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He shrugged. “I don’t know that they’ve ever asked.”
The water shut off. “So you don’t tell them unless they specifically ask?”
Disapproval rang in her tone, and his defenses rose as he paused with a backward glance. “It isn’t something I broadcast. I’m dealing with things and getting on with my life.”
She braced her hands on the counter, accusation in her eyes. “Do you have any idea how much your mother worries about you? You and Reyes.”
He pivoted to face her fully as a memory flashed in his mind. “Is that what you two were talking about when I walked in on Sunday?” He got his answer when her gaze wavered and she took a sudden interest in wiping the counter. His gut tightened at the thought of them discussing his life behind his back. “I thought it was too quiet the second I walked through the door.”
“You should let her know you’re seeing someone,” she said quietly.
“Why me?” he retorted. “I’m sure she’ll be just as glad to hear it from you.”
“It’s not my place to tell her.” She shot him a glance, but looked away again just as fast. “Like it wasn’t her place to tell me what happened to you.”
“You asked her?” Another surge of anger stalked him back to the island where he flattened his
palms on the counter. “Why do you want to know so bad? What will it matter?”
The thought of her possibly seeing him as less than capable made his stomach ball in a knot. It was precisely why he’d shoved his cane in the back of his closet early Sunday morning and hadn’t taken it out since.
Apprehension and curiosity shone in her brown eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll understand better.”
“Understand what?”
She swallowed hard enough for him to hear it. “You’re different. You’ve changed from when we were kids.”
“I’ve been to war and back, Shelby. Thirty-seven times.”
Her eyes widened, showing she really had no clue what his life had been like. Not many people did.
Because you’ve never told them.
He wasn’t complaining. Hell, he’d still be doing it if he had the choice. But some—much—of what he’d seen and done wasn’t something you shared with the people you love.
His mind rejected that last part, and he took it out on her. “You want to know so damn bad, then I’ll tell you. But I don’t want your fucking pity, you got it?”
She gave a jerky nod, her gaze trained on his face.
Well, fuck. Now there was no turning back.
He shifted sideways to drop down onto one of the barstools, then braced his elbows on the counter and scrubbed his hands over his face before resting them on the counter to glare at her. “My team specialized in hostage rescue. On my last mission, we were tasked with retrieving the wife and children of a high level terrorist. The wife was offering information in exchange for asylum for her and her three daughters.”
Concern darkened her eyes. “Weren’t you worried it could be a setup?”
“Always. But intel on the subject indicated she’d be a good asset, so we went in. The plan was in and out in seven minutes.” He closed his eyes as the mission played in his head on super fast-forward—until it slowed. “Five minutes and forty-two seconds in, the oldest daughter got scared and broke free to run back. I followed and saw her father shoot her as she begged for forgiveness at his feet.”
Shelby’s gasp had him opening his eyes to see her cover her mouth in horror.
“I didn’t give him a chance to beg,” he stated through a throat full of gravel. He’d shot the bastard right between the eyes without an ounce of remorse. The truth of that rang in his voice, and one look at Shelby’s face confirmed she understood the full meaning of his harsh words.
But he didn’t allow himself time to assess her reaction. He was afraid she might not agree with what he’d done, and only see him as no better than the monster who’d killed his daughter.
“The guy got off a short burst before…”–I put him down—“he went down. I retrieved the daughter’s body for her mother, and my team retrieved me. The surgeons in Germany reconstructed my knee and inserted a rod in my left femur, told me I’d be lucky if I walked again, and my career was over.”
Outrage filled her eyes as her mouth gaped open. “They actually said that to you?”
“Not in those exact words, but that’s what it boiled down to. I’d seen it happen to other guys, so I knew what was what.” Not that it had helped cushion the blow. If anything, knowing had made it worse, because he knew the futility of fighting the inevitable.
