Page 29 of Finding Our Reality

“Holt, did you really just ask me that? You know why. No matter where I go, no matter what I do, Ry will always be a part of me. There’s nothing I can do about that. Just because I hate him, doesn’t mean that I wish him harm.” I twist my glass around in a circle. “He joined the military to get away from me, to run away. And it nearly cost him his life, by the looks of it. How am I supposed to deal with that? He ran to danger because of me.”

Will shakes his head. “There’s a million different ways for someone to run away. Not every guy running away from his hometown joins the military. You may think he joined the service just to get away from you, but he joined because he felt a higher calling, a need to serve, a duty to his country. More importantly, a desire to grow into a man he could respect. We’ve talked about his time in the military. And I can tell you right now, that there are only three things in life that Crutch seems truly passionate about. And two of them are being a Marine and being a cop.”

Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t ask. My voice croaks, “What’s the third?”

Will shrugs. “You.”

Dagger. To the heart. “I thought none of you talked to Ry about me.”

“We haven’t. We don’t. But I don’t need to have a conversation with him, Ella, to know that he’s explosively passionate about you. The way he looks at you? It’s the same way I feel about Raylee.”

And what do I say to that? I have no choice but to hear him out. I peek back at the table. Ry’s leaning forward clutching his head in his hands. Growling, I snap at Will. “Hand me a beer, dum-dum.”

Wrapping my purse around me, I weave my way through the crowd, balancing the beer bottle in one hand and my Long Island Iced Tea in the other. His head snaps up when he hears the chair scrape across the floor. Wordlessly, I slide the fresh drink across the table to him. I don’t say anything. No one said I had to make this easy for him. It sure as hell isn’t easy for me.

“I didn’t tell you about my injuries.”

Obviously.

“I wanted to.” He tosses his head back and forth. “Then again, I didn’t want to. It’s hard to explain.”

I raise my glass, rubbing my lips back and forth across the rim. There must be a drop of alcohol there because my bottom lip starts burning.

Ry chuckles, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head. “You always have to bust my balls, don’t you?”

“Do you expect any different?”

“No, I guess not.” He sighs. “I wanted to tell you because it was a big part of my life. Itisa big part of my life. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was worried. I was worried you wouldn’t care. After what happened twelve years ago, it wouldn’t surprise me if you wanted to see me get run over by a bus. But I was also worried that youwouldcare. Care too much. How can I let you care about me when I left? When I did what I did? I don’t deserve your compassion, your worry, or your thoughts.”

I lick my lips, praying for patience. “You’ve always been very good at trying to tell me what to think about you. Don’t you think it’s time you left that up to me?”

“I guess so.” He leans forward, hooking his calloused finger around mine. “So, what do you think of me?”

I pull my hand away, folding it in my lap. His touch, no matter how small, stirs passion. And that’s not something I need to feel about him.

Not now.

Not ever.

I ignore his question. “Tell me what happened.”

“It happened in South Sudan.”

“Not Afghanistan or Iraq?”

He shakes his head. “I was deployed to Afghanistan for a while. Then, I was sent to South Sudan to help guard the US Embassy. We were driving in a convoy, taking the ambassador to a meeting at the Presidential Palace. There was an IED. We had to abandon the vehicles.” He shrugs. “And then, there was another IED. I got a little too close for comfort on that one.”

He’s so nonchalant. It’s like he just told me he burnt his finger on the hot stove. “Who did it? Who set the IEDs?”

“Doesn’t matter…this group or that group. There are always people out there who wanna hurt other people.”

My voice sounds shaky. “Did anyone die?”

He rubs his fingers across his lips. “Yes. Some really good people.”

My chest feels heavy, like a ton of bricks is sitting on top of me. I can’t help it; I reach around and fondle my scar. “Did you nearly die?”

“No. It was bad, but not life threatening.” He smiles, lifting his left arm in the air and pumping it like he’s lifting weights. “See. I’m fine. Completely fine.”

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