Page 34 of Stolen Trophy


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“I kind of liked it when you touched me,” I admit. “Archer will ream my ass though.”

Her smile is genuine as she reaches over and offers her hand. “Touch helps me when I’m deep in a panic attack.”

I hesitate. “I’ve never had anyone offer before…”

“Me neither.” She doesn’t move her hand. “So how about we act as each other’s support?” Her eyes darken. “Until you four decide to kill me, that is.”

Though her tone says it’s a joke, I can clearly see how she feels in her eyes—she thinks that’s exactly what we’ll do. When she finds out the real reason we took her, when she knows her only hope was a fiancé who cheated and is dirt poor, she’ll prepare herself for it. If it came to that, she wouldn’t go down without a fight.

I’m so tired of death.

The thought enters my mind so quickly, I blink. Not only am I tired of death, but I know, with certainty, that I don’t want Genevieve Dalton to die. She doesn’t deserve that. She’s a good person, far better than any of us.

With a shaking hand, I reach out and touch my fingers to hers. My hand dwarfs her small one, swallowing it whole, but she happily threads her fingers through mine, and then we sit in the high grass, not touching except for our hands. It’s something so wholesome, and yet…

It’s somehow the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.

“I was married,” I murmur. “Before. When I was in the Marines, I had a wife.”

She looks up into my eyes at the admission. “What happened?”

I glance down in shame, twisting the flower stem in my other hand until it starts to turn to mush and stain my fingertips green. “When I came back from Afghanistan, my PTSD was bad, worse than it is now. I had no help, and I felt like I couldn’t ask. My wife, she wasn’t the kindest soul. I used to think her personality was the reason I loved her, but when I came back…broken, she treated me like I was.” Genevieve’s face darkens as if she wants to speak, but I continue. “She got off on triggering me. It wasn’t a big deal. I loved her, so I dealt with it. But one night, she purposely jumped on me in bed. I pinned her to the mattress by her neck and had a gun to her head before I realised what was happening.” I remember the feeling of shame, of guilt, as I let her go and rolled backwards, apologising while I cried. She looked at me in disgust. That image hasn’t gone away. “She filed for divorce quickly after that.”

“I’m sorry she was a bitch,” Genevieve replies. “Those who don’t understand PTSD think it’s an easy thing to get over. The number of times I’ve had people tell me to get over it—” She shakes her head. “You’re not broken. Your triggers don’t mean you’re broken.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, clenching my jaw. “I can’t even—”

“Stop,” she orders, narrowing her eyes. “If you think of yourself like that, then that’s how you’ll be. I could tell you were working on your list, your coping mechanisms, when I came out, but that’s not all there is to it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You need to stop thinking of yourself negatively. Flip it.” When I blink at her, she purses her lips. “Instead of saying, ‘I am broken,’ tell yourself, ‘I am healing.’” This time, she looks away, as if the weight she carries suddenly feels heavy. “It’s what helped me.”

Something in my chest squeezes. She didn’t run when I had a panic attack. She didn’t blame me or tell me I’m some shattered china doll. She hadn’t looked at me any differently. Instead, she followed me out here and offered her hand, despite me being one of her kidnappers.

This woman is too good for any of us, and with a sense of certainty in my core, I know I’m not going to let the others decide on death. I’ve had enough death in my life. I can’t live with another stain on my soul.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“You have nothing to thank me for,” she answers, but she’s wrong.

Sitting here, with her fingers intertwined in mine and her face lifted to the sky as the chilly wind swirls around us, I know I owe her something.

It’s then I realise I’m no longer shaking…

Carefully, I shift closer until our knees touch, and for the first time in ten years, I’m calm.

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