Page 93 of SEAL of Valor

Garrison stands. “I’ll pull any big names in the areas she’s seemed interested in before. But if she’s working for hire⁠—”

“We’re searching for a needle in a haystack of needles,” Zane finishes.

“I’ll get perimeter monitors set up,” Ryker offers as he stands.

“Great. I’m going to see if I can get any support from our government friends who let her get away in the first place.” Zane carries his plate into the kitchen.

“I need to check on a few things.” Weston heads for the front door, then slips outside into the dark.

I stare after him. Should I follow? Where is his head right now? What if she’s out there, waiting for him?

“If you want to go, I’ll walk you out,” Ryker offers.

“Thanks. Yeah.” I head for the door, and he follows me, then moves around in time to open the door and head out first.

After a brief check outside, he glances over his shoulder and nods, then steps out onto the porch. The light in the main barn is on, a soft glow emanating from a crack in the door.

“Go ahead. I’ll watch your back.”

“Thanks. Can you keep an eye on Aragorn?”

“Sure thing.”

“Stay, boy. I’ll be right back.” I pet his head, then start down the steps. The night air is on the chilly side tonight, so I wrap both arms around myself and slip into the barn.

Weston is at the far end, a rake in his hand, though he’s not actively doing anything. He’s just staring at Buttercup as she hangs her large head over the stall.

“Are you okay?” It seems like such a ridiculous question to ask, but I’m not sure what else to say.

Weston doesn’t answer me, though. And he keeps his gaze trained away. Instead of pressing or moving further into the barn, I remain where I am. Normally, I would try to relate. To help him see that he’s not on the island he seems to think he’s standing on.

But how can I possibly relate to him?

How can I possibly hope to see this from his perspective?

I’ve never fought for anything that really mattered a day in my life. While I lost my dad earlier than I wish, my childhood was amazing. I certainly didn’t fight for my marriage.

So how can I stand here and relate to a man who has never known a moment when he didn’t have to fight?

“I didn’t care whether I lived or died,” he says softly, breaking my train of thought. “It didn’t matter to me what happened, so I never had any hesitations. I didn’t overthink because the outcome didn’t matter.” He sets the unused rake aside and turns to me. “She picked me because I was an order follower. Never asked any questions. Because it didn’t matter. I was the guy who did what he was told, and now I can’t help but wonder how many of those orders were really necessary.”

“You can’t live in that past, Weston. You have to pray about it and let it go. Lay all of that at the foot of the cross.”

He shakes his head. “She was right. I’m an animal. And she dangled you in front of me because she knew that you were the one thing I could never let go of. The one regret that might as well be a noose around my neck.”

I swallow hard, trying to see through his anger to the pain simmering beneath the surface. Weston has always had such a large heart, but because of his upbringing, he’s blamed himself for everything that went wrong in the lives of his family and everyone around him.

Just as he’s blaming himself right now. That’s the root of this. The guilt is eating him alive.

“There’s another reason you’re not considering.” I take a few steps closer, but still keep distance so I don’t pressure him. “She used me and threatened everyone in that house because she knew you would do anything for us. Because protecting us was more important than anything else.”

Another step closer.

“Because above all, Weston Hayes, you have always been a protector.”

“Some job I’ve done. My sister is dead. My mom abandoned me. I lost—” He breaks off, and gestures toward me.

“You didn’t lose me, though.” I move even closer, stopping just in front of him and tilting my face so I can look up at him.