“I love you,” I say hoarsely, and he nods, kissing me.
He squeezes my hand. “Don’t let go of me, yes?”
“Never.” I kiss his forehead, feeling the silky strands of his hair and smelling the sweet scent of his shampoo.
His voice is thick and sad. “He was so happy when we left for Afghanistan. So fucking thrilled. Kept saying it was just me and him again. Like he’d won. I couldn’t understand him. I felt like I was moving through a nightmare. How could he not see the truth?”
“What was that?”
He sighs and kisses my temple, nuzzling there for a second. “That I was broken in two and he’d taken something precious from me. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You were likethis beacon—my way home.” I tighten my grip on him as he continues. “We limped along, trying to return to the way we had been, but it was like an old path grown over with weeds. Then he got angry. He never did like being on the wrong foot.”
His face is blank but his body thrums with tension. “We argued the day he died. We were sitting in a cafe in the village waiting for our contact. He was late. I thought he’d maybe had a family emergency. Jez started the argument. He was pushing like he used to. Needling to get a reaction.”
His hands tighten around my waist, and I feel his breath strike hard and fast on my neck. “It’s ridiculous but I don’t even remember what he said. I snapped and told him the truth.”
“What truth?”
“That I was in love with you and he’d cost me everything.”
“Oh no.”
“He was so fucking angry. He got up and stormed towards our truck. I followed him. It was like something had loosened my tongue, and words were just flying out. We were shouting over each other.” He draws in a shuddering gasp. “Then I heard a bang and?—”
“What?”
He sighs. “Everything went to hell. I was shot in the shoulder.”
I jerk. “Your scar?” He nods. I move my hand to cover the twisted shadow on his shoulder. “Here?”
He nods again and shudders when I lean in and kiss it. His hand comes down on my shoulder, pressing me close. “Don’t let go.”
“Never.” I squeeze his shoulder as if shielding him many years too late. “Tell me the rest.”
“I was lucky. They got Jez in the head. He was dead before he hit the ground.”
“Fuck,” I say. Reuben feels still and cold now, as if he’s gone somewhere far away from me.
“Omid, our old translator, warned me that Jez’s contact had been compromised. Jez told me that Omid was old and imagining things—that I was a fool to still listen to him. Turns out Omid was actually not that old and foolish.”
“Jez’s contact betrayed you?”
He nods. “I found out that the men he was working with had planned to take us both prisoners when we left the cafe. The killing was completely accidental—two groups fighting over something that was nothing to do with us. We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He pets me when I shudder, suddenly gentle and focused on me. “And that’s it.”
“No, it’s not.” I twist in his grip. “Tell me the rest. Drain the poison before…”
“Before what?” he prompts when my words drop away.
“Before it eats you alive,” I finally say. I cup his face, not allowing him to look away. “Tellme.” He needs to be seen. If anyone can understand that, it would be me.
He grimaces. “I can still feel his blood. It’s what wakes me up at night. I can smell and taste it.” His voice suddenly shakes. “It covered me.”
“Baby,” I whisper.
“After I was shot, I went down. I couldn’t move, and they were heading towards me. I could hear their footsteps coming across the square, and I remember wondering when it had got so quiet. It had been so noisy, and now there was nothing. Just this hushed stillness. Then there was more gunfire, and a car pulled up beside me. I was picked up, thrown into the back of it, and they took off.”
“Who was it? Omid?” I breathe.
“A member of his family—his cousin. Omid told me later he had a bad feeling that we’d be betrayed and so he paid his cousin to save us.”
