Page 53 of Inseverable (Carolina Beach)

Had he carried Lewis’s body out from the ambush he spoke of? The way he seems to stare out into the distance, makes me think he’s carried his share of fallen friends.

I shudder. Today might have been something out of a bad dream for me. But for years, war had been his everyday nightmare.

Hale nudges me with his elbow. “Why don’t you check on him?” he says. “I’ll go around and make sure the team’s getting the stragglers off the beach.”

I pat his arm appreciatively. I didn’t realize how lost in my thoughts I was until Hale touched me. “Thanks, Hale.”

My feet kick back the moist sand as I ease down to Callahan’s side. He frowns when he sees me and wraps the large blanket folded at his side around me. It’s one of those we use for emergencies, I wonder briefly which guard he asked for it, but I’m so touched by the gesture, I don’t wonder for very long.

“You look cold,” he points out.

“I’m all right.” It’s what I claim, but when I feel the warm skin of his shoulder press against my cheek, I realize how chilled I am in these soaked clothes.

His hand skims down my arm and over the quickly forming goose bumps. The days have been so hot. But beneath the overcast sky, I feel that same bitter cold I felt when I went after that little boy. I saw him out there, but the current was taking him out to sea so fast, it took me a long time to catch him, and another few minutes to find him when the ocean dragged him under.

The sand was kicking up from the bottom, making it hard to see. But God led me to him, and gave me the strength I needed to get him to shore. He was there for us, all of us, helping us save everyone we needed to despite our low numbers.

“You followed me here,” I say, pointing out the obvious.

“I couldn’t stay in bed without you,” he says, his words warming me in a way this blanket never could.

He gathers my body around him, like I’m not soaked to the bone, and like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I also didn’t want to leave you out here on your own. If things got bad, I wanted to be around to help.”

The deep thrum in his voice causing me to melt further against him. “Thank you,” I tell him.

In the quiet that takes us in like the breeze skimming across the sand, I remember how it felt to lay against him all night. I draped my body against his. Not only because of my need to feel close to him, but because he seemed to drift away. I don’t want to admit how much he scared me, or how I worried he’d run out into night. But I can’t ignore what I saw, or pretend his reaction was no big deal.

“Last night was really hard on you,” I say, wondering if he can even hear me with how softly I speak.

“Yeah,” he offers, but not much more.

“Is it always that bad around fireworks?” I press.

“Don’t know,” he says, appearing to hesitate to even answer that much.

I feel him trying to put some space between us, so when he rests his cheek against my head, I’m grateful for the closeness it seems to bring us.

“It’s the first time I’ve heard any real explosions since I’ve been back,” he admits, the roughness in his voice and his sudden response taking me by surprise. “I don’t think they would have been as bad, but things have gotten worse for me since learning Billy died.” He huffs. “For all I know, maybe it still would have been bad, even if nothing had happened to Billy.”

“Have you been to counseling?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I tried it, briefly. But I couldn’t keep going. I wasn’t ready to talk—to put it all out there. All I wanted to do was to forget.”

“But you haven’t forgotten,” I say carefully.

“No. You don’t forget things I’ve seen,” he says. “Those memories etch into your bones and become a part of you.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, wishing I could say something better.

My arms fasten around his waist. I want to take away some of that pain and ease his suffering. But I know I can’t, so I wait, resting my head against his chest. It’s my way of reminding him he’s not alone, and maybe to remind myself he’s also with me.

He pauses then angles his head, examining me closer. “You all right?”

I nod quickly, but then pull up the edge of the towel to cover my face when a lump claims my throat and my eyes burn with impending tears. Callahan draws me closer, speaking low against my ear.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. When I don’t answer he says, “Tell me why you’re crying, baby.”

Something about the way he calls me “baby” is so comforting that after a moment, I’m able to reign in my emotions to some respectable degree. But I’ll admit, some of that fear I felt escapes my eyes and trails down my cheeks.

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