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I watch out the window as Kenzie climbs out of her truck and makes her way up the porch steps to the front door. She’s wearing a white spring dress with puffed sleeves and tiny pink flowers dotted all over the fabric. Her hair is curled and lying on her shoulder. She’s beautiful.
The screen swings open and she twists the doorknob. She’s been coming here long enough that she doesn’t feel the need to knock. I like that. I want this to be hers too. I want her to be comfortable here, always.
“Oh.” She lifts her head and stares toward me as though she doesn’t expect me to be sitting at the kitchen table. It’s now that I see she’s spent extra time on her make up this morning. She’s put on eyeliner and mascara. Usually, she doesn’t. Is she trying harder for me? Should I tell her she looks beautiful without it? I don’t want to hamper her efforts to be more beautiful, but she’s gorgeous without all that fuss. “You cooked. I thought I was doing that.”
“No, I invited you to breakfast. Why would you cook?”
“Because I work for you.”
“So, you still work for me? I was afraid you’d quit.”
She redirects her gaze to the table and pulls out a chair, settling gently with a sigh. Something is on her mind. Something heavy.
Here it comes. The inevitable washing of me. The part where she tells me the job isn’t worth it and I’ve scared her. I can’t say I blame her. There are a few things I could’ve been less… intense about.
“What’s wrong?” I turn toward her, my hand over my beard as she talks.
“I’m confused.” Tears stream down her face. “You’re confusing.”
I hate that I’ve complicated her life. My emotions never come out like they should. “I’m sorry if last night was chaotic. That wasn’t my intention, or how I pictured any of this. I care about you, genuinely. I want you to be happy and safe. That’s all.”
“That’s the thing. Last night was the realest part of all this. I’ve been feeling this bizarre pull to you since I started working here, and while last night I was out of my element, I don’t regret it.” Her eyes widen. “Believe me… I really thought that one over. Letting my boss finger me in a parking lot wasn’t my highest point.”
Relief washes over me. “Okay…what do you regret then?”
“It’s not about regret. It’s that I don’t know who you are. You don’t open up to me. It’s like this physical connection is there, but… there are parts of you I can’t reach.”
I knew this would come. The part where I had to tell her my past. The part where I give her the opportunity to judge me and let her decide if she can handle it. The part where I trust in another person.
I’d rather do anything else, but I know what I need to do if I’m going to have any chance of keeping her.
I drag in a harsh breath and settle in next to her. “What do you want to know?”
Her eyes meet mine. “What happened to you in the military? Is that where you got that scar tissue? I looked up your tattoo. Were you in the Marines?”
I glance away and back again, rolling my neck in a small circle before I speak. This part of my life is the hardest to talk about. The military changed me, I’d gather to say for the worst. “Yes, the scar tissue is from an injury.”
She stays silent, watching me as I speak. Her pretty pink lips part slightly, her bright blue eyes intently listening. She doesn’t know what’s coming and I don’t want to tell her. I don’t want to ruin whatever this could be.
Her hand lands on mine, soft and sweet as though she sees that struggle and wants to support me. I don’t deserve her. I really don’t fucking deserve her.
I sigh. “I was a sniper for the Marines. I traveled with a man named Colin. Colin Fisher. The nature of our missions required us to be in sync with each other. He was the spotter, and I was the sniper. We traveled with little gear, and we relied on each other for everything we needed out in the field. We put our lives in each other’s hands.”
My throat is dry. “We’d been out on dozens of high-risk missions. Most of them set on confirmed kills. But this one mission we were working on was simple, low risk. We were to take out a transmission station that had minimal guarding.”
I attempt to swallow the lump in my throat as Kenzie squeezes my hand with comfort.
“We took the same path we always took, following the map exactly. We checked wind speeds and direction, barometric pressure, and we were in overwatch position, which means we were locked on to our target from a higher vantage point when it happened.”
“What?” she whispers. “What happened?”
“It was my job to see that shooter. I was in charge. I should’ve seen the guard turn. I should’ve…” I choke back the words and try to suck in air, but it’s stuck in my lungs. “He shot my spotter, and then me. For some reason, I’m here but that man, the one with the wife, the kids, the fucking life… he died. He died and I’m here to live this… whatever this is.” My heart rate is so high, I feel my blood boiling.
She doesn’t speak. Her hand stays steady.
Kenzie leans in and strokes her soft hand over my arm.
“How does a person move on after that? I don’t deserve to be married, to have kids. Not when he lost his life and his family on my watch.”
