Page 131 of Whispers of You
“I know.” I didn’t doubt that for a second. But Holt had loved me ten years ago, too. Love wasn’t always enough.
“Knowing that Jude was behind the attacks ten years ago and the attacks now has been hard for everyone. But he was Holt’s best friend.”
My chest cracked, another scar to add to the bunch, this one just invisible. And it wasn’t just Holt feeling the sting.
Chris had broken down in tears in my hospital room, worried I’d never be able to forgive him for not seeing what was right under his nose. I’d gripped his hand hard and told him that none of it was his fault. Jude’s destruction was more than just the physical lives he’d stolen. It was the mental torture he’d inflicted on everyone around him.
I held tight to Grae’s hand as I whispered my worst fears aloud. “I’m terrified that Holt will take this all on his shoulders again. That it’ll be too much, and he’ll leave.”
Holt had stayed by my side every moment at the hospital. But he was rarely still. He was always adjusting blankets, ordering food, speaking to doctors, planning for our trip home.
And since we’d arrived back at the cabin, we’d rarely been alone. The Hartley family had all but moved in to make sure we had everything we needed. I was grateful but desperate for some time with just Holt.
Grae nestled in closer to me. “Have you tried talking to him? Telling him you’re worried.”
“When? We’re never alone except at night, and he always insists I need to sleep, not talk.”
She rolled her eyes. “Always the bossy one.”
I wanted to laugh but couldn’t find it in me. “He’s not even sleeping with me. He sleeps in that chair.” I inclined my head to the piece of furniture that felt more like a nemesis.
Grae’s brows rose at that.
“He said he’s worried about bumping me in the night.”
“That makes sense. He had a scare. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you when you’re already in pain.”
A tear slipped from my eye. “I’m worried he’s just waiting until I’m healed to tell me that he can’t do this.”
“Wren.” Grae squeezed my hand again, harder this time. “Holt was eighteen when you were shot. No one makes wise decisions at that age. But he’s lived a lifetime without you. He knows how awful that is. He’s not going to leave you now.”
“You sound so sure.”
A smile pulled at her mouth. “Because I know my brother. And you do, too.” She brushed the hair out of my face. “But you have some scars from that time, too. Ones that make you expect the worst when there’s no evidence to support it.”
I wouldn’t have said no evidence. Holt hadn’t stopped moving since we’d gotten home. Refortifying the security system, installing new windows, cooking me every favorite meal I’d ever had.
But today was the worst. He’d taken off at first light, giving me a quick kiss and telling me he’d be back by dinner and to call him if I needed anything.
It wasn’t about need right now. It was aboutwant. I wanted my best friend. The love of my damn life. I wanted his hand in mine, his big body curved around mine, the scent of him soothing all the nightmares away. And he wasn’t here.
“You have to keep the faith,” Grae urged. “There has to be something you can hold on to right now that reminds you.”
My gaze flicked to the dresser. To the photo. The one I’d found in the duffel before my whole world imploded.
Grae followed my line of sight and grinned. She bounded up from the bed and crossed to pick it up. A moment later, she was back, sitting cross-legged on the bed and handing me the photo.
“I asked him about this when you were napping yesterday.”
“You did?”
She nodded. “He said he printed it out and had it laminated before boot camp. It’s been with him every place he’s ever gone.”
My fingers ghosted over the spots on the photo where the plastic had worn through.
“He said that he’d slip it into his uniform so you were right next to his heart on every patrol. That he’d tuck it into his bunk or pin it to the tent so he could fall asleep looking at your face.”
Tears stung my eyes and slid down my cheeks.
