Whispers of You (Lost & Found #1)(25)

I swallowed the bile crawling up my throat. “Wren take the call?”

Nash’s eyes flashed. “Yeah.”

I muttered a slew of curses.

Nash punched me in the arm, bringing my focus back to him. “Wren can handle herself. She’s been doing this job for a long time. This isn’t the first time she’s gotten a call that triggered her. Won’t be the last, either. It’s part of what makes her uniquely qualified to be a dispatcher. She has an understanding that very few people have.”

That fire inside me burned again, turning everything in its wake to painful ash. “She shouldn’t have to have that understanding.”

“No, she shouldn’t. But she does. That’s life. It’s messed-up and rarely fair.”

I turned back to the doors, staring out them as if I could somehow track where Wren had gone. I had a deep urge to run after her, to try to take away a little of that pain. But that would be the last thing she wanted.

“It wasn’t your fault, Holt.”

I jerked around to face Nash.

“It wasn’t,” he pushed. “It was two sick teenagers who never should’ve had access to weapons.”

My nostrils flared, and my breathing turned ragged. “I. Was. Late.”

“And I made you late. Do you think I wanted Wren to get shot? That I wanted her to almost die?”

I shook my head in a rough movement. “I made her a promise. Me. If I’d been there—”

“Then they would’ve shot you, too.”

“I could’ve protected her.”

Nash lifted his brows. “Did you have a concealed carry permit at eighteen that I didn’t know about?”

I slammed my mouth closed.

“That’s what I thought.” He shook his head. “You saved her life, Holt. You got her breathing again. You stayed with her until the paramedics got there.”

“Stop,” I barked.

Images assailed my mind. Skin so pale, going cold. Life slipping away under my fingertips.

Nash stared at me. “You need to let this go or it’s going to kill you. You’ve already been trying to kill yourself for a decade. Get a clue. The reaper doesn’t want you. Maybe this is your shot to make things right, here and now.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But he did. Nash and I had been the closest in age—Irish twins, my mom had always said. We’d been attached at the hip since the moment he was born. He knew me too damn well.

He leveled that knowing stare on me now. “You think I don’t see you? First the military, war zone after war zone. And then when that calmed down, you had to go private sector so you could choose the riskiest jobs. I bet you took the most dangerous assignments on those missions, too.”

“It’s called being a leader.”

“No, it’s called being reckless.” Anger flared in Nash’s eyes. “Did you ever stop to think what it would do to us if we lost you?”

I jolted at his question.

“That’s what I thought. It’s time to grow up, Holt. Take responsibility for the things that are yours and let go of the ones that aren’t.”

“I’m sorry.” I didn’t have any other words for him. I’d screwed up time and time again when it came to my family. All I could do now was be here and make different choices.

A little of the anger bled out of Nash’s expression at my apology. “You have to deal with this. You need to stop running.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“There’s more than one way to run.”

God, did I know that.

Wren’s face flashed in my mind—the panic embedded there. I could see the little tremor in her hands as if she were still standing right in front of me.

I’d thought that if I left, she’d be able to heal. That she’d be safe.

And the truth was, I hadn’t wanted to face what I’d done to her. Hadn’t wanted to see that betrayal in her eyes as she’d finally come to terms with the truth—that I hadn’t been there the moment she needed me the most. But it was time for me to face it. I needed to let myself drown in the pain and not hide from it by taking mission after mission.

Because Wren still lived with that pain. Every. Damn. Day.





10





WREN





The echo of footsteps on the linoleum floor rose above the low din of the station. I shifted my gaze to the computer screen in front of me, trying to get a read on the reflection. Man or woman? Size? Shape?

It didn’t really matter who it was, just as long as it wasn’t Holt’s broad-shouldered form. His words echoed in my head. “Just because I left doesn’t mean I stopped caring.”

That phantom rasp in my mind had anger pooling deep. He wanted to come back? Fine. He wanted to start showing his face around town? I could deal. But he did not get to tell me he cared.

People who cared didn’t vanish the moment you were well enough to leave rehab and go home. I’d replayed those months between the shooting and Holt bolting over and over in my head. Looking back on it, I could see that something had shifted in him. But at the time, I’d been in too much mental and emotional pain to see it.