Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
But Ryan had already stormed off down the road, and all I could do was follow, my legs working hard to keep up. “Hey,” I said, jogging a little to get beside him. I was still carrying his jacket. “Ryan, slow down.”
He grabbed his coat from me and threw it on but didn’t ease up on his pace. “Fucking assholes like that guy drive me crazy.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I usually don’t let that shit get to me,” he went on angrily. “I don’t know what my problem is tonight. I probably just fucking lost my job.”
“No! That wasn’t your fault! He was so rude to you.”
“They don’t get it. None of them fucking get it. They’ve got no idea what it was like for us there.”
“Of course not. But he’s just one drunk old jerk, Ryan. One dickhead stranger.”
He huffed sharply. “You think he’s the first guy to ask me that question? I get it all the time. From strangers, friends, family.”
My jaw dropped. “My God. How can people be so cruel and thoughtless? They should be thanking you for your service!”
“That’s even worse! What the fuck do they think they’re thanking me for? They don’t know what I did over there! They don’t understand that I’ve got seconds to make a judgment call that will either save my guys or end someone’s life—and that someone could be an enemy combatant or it could be a civilian. A farmer. A woman. A child. Or it could be both! That’s the real fucked-up part of it. It could be both a child and the enemy. That kid you’ve been giving candy and comic books to? The one that brought you fresh bread and knows your name and taught you a few words in his language? Is he the one reporting your position? Did he pull the trigger wire on the IED that killed your friend and wounded every single guy in your squad? Has he been the enemy all along? Is it your fault for talking to him?”
I was so shocked, I didn’t know what to say. Tears burned my eyes, and my chest ached as I raced along beside him. “Oh, Ryan, no. Of course it isn’t.”
“It is. I should have known. I let them down.”
“You didn’t,” I said, trying to touch his arm, but he shrugged me off, refusing to be comforted.
“And how about the time Taliban fighters lined up women and children as shields behind a compound wall while they fired at you, only you didn’t realize what they’d done until after you’d fired back, killing dozens of innocents?”
The tears dripped down my cheeks, but I silently wiped them away in the dark. This wasn’t about me, and I didn’t want him to stop if he needed to get these things out.
“Or how about the farmer I killed that didn’t respond to warning shots, the one whose son later told us was deaf and mute? Should I be thanked for that?”
I could see how furious and heartsick he was, and I hated that I’d brought this on. “Yes,” I said firmly, although I continued to cry. “Because you’re brave and strong and you did what you were trained to do, what you had to do.”
“I used to think that too,” he said bitterly as he left the road and headed across the lawn for the barn, me following tight on his heels. “But did I have to do all those things? Did I have to kill innocent people? Is something wrong with me that after a while I was able to pull the trigger without feeling a fucking thing?”
We’d rounded the back of the barn when he suddenly spun around and faced me in the darkness. “Because I don’t, you know. Feel anything. I can’t.”
Both of us were breathing hard, and tears were still hot on my cheeks. I felt horrible. I’d ruined our last night together, but worse, I’d made him suffer. All I wanted now was to take that pain away.
I put my hands on his chest. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
“I’m not,” he said. “I’ll never be okay. You shouldn’t even be here with me.”
“Shhh,” I whispered, rising on tiptoe to kiss his lips. “I trust you.”
“You shouldn’t.” He dropped his forehead to mine, and moved forward, forcing me backward until I was pressed against the back of the barn. “You shouldn’t.”
For a fraction of a second, I was slightly nervous.
You don’t really know him.
Even sociopaths can like apple pie.
You let your hormones lead you into an unsafe situation.
But something deep inside me, some gut instinct I couldn’t name and didn’t even fully understand, had a voice too.
This wounded man is healing something in you.
Don’t give up on him.
Open your heart—you can feel enough for both of you.
A moment later, his lips were on mine, and my fears melted away inside his kiss.