Page 110 of What Hurts Us

I set my coffee aside and scooted to the far side of the couch so that he could sit down. Cal’s thick-soled boots clomped across the floor. He was in civilian clothes, having no need to don the uniform. As he sat, I tugged on his arm. He obliged, laying his head in my lap.

“I’m gonna get the ladder out and clean the gutters,” he murmured as his eyes closed. I raked my fingers across his scalp, soothing the torment inside.

“Just rest, baby.” I bent and kissed his temple. “The past is a heavy burden to carry. Put it down.”

His arm wrapped around my thigh, snuggling it like a pillow.Not that I minded in the least.“I’m tired,” he admitted. “Every time I close my eyes, I see it happen over and over.” He paused, waiting until the emotion clogging his throat cleared. “But every time it replays, I miss my shot.”

There was nothing I could say to ward off the demons plaguing his mind. Instead of trying to fill the silence or keep busy with pointless hobbies, I took a lesson from a shockingly wise woman and cared enough to sit still.

* * *

It wasstrange walking into the hospital rather than flying. Parking was annoying as hell, and the early winter wind snapped at my cheeks like a whip. I slid my hand into Cal’s jacket pocket, holding his hand as we trudged through the slush-coated parking lot. Sleek doors parted as we set foot in the lobby. After a quick stop at the gift shop, we took the elevator ride in silence.

Grace Barnes was currently the only occupant of Room607. Pulled-back shades gave her a distant view of the Duke University Chapel and Sarah Duke gardens. Her strawberry blonde hair was braided neatly, nearly red in the rays of the afternoon sun.

“Grace?” the nurse said gently as she led us in. “Are you feeling up to some visitors?”

Grace’s eyes opened and flicked to the door. I smiled softly and raised my hand. “Hi, Grace. You probably don’t remember me, but—”

“You’re her,” she whispered before closing her eyes again.

I didn’t know what to say to that. I was who?

She licked her lips and paused to take a labored breath. Still, it was unassisted—a miracle given her condition when we arrived on the scene three days ago.

“You’re the nurse,” she rasped. “You told the…” Grace had to pause to take another breath. “You told the others to leave with me and get in the helicopter.”

I nodded. It was a strange thing to stare at a patient recovering in a hospital bed. It was rare that I found out what happened to a patient after we transferred them to a higher level of care.

Thankfully, Grace accepted our company, and the nurse headed back to her station. “My name is Layla,” I said as I sat in one of the bedside chairs. Callum carried the flowers we had picked up in the gift shop and set them on the rolling table. “This is my fiancé, Callum. We just … wanted to say hi and see how you were doing.”

It wasn’t quite that selfless, though. Cal and I needed closure if we were going to move on.

That’s the thing about hurt. It can’t be ignored. You can try as much as you want, and perhaps it will make you believe the pain went away on its own. But if pain and hurt aren’t addressed, there will always be a constant reminder.

Perhaps it’s a dull ache when the weather changes.

Or perhaps it’s nightmares and a heightened sense of situational awareness during mundane tasks.

The choice was simple: deal with what hurt us, or let it starve us of peace.

The corner of Grace’s lip quivered. “I’m sorry.”

“Sweetie, you have nothing to be sorry about.” I reached out and gently laid my hand on top of hers. “You are unbelievably strong. Don’t ever apologize for that.”

“They told me what happened when I woke up after surgery. I…” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I thought he was going to kill you, and—” deep sobs made her lithe body shudder “—a-and I’m s-so g-glad you’re okay.”

I waited for a beat, giving Grace time to confront her trauma. Being still with someone is an immensely intimate posture. It’s uncomfortable to sit with them amid their pain.

But there's no substitute for quiet vulnerability when someone has been wounded.

I looked up and saw Cal hunched over, elbows on top of his thighs, his fist pressed to his mouth. I didn’t say anything to him, either.

He didn’t just save my life.

We saved hers, too.

“I don’t remember a lot from that day,” Grace said. “But I remember you two.” She closed her eyes as if to take herself back to that house on the outskirts of town. “It hurt so bad when they rolled me out the door. I kept thinking I was going to pass out again. But I saw you with your gun drawn.” Grace tilted her head and looked at Callum. “You stepped in front of me, blocking me from Patrick. But I caught you looking at her, too.” Grace’s eyes cut to me, then back to Cal. “I’ve never seen a man look at a woman the way you looked at Layla.”

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