Way of the Warrior (Troubleshooters #17.5)(75)

“Can you tell me what happened?” The question floated in the air, gentle as mist.

He’d stopped telling the story months ago, but her expression wasn’t of morbid curiosity. It held genuine interest. “I was part of a scouting convoy, three Humvees. I was the gunner in the turret.” He stared into the flames as they licked the darkness. “It was my job to spot attacks. I didn’t see him until he was right on us, and I couldn’t get the gun around in time to…” Guilt infused him. He swallowed hard. “The guy detonated himself. I remember the fireball, and then I was lying on the ground, staring up at the sky. I’d been blown right out the door.” He had to push out the words, “I was the only survivor. Four men died.” Because he’d failed.

She touched his arm. “It wasn’t your fault. You did the best you could. You, a lot of those soldiers, they’re only kids. You’re what, twenty-two?”

“Twenty-four.”

“Damn, Griff. You’re still carrying that Humvee and all those guys on your shoulders, aren’t you?”

He met her eyes, seeing only compassion. He didn’t need to answer, though; she could see. But instead of trying to talk him out of his guilt, she only said, “Guilt’s a bitch, isn’t it?” She gave his arm a squeeze. “You’ve gone through enough on the outside. I can’t even imagine what that was like.” She let that hang, not quite a question and yet…

“I was put into a coma for three weeks right afterward. When I woke up in Brooke Army Medical Center, they told me I was burned over twenty-five percent of my body. The first few times I saw my reflection, I didn’t believe it was me. It felt like I was seeing a stranger. Then I’d turn and look at the good side of my face. And yeah, it was me, all right. I had thirty surgeries and put in two years of rehab before I was able to come home ten months ago.”

She was looking at him with compassion, and because it wasn’t pity—because she’d been brave enough to share her scars—he pulled off his shirt. It was easier to look at his body than his face, so he knew well the line of scarring across his chest, down his side.

Her eyes roamed over his body, a slow sweep that returned to his face. “At least you had this place. And your family, I imagine.”

“Thank God for them.” Sometimes he didn’t feel he deserved their support. “I suffered from what the hospital therapist called survivor’s guilt. There were times in those first few months of recovery that I wish I’d died that day with my friends. It’s hard, knowing I lived and they didn’t. Why me? Why them? But every time I think of my family’s reaction when I came home or when they visited me at the hospital, their relief that I was alive… I couldn’t wish I had died. I’m here. I have to live enough for my fallen comrades.” He fought the urge to pull on his shirt again.

“When will you venture out into the world?”

The thought of it tightened his gut. “I’ve only just begun taking out hunting parties. Mostly men, a lot of vets, so they don’t pay a lot of mind to my face. I saw the way people looked at me while I was at the hospital, the short outings I did in San Antonio. Horror. Pity.” He shook his head. “I’m happy here.”

“Are you?”

The gentle challenge on her face made him uncomfortable. He stared into the flames again. “Yes. It must seem unfair, me holing up here on purpose when you’ve been stuck in hiding.”

“Only unfair to you.”

The crack of a twig in the woods shot her to her feet, sending her whirling around staring into the darkness. “What was that?”

“Critter. Maybe a coon.”

She zipped up her jacket, her eyes wide. “Are you sure?”

He hated the fear that tightened her pretty mouth. “I grew up on this land. I know the difference between a human’s footstep and an animal’s. But we can go in.”

She nodded, meeting his gaze. He pulled his shirt back on, but his eyes went right back to her. The words wanted to come out: you could stay with me, if it makes you feel safer. No expectations of anything, ’cause I don’t even have that inclination…

But he did, and his body stirred at the thought of lying in bed with her. Holding her. She swallowed hard, and her eyes pleaded with him to kiss her. Maybe he was misreading her. Maybe he was crazy. No, he was definitely crazy, because he brought his hand up to her cheek. She moved closer, tilting up her chin, softening her mouth. He leaned down…

Another sound, coming from the front of the lodge, stopped him. Tires on gravel.

“They’re back,” he said. Relief and regret warred inside him for not having pushed out the offer. But she would feel safe now with everyone back. And it was better that he and Kristy didn’t start something they couldn’t finish. He couldn’t condemn her to a life of hiding out here.

He waited inside with her until the group filled the lodge with the sounds of laughter. The BBQ place was a hit, the sawdust covered floors quaint and the band raucous. Griff pushed past the longing to experience the latter two elements and bid everyone good night.

It only hit him later, as he stretched out alone in his bed, that the word he’d used to describe his life here was condemned.





CHAPTER 4


Kristy sat with the others in the Mud Room, eating a hearty breakfast before their mystery event. Addie and Mollie looked as nervous as Kristy felt, but at least they had their guys to encourage and egg them on. Griff was nowhere in sight. It was annoying how disappointing that was. Just because they’d almost shared a kiss, and showed their scars, didn’t mean they’d bonded or anything.