“Ace,” she repeats. Calmly. Gently. “It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m right here.”
“Yara?” I ask. Then I lean my cheek close to her mouth, hoping to feel the reassurance of her breath.
There’s nothing.
My heart breaks wide open.
“Ace.” It’s firmer this time. “Wake up. It’s okay. I’m right here. Just open your eyes.”
In a strike of clarity, realization hits me.
It’s a dream. One of things that happened, and things I pray never will.
“Wake up,” Yara commands, and I do.
My eyes fly open to find her sitting on the other side of the bed, watching me with deep concern.
“Yara,” I gasp, so fucking relieved to see her alive, I jerk up into a seated position and pull her into my arms. “Fuck. Ah, fuck. Yara.”
Her arms come around me, hugging me tight. “I didn’t want to touch you,” she says. “I mean, I wanted to. But I didn’t think it would be a good idea. In case it was a flashback.”
I kiss the top of her head, breathing in her sweet scent. I close my eyes while trying to regain my composure. Once I trust myself to speak, I release her slightly, still keeping her in my arms but setting her apart enough to meet her gaze. “I’m sorry. I woke you up, didn’t I?”
“Yes. But that’s okay.” A smile ghosts her lips. “I’ve woken you up enough times with my nightmares.”
Releasing a long breath, I command my racing pulse to settle. “Still. I know you don’t sleep well, and?—”
“Ace.” She strokes my cheek. “Donotapologize for having a nightmare.” Empathy softens her features. “Do you want to talk about it?”
No. Not really.
I don’t want to talk about those horrible memories with anyone. And I really don’t want to tell Yara about how I dreamed she was dead. And how I’m pretty sure it was my fault.
But Yara was honest with me. She shared her darkest memories with me. Doesn’t she deserve the same from me?
But what if she judges you,a fearful, worried voice silently asks.What if the truth ruins everything?
“You don’t have to,” Yara adds gently. “I understand if you’re not ready. But I’m here whenever you are.”
She’s giving me an out. And I almost take it.
But if I want a future with her, a real future, it’s only right that I tell her everything. So I puff out another heavy breath. Then I let go of her, shifting so my back is against the headboard. “I’m not sure I’ll ever feel ready,” I admit. “But I want to tell you. I need to.”
Yara moves so she’s sitting next to me. Her hand comes to my thigh. “Okay.”
My jaw tenses. Staring across the darkened room at the sliver of moonlight peeking through the bedroom window, I take one last steadying breath before saying, “It all started after the mission in Afghanistan.”
Yara squeezes my leg in silent encouragement.
“My split team was sent to a town outside Jalalabad to neutralize a high-value target. The intel was sound, the plan was good, it should have been a quick in and out. But right before we were about to breach the building where he was supposed to be, we were ambushed.”
Pausing, I steal a quick glance at Yara. This part of the story is too close to what happened to her, and I’m afraid my experience might trigger her. But her features are carefully neutral, not giving anything away. “It’s okay,” she murmurs, reading my hesitation. “You can tell me. I can handle it.”
“During the ambush, Garrett was injured. He was closest to the explosion, and it knocked him back. At first, he was walking. Talking. We retreated, found cover to regroup, and then… he collapsed. Internal bleeding.”
My jaw clenches, sending pain shooting through it. “We tried to get him back to camp in time. But it was too late. He died on the way.”
Yara’s head comes to my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.
