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I can feel his pain. Even in the way he holds his body, tight and still, like someone badly hurt.
He must be having a really hard time. He never sleeps… He said he wasn’t hungry. I’m angry with myself—that I didn’t realize how troubled he’s been.
He lifts his head and he looks down at me with tired eyes; they’re insulated by a sort of vacancy.
His thick brows pinch together, making his pale face look vaguely troubled. And it hits me that I’ve seen this look before. When I opened the front door and I thought he’d just woken up. A time or two when we were sparring.
“I didn’t want to lie about it,” he says roughly. His gaze shifts to mine. “You would want to know what kind of person…”
I shake my head.
“What kind of person,” he continues—
“No.” I shake my head again, and move one of my arms from around him so I can touch his neck. “Do you really think that’s the best measure of who you are? What you did when you were over in a war zone?”
He shakes his head, blinking slowly. “You don’t understand.”
“Are you a serial killer, Barrett? Do you force women into things or kidnap kids or take a baseball bat to other cars when you’re on the road? What have you been doing since you got back?
Taking people out at the mall and Target? Did you hunt down your neighbor and carve her into pieces? Kill a cat? Set a house on fire?”
He watches me without speaking, without moving. I move my hand that’s on his neck up to his cheek, trying to make him focus on me; just me.
“How did you get into the Army? What made you want to join?”
He blinks, and I can feel him focus more on me. “When my mom—” He shakes his head. “I was 15, but I would drive her. I had missed a lot of school…and they had said they were going to hold me back. I had this plan to join the SEALS. My dad found out. I finished school, but after that…” He blinks into my eyes.
“So you joined when you were…?”
“Eighteen.” He drops his gaze, as if he doesn’t want to look into my face.
“Were you prepared?”
He frowns.
“You knew what you were getting into? Special forces, sniping? Nightmares, losing people, all the people you would…come in contact with.”
“Kill.” His voice is flat—but still, he looks at me like he is waiting to hear more.
“Well?” I raise my brows. “Did you knowingly go into it?”
“I tried to get with the SEALs, but it wasn’t a time when they were starting a new class. Then I heard about the Rangers.”
“And you made it there.”
He cuts his eyes my way, not a trace of pride on his pale face.
“Then what?” I press. “You moved on up?”
“Joined ACE. Got a longer kill list. Got hurt. Came home. What are you getting at?”
“You came back, it all seems like it’s kind of crashing down. You’re by yourself, you’re trying to readjust to being out of the Army. You’re telling me you can’t be with me because you used to be a sniper. Are you trying to punish yourself?”
He takes a step back, out of my grasp. “I want to keep you away from this,” he says roughly.
“Away from what?”
He holds his arms out, as if the room around us is the problem. “Who would want to…to invest their time in someone who can barely keep their fucking head above water?”
