Fractured Freedom(16)

I lifted a brow at her swearing. “I mean what I said.”

“You can’t just leave.” Her hand dug into mine harder, and I saw the pink on her cheeks deepen in anger rather than embarrassment. That pink was almost the same color as something else of hers I remembered, and fuck me, I did not need to be imagining it right now.

I had years of training. I went to great lengths to keep those around me calm, keep us focused on a mission, and complete objectives flawlessly.

Yet, most of those situations were life and death.

Here, I didn’t know how to act. I’d been with women and made them comfortable, understood their emotions. They understood mine too. Delilah and I were different.

She was so good that her mom once told my mom that she’d forgotten Lilah somewhere because she was so quiet and well-behaved that there was no way of knowing whether she was there or not.

It wasn’t like that for me. Today, and most every day, I knew when she was there.

Maybe I’d invested too much in hope, pictured our families merging with her taking my damn name. I realized I’d loved her for a long time. And when she didn’t write, I still held on to hope.

I wanted her to see me, thought the holidays would be better.

Instead, Christmas had been a shit show.



“Man, what the fuck you dressed up for? We going out to the bar after dinner?” Dom asked me as I searched the room for her.

Telling my best friend that I’d put my damn cologne on for his kid sister was not something I was about to do. “Well, I’m not going out looking like your ass. You wearing sweats to pick up Susie tonight?”

“I don’t need to wear anything to pick up Susie.” He waggled his eyebrows at me, and Dex elbowed him with a glare, probably because he was sweet on Susie at this point.

This was the normal cycle of the small town: we all flew back in, enjoyed our family, then went to the little bar in the village. High school flames were rekindled for a night, along with drama and petty bullshit.

I loved it.

It was comfort; it was home.

It’d been only two weeks earlier that I’d been overseas, on top of a building that was on fire, trying to snipe a terrorist. That year, I’d become ruthless in my missions, and when Lilah didn’t email me back, I’d pushed for more training within Special Ops. I’d taken contract work, I’d worked with the government, the mob, specific embassies. Hours of running, sleep deprivation, and fighting.

“What the hell are you trying so hard for anyway, Dante?” Dom asked. “You’re making us all look like pansies. Delta Force and dressed in some expensive jeans. How much did those cost anyway? I could make millions in tech, and every girl is still going to only want you.”

I chuckled. He wasn’t lying.

I only wanted one girl, though, and when she came down the steps, I heard her immediately. Her voice was like sex on a stick that I wanted to lap up. When I turned to look at her, the punch to my gut hit much harder than men in the military when we were scrapping. In ripped jeans and a black sweater that didn’t even do a mediocre job of hiding her curves, she looked more mature, like she’d grown up in only six months. Like I was missing moments with her. She went to hug my mom and let everyone fuss over her for a minute. She was the kid sister, and Izzy was out of juvie now but still hanging with the wrong crowd.

My mom immediately asked how school was going and if she’d made any good friends.

“School’s good. I’m sure you’ve heard that I’m going into nursing. And I’ve made friends. It’s been great.” She drifted off, and her eyes searched the room. When they landed on me, they froze. Hazel and gorgeous. They were rainbows of green and gold twisted up with fear and pain. Then, her cheeks blushed that familiar rosy pink and she continued, “It’s been busy, really busy.”

“I bet. I know college is full of booze and boys. You make sure you have some fun with both.” My mom nudged her and laughed. Delilah tore her stare from mine and giggled at my mother’s joke too.

She murmured that she was going to help with food and then floated out of the room just like she’d floated in, without a hello or a how are you. Without so much as an I miss you.

It didn’t take long for neighbors to stop by and for the Hardy Christmas to get into full swing. Alcohol was flowing, mistletoe was hung, and Mr. Hardy was at the piano trying his best to sing “Let it Snow” like he did every year. We ate ham and cheesy potatoes and probably a million different desserts, surrounded by family.

Izzy showed up with her crew. Mrs. Hardy rolled her eyes as they all beelined toward the punch bowl. “Izzy, don’t drink too much now. You know alcohol can be a gateway—”

“Mrs. Hardy.” I threw an arm over her shoulder and steered her away from Izzy, winking at her. “Let’s see if you and my mom can outsing that husband of yours, huh?”

Mrs. Hardy laughed, and Izzy mouthed thank you like she couldn’t handle her family harping on her anymore.

I got it. She’d done her time in Juvie. She’d gotten clean. Except her family seemed to think she wasn’t really all that clean because of how she presented herself in front of them.

Still, my mother and Mrs. Hardy sang “White Christmas,” and they harmonized so well together, you would think they had been going door to door caroling their whole lives.