Page 33 of Curvy Wives of Willow Creek 5-8

I glance at her, her silhouette now barely visible in the muted glow of the dashboard lights. I choose my words carefully, opting for a brief, safe response.

"People are not their past," I say, letting the words hang between us.

I refuse to dive deeper, to extend the conversation, even though part of me aches to. I can't risk it. I can't risk her. Not until I've patched myself up, not until I've managed to piece together the scattered fragments of my soul.

But for now, the focus is getting to Willow Creek before my heart and mind surrender to her allure.

The journey continues in silence, the engine's hum the only sound in the small space of the car. My gaze stays on the road, but every so often, it betrays me, flickering to the side to steal a glance at Kate.

Her face is still pressed against the window, her eyes now closed, and her body more relaxed. Yet to me, she remains unchanged, just as beguiling, my heart still thudding against my ribcage, my breaths causing my shirt to strain at the seams.

Then, like a sniper's bullet, another question comes out of nowhere, hitting me square in the chest.

"If you could go back, would you still go to war?"

Why is she asking me these things? Can't she see how I'm wrestling with my desires, struggling to keep my defenses intact? But, perhaps, just perhaps, if I share the horrifying truth with her, she might understand that I'm not the comforting doctor she believes me to be.

Maybe then she'll realize I'm a broken man, too damaged for a sweet, innocent woman like her.

I stutter as the ghastly images from the battlefield flood back into my mind, my hand shaking slightly on the steering wheel. But I don't hold back. Instead, I dive headlong into the treacherous waters of my past.

"I'd still go," I admit, my voice cracking. "Despite the loud painful screams and the dead bodies, the chaos... there were also lives I saved. People who might not be here today if I hadn't been there. That... that outweighs everything else."

I swallow hard, the memories a bitter pill to go down.

"It felt like fulfilling my purpose, like I was meant to be there, to save those specific people. Now, I feel like I'm just...drifting."

The confession leaves a hollow feeling in my chest, my foot tapping nervously against the car floor. I've laid myself bare to a woman I barely know, exposing my deepest fears and darkest memories.

To my surprise, she doesn't recoil. Instead, she takes my free hand in hers, her touch like a warm balm on my icy skin.

She doesn't say anything. She just holds my hand, her gentle caress sending sparks up my arm, fueling the fire already raging within me. I look at her, the question in my eyes, and all she does is apologize, her hand never leaving mine.

And in that moment, with her comforting touch, I feel a sense of solace I haven't experienced in a long time. But with Willow Creek just minutes away, I wonder how long this fleeting respite can last.

Chapter 5 - Kate

I can't believe I'm here, sitting in my car, my hand in Liam's. His skin is rough, a stark contrast to the softness of his words as he shares a piece of his soul.

He's telling me things that are hard to hear, painting pictures of war that make my heart ache. And yet, there's something about the raw honesty in his voice, the sincerity in his eyes when they flicker to mine, that leaves me longing to understand him more.

He's not just a handsome man - he's a hero, a soldier, a medic, someone who's given so much for others and would do so again. Each glance he sends my way sends my pulse sprinting, each silent moment between us inflating the car, making it feel smaller, almost claustrophobic.

My mind races as I try to think of something to say. Anything to break the silence that stretches between us. I'm a woman of control and feel like I'm losing it right now. His presence, his words, his hand in mine – it's all so...disarming.

But I don't move my hand away from his. No, I can't. His grip is warm and comforting, a testament to his sincerity, his truth. I can't let him think I regret it.

That I regret reaching out first, touching him first. Isn't it supposed to be the man who makes the first move? But here I am, straying from the path society paved for me.

A question teeters on the edge of my tongue, but the words feel too heavy to carry, the silence too daunting to break. How can someone so noble, so self-sacrificing, feel this real?

As the silence swells between us, I fake a cough to break it. Gathering my courage, I ask,

"Why didn't you go back?" The words hang in the air, heavy, unyielding.

For a moment, he doesn't answer. His eyes stay focused on the road ahead, but his head dips slightly. I imagine him sifting through his memories, reliving moments he'd rather forget. Suddenly, guilt washes over me, leaving a bitter taste on my tongue.

"I'm sorry, Liam," I say, rushing to apologize. "I shouldn't have asked."

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