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EZRA
I had no fucking clue what I was doing.
But I knew I was far too old to be doing it.
I’d seen her drive in. I was just coming back from my jog when I saw her head up the driveway in her beat-up Corolla. Then I saw her battle with her doorknob for several seconds and then search her bag frantically before she finally let out a scream and collapsed on the floor.
“Jesus.” Instinct had me jumping over the fence in one swell move. I rushed to her, heart beating in my chest, sure that she’d passed out or hurt herself in some way. I wasn’t surprised. Yesterday, she’d looked exhausted, like a stiff wind could knock her over. I could only imagine how she’d made it through the entire day and driven that death trap of hers without an accident.
Anger and fear fought for dominance in my mind as I raced to her. Why the fuck did she keep doing this to herself? Why couldn’t she see that there was more to life than getting shit-faced and destroying her body? I could tell she was intelligent enough to do something else, and she had spirit and determination sitting inside her. But she was determined to go down this path that would give her nothing but pain.
I got close enough to see that she wasn’t sprawled out on the ground the way I suspected. Instead, she was crouched over with her face buried in her knees. Her shoulders shook as little wheezing cries escaped from her lips before they turned into hacking sobs.
I froze.
My chest squeezed and twisted for a whole other reason.
“Goddamn it,” I muttered because this was a mess I didn’t know how to deal with. I could disarm bombs blindfolded and lead a team of five to take down an army of guerillas. I knew what to do if she passed out and how to revive her if she hit her head.
But crying, especially the way she was doing it? That one stumped me.
And she wasn’t crying in that quiet, delicate way women often did when they wanted to put on a show. No, this was true pain. She was crying like someone whose world just fell apart, who was completely broken. Shattered.
“Stop that, darlin’.” The endearment slipped out of me without my permission, and before I knew what was happening, I was crouching down and pulling her close. She practically fell over in my arms, but she didn’t stiffen.
I doubted she even knew what was going on or that I was here. She was too trapped in her own personal hell.
I drew her up against my body and ran my hands down her back, wondering what the fuck to do next.And how the fuck do I get her to stop crying? What do I say? I'm probably not doing this right.
I probably wasn’t as gentle as I could have been because I wasn’t exactly a gentle kind of guy. I was not the type people went to for comfort, and I was probably fucking it all up.
But I couldn’t leave her like this.
“Come on, darlin’, stop that. You’re killing me here.” I’d seen men cry before, lots of times. Any man, no matter how tough he thought he was, would break down when they went through what we did when they lost what was most important to them. When they lost their humanity. But somehow, seeing her like this disassembled me and knocked me off my game, and I didn’t know why. I should be used to this. Why was I so fucking affected by this girl I hardly knew?
I rubbed her back again, and she pressed her body closer as if seeking more contact, more comfort. This meant that something I was doing was working, so I kept at it. I ran my hand down her back repeatedly while murmuring comforting words into her hair. And then I couldn’t help catching a whiff. Her hair smelled like daisies, and the smell wiggled its way inside me, doing funny things to my chest. I drew my face away and refused to think about it. The less I thought about the way she smelled, the better.
Even though she felt really good too.
She tucked herself into my arms, snuggling in even deeper. One hand came up to rest on my chest, reminding me that I’d forgotten to put on a shirt. Fuck. Her touch felt like a cool balm against my heated skin, her slender fingers curling adorably. The sight caused a protective urge to rise within me, battling with the surge of desire that bubbled lower. Fuck. Whatever this was, it needed to be over soon. I needed to leave before I got myself in trouble.
She could probably feel the loud thumps of my heartbeat. Some of it was leftover adrenaline from my run, but it was mostly because I was holding her.
And enjoying it way more than I should have.
Especially when she looked up at me, her brown eyes glowing with vulnerability and pain that I understood. The pain of loss. It was the pain I felt every single time one of my men stopped breathing—when they couldn’t hold on for help anymore—or when they didn’t make it back from a mission gone wrong. Ten men. That was how many people I lost as the commander of Team Alpha. It was a record low for any other commander, and I got fucking awards for it—as if there was anything to celebrate about losing that many people.
You could have lost more,they said. That thought didn’t help, either. Nothing did.
It still sometimes haunted me at night. So did the guilt that I was alive and they were dead. No matter how much money I fucking had, it could never bring any of them back.
I knew all their names, all carved into my mind. I knew their families too and had been invited to more Christmases than I could count. But I never went. It almost felt like blasphemy to go.
But this wasn’t about me. It was about her.
I stared into her eyes and brushed my hand over her cheek, brushing the tears that were falling. I had no words for her, no words that could make her feel better, but I wanted her to know that I understood her pain. She shut her eyes briefly when I touched her, and my mind blanked. All thoughts disappeared as her expression changed, becoming softer. When her eyes opened again, it wasn’t pain there. It was something hotter, more primal. Desire.
I told myself that I didn’t know what she was about to do before she did it.
