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"Honestly, Skylar," I said as he settled into the crook of my arm. "Before Sebastian, I didn't care about any of this. But now that there's a little boy here...now that Bash and Justice are fighting for custody of him...are you sure it wouldn't be better if we weren't around?"
"We're soldiers, Zane. We don't just leave."
"Okay. We're soldiers. What does that make the little boy?"
His gaze intensified, a flicker of understanding crossing his features. "A civilian," he muttered, the reality of our world dragging the words out with a somber echo. "Our civilian."
I nodded, squeezing his hand tightly, grappling with the stark truth to his statement. We weren't just lovers in this tangled web we'd spun–we were soldiers, players in a deadly game that didn't spare anyone. And Sebastian was the innocent soul caught up in our chaos.
"And if there's one thing true about war," I added, feeling Skylar's grip tighten around my fingers, "It's that civilians always pay the highest price."
Chapter Ten: Hassan
Iwas getting better. It had been weeks of watching and waiting and checking in with Zane to make sure I didn't have any nerve damage, but I was getting better. No one had even noticed at a few parties I’d been to; I’d only gotten one comment about a bruise, which was standard for me.
None of our high-rolling customers knew about the bandaged burns under my shirtsleeves.
They didn’t know I’d almost died.
Again.
The explosion had rattled me, stolen my breath, and for a moment, I was back in that dark basement with Jez and Pedro. But then Bash was there, dragging me out of the wreckage, and Skylar was on the other side, shouting, his voice mingling with the alarm ringing in my ears.
Alive. I was alive.
So why did it still feel like I couldn’t breathe?
I could move again without wincing and my mind was slowly untangling itself from the fog of shock. But every now and then, when I was alone in the silence of my apartment, I’d see the flames licking at my vision again and my heart would race like a trapped bird in my chest. Today was one of those days. I sat alone in the dark, fingers twitching restlessly as phantom flames danced behind my closed eyelids.
It was stupid, really. I wasn’t afraid of fire. I had been around enough explosions to know that the heat wasn’t what you should be scared of—it was the silence that followed. The suffocating quiet that blanketed everything in its wake, swallowing up screams and cries until all there was left was the deafening silence.
Those were the moments that killed you. Quiet moments. Because they snuck up on you like a thief in the night.
My phone buzzed on the table, pulling me from the haunting memory. It was Justice, her pretty face showing up on the contact card. It was a picture of her from when she and I had run away–when I’d briefly thought that we were going to escape this madness.
I should have known then that it would never last. She liked the life too much.
It wasn’t just about the baby.
The same thread of violence ran through the woman I loved that ran through my three best friends…and that had somehow skipped over me.
I was the odd man out.
But I picked up the phone and answered like nothing was wrong, clearing my throat. It still ached sometimes from the bombing; it still felt like I might cough up blood, like my lungs were filled with smoke.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hassan,” her voice came through softly, “are you okay?”
I managed a small laugh, "You aren't even going to greet me?"
"I am," she said. "Hi. Are you okay?"
“Hi,” I returned, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “I’m okay, Justice. I promise.”
"I'm coming over."
"No, I'll be okay, Justice," I hurried to reassure her. But truth was, I craved the comfort her presence offered.
