After several minutes of thinking, she nods. “Okay, then.”
Maybe I should be surprised when she just turns and walks out the door, but I’m not.
I’m her husband, not her problem.
Which is exactly the way I want it.
When I was discharged from the navy…no, before that…when I realized the extent of my injuries, I decided that I wouldn’t be anyone’s burden ever again.
When that IED went off, blasting shrapnel into my shoulder and back, ripping through my muscles, nerves, and connective tissue, I thought for sure that was it for me. I had a concussion, several fractured vertebrae, broken ribs, and a punctured lung.
Obviously, I didn’t know that at the time because I was unconscious.
I shouldn’t have made it out of there. I wouldn’t have if two of the other guys on my SEAL team hadn’t risked their own lives dragging me out. Jim Sikes, the team medic, nearly lost his leg in that shit show.
Logically, I know they were just doing their job. It’s what I would have done for any of the guys on my team. It’s what any of us would have done. When you’re a SEAL, that’s what you do.
Still, they could have died saving me. That thought haunts me.
My very existence put others at risk. I wasn’t an asset. I was a burden.
Three years later, my injuries are as healed as they are ever going to be. Yeah, I continue to struggle with PTSD. Maybe that’s something that never goes away completely, but I’m working on it. For the most part, I function on my own. I work. I do good in the world.
Even if it’s not the life I imagined living, it’s a good life.
It’s a life I can accept.
So when she walks away, I let her go.
No matter what else happens in the coming days—in the coming years—she’ll be better off without me.
chapterfifteen
Clara
It takes less than ten minutes to unload my stuff fromThe Gambitand haul it back across the sand and the evil moat of thorny grass to the building. I don’t bother doing more to secureThe Gambityet; that’s a bigger job than I can do alone and unpacking my stuff and getting Taco set up some place takes precedence.
I don’t let myself think too long or too hard about what I’m doing here. This isn’t the most rational course of action, but it’s the one I’m sticking to.
I’m carrying a single backpack, a duffle, and Taco’s pet carrier draped in a towel when I make my way back to the pale blue cinderblock building. This time, I don’t knock on the door, but shuffle my stuff in my hands to open it and let myself in.
Jonah is standing by a workbench, a laptop out in front of him. He looks up when I walk in, his signature grumpy scowl settling into place.
“Thought you’d left.”
I set down Taco’s carrier and the duffle bag and then shuck off the backpack. I pull the water bottle from the outside pocket of the backpack and take a long gulp of water before answering. “Nope.”
If he can be a taciturn dick, then so can I.
Squinting, he looks from me to the duffle bag to the towel-covered pet carrier. “What’s that?”
I pull the towel off to reveal a soft-sided cat carrier that looks like The Mystery Machine, the iconic aqua and green van fromScooby-Doo. I unzip the bag, and Taco pokes his head out.
Taco is ornery and grumpy. However, he tolerates me more than he does most other humans. I don’t know if he considers me his human or just likes having someone to mess with. Either way, I am the one person he’ll go to. When I hold my hand out to him, he waddles forward onto my arm. His talons dig into my forearm. There’s a reason I usually wear long-sleeved shirts, and it’s not just for the SPF protection they provide.
He looks around the darkened room curiously, then glares at me, muttering. “Maní.”
I dig in my pocket for a nut and offer it up to mollify him. He plucks the peanut from my fingertips and crunches on it.
