Before her?
I survived.
That was it.
Mission to mission.
Violence to violence.
Breathing without really living.
But now?
Now I wanted things.
Her laughter in the kitchen.
Her fallingasleep beside me.
Mornings.
Peace.
Things men like me weren’t supposed to get attached to.
Dangerous things.
“I’m scared,” she admitted softly.
The honesty in her voice gutted me.
“Of Shepherd?”
“Yes.” Her eyes searched mine. “But more than that…”
She hesitated.
Like the next words mattered.
Then finally whispered?—
“I’m scared of how much you matter to me already.”
Jesus.
My chest physically hurt hearing that.
I rested my forehead gently against hers.
“You matter to me too.”
“No,” she whispered shakily. “I don’t think you understand.”
Her hand pressed lightly over my heart.
“When you got shot…”
Her voice broke completely.
