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And I thought about how they'd get to go on with their lives without ever having to be afraid of this man again.
“Becauseth-they're still here.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
RAIN
Growing up, I’dfound it impossible to not notice Soldier Mason.
He wasn’t popular in the way a celebrity worked their way up the social ladder until every household in America knew their name. In fact, he wasn’t particularly popular at all, especially within the crowd drawn to The Pit.
Soldier was known by simply existing.
He was kind. He was startlingly attractive as a kid and undoubtedly gorgeous as he ventured into adulthood. He was generous. He was helpful with an unrelenting hero complex. And each one of these characteristics had lent itself to an existence that touched every single person who evercame in contact withhim.
So, yeah, it was impossible to not notice him, and I’d never forget the first time he’d noticed me.
It was a mundane Wednesday, and I was grocery shopping with my mom after school. I was a kid, only twelve or so, unable to reach a bottle of extra virgin olive oil from the top shelf. I grew exceedingly frustrated with every attempt to reach that last bottle, shoved all the way to the back, and I was afraid I’d have to return to my mom empty-handed—until the impossibly tall boy reached over my head and grabbed it without breaking a sweat.
“Here,” he said, lowering it down in front of my eyes.
I glanced over my shoulder, mouth open like one of the goldfish Stormy had won at the carnival a few months back.
“Thank you,” I whispered, surprised I’d been able to find my voice at all—he was so good-looking.
And, oh my God, was he ever. His face looked like it belonged in one of my teen magazines, right alongside the other pubescent heartthrobs of our time, with his wavy, dark hair, enviable bone structure, and honey-colored eyes. And he stood taller than even my dad, who I had previously been convinced was the tallest and strongest man I’d ever known, but there, in aisle eleven, I wasn’t so sure anymore.
I also wasn’t sure about that new feeling building and swelling and warming the region of my lower belly at the sight of his smile.
“Yeah, no problem,” he replied. “Have a good day, all right?”
And that was it. That was the first time I’d truly met Soldier Mason, the first time he’d brightened my day and made me question my emotions.
And he’d had no idea.
Now, I sat in a chair in the hospital waiting room, wearing a clean pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt Patrick Kinney’s wife, Kinsey, had dropped off for me at the emergency room. My son was beside me, his heavy head pressed against my shoulder once he finally—somehow—found sleep after living through the nightmarish ordeal at 1111 Daffodil Lane.
On the other side of me was Harry, who had come as soon as I texted—and how I’d managed to string together coherent words—“Soldier’s been shot and it doesn’t look good”—I couldn’t tell you. I guessed I’d just done what I’d always done before—whatever had to be done.
Then, there was Patrick, sitting on the other side of Noah. Neither man spoke while Noah slept, and so I was left to think about that time—the first time I’d truly made Soldier Mason’s acquaintance. And I wondered how I’d be able to go on living without ever getting the chance to tell him about it.
What if I never got to tell him I hadactually writtento him? Two times, I had written letters to him during his time in prison, only to think twice and throw them out, feeling stupid for entertaining the thought that he’d even want to hear from me.
God, why hadn’t I told him already?
What if I never had the chance to admit that from themomenthe had saved me that first time in The Pit, I would pray to him, the way one might pray to their god? I would pray for him to come back, to make things right again. To prove once again that some men were good and decent and deserving of good and decent things themselves.
What if I never ever got the chance to tell him I’d loved him long before I spoke the words out loud? What if I never got the chance to say those words again?
God, I hated my brain right now. I hated that I couldn’t stop the train of my thoughts, that I had no control over the panic and worry that surrounded the string his life held on to.
My eyes squeezed shut, and my heart jolted violently as I remembered those last moments before the police had arrived …
POP!
The first gunshot rang through the house, snapping violently against my eardrums.
My gasp was loud—too loud—and I clapped a hand over my mouth, allowing myself a wail of terror behind my palm.
