along the jagged scar, the stitches rushed because of how many wounds I had when I arrived.
“It’s a miracle you survived with only scars,” Stone said in awe.
“Involuntary hysterectomy,” I whispered. “Thats the price I paid. I can’t ever become pregnant again.”
My eyes dropped to the floor. The reason Jake threw me out, the thing that continued to haunt me from that night. It was why I could barely bring myself to face my brother after his announcement, why the thought of being around a baby in the family pained me, my heart breaking.
