Page 2 of Searching for Valor

“Okay, Vee,” Zak responded after a pause, the fatigue clear in his voice. “You and Conn can head back to base for the night.”

“No, Vee will drop me off,” Connelly said. “I should stay. If we find him, he’ll need immediate medical help.”

Well, at least someone in their group hadn’t lost hope yet.

Shane huffed a humorless laugh and took a drink from his thermos of coffee. “How is it that the horror writer is the most optimistic of us?”

Rylan didn’t respond. The words were shards of glass stuck in his throat. Because as much as he wanted to believe they’d find thirteen-year-old Aiden Ellison alive, the odds were growing slimmer with each passing minute. But Redwood Coast Rescue didn’t give up—not until there was no hope left to cling to.

Except, tonight, hope slipped away like sand through his fingers.

Shane clapped him on the shoulder and walked over to the mess tent, where volunteers were preparing food for the searchers.

“All teams, return to camp,” Zak ordered over the radio.

Rylan’s chest constricted further as he turned to look at Zak, who stood a few yards away, his face hard and unreadable as he leaned over a map spread out on a folding camp table. His cadaver dog, Ranger, lay under the table, radar dish ears drooping. For once, the endlessly energetic Dutch Shepherd looked tired.

Zak hadn’t spoken much since finishing his section of the grid search and returning to base, but frustration radiated off him. He manned the radio, staying in contact with Sawyer back at headquarters and updating the search grids as each team returned empty-handed.

The others began filing back, their heads bowed, their steps sluggish.

Sheriff Ash Rawlings, his expression as dark as a storm cloud, was the first to join them at the command tent. “The parents are frantic. They wanted to keep going, and I had to talk them down.”

“We’ll pick up again at first light,” Zak said, his voice gruff, but something broke behind his eyes. “This isn’t over.”

But sometimes, it was over long before they were ready to admit it. “If you need to talk…”

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll debrief the team later,” Zak muttered. “Right now, I need to think.”

Rylan nodded and watched as his friend walked toward the edge of the clearing, fists clenched at his sides, tension visible in every step.

Ash also watched Zak’s retreat, then exhaled hard, his breath clouding against the air. “He’s taking this one harder than usual. Reminds him too much of searching for Bella and Poppy, I think.” His gaze shifted back to Rylan. “You weren’t here for that, but he was in a bad place. One I spend way too much fucking time worrying he’ll return to.”

Rylan’s own demons stirred in his mind, flashes of sand and blood and searing heat. The explosion that took his arm and changed his life forever. The nightmares that still jolted him awake in a cold sweat. He rubbed at the seam where his prosthetic met scarred flesh. The high-tech myoelectric replacement was a marvel of engineering, almost as dexterous as his original arm. But it was a constant reminder of what he had lost. Of his failures.

Fuck.

He shoved the thoughts aside and studied Zak’s silhouette against the darkening sky. The set of his shoulders, the hard lines of his stance—Rylan recognized that body language. It was the way men carried themselves when the memories threatened to drag them down.

When the nightmares felt more real than reality.

But he also knew Zak. Nightmares or not, the guy was about as solid as they came now. “No, he won’t backslide. He’s not that man anymore.”

Ash regarded him with a long, uncomfortably knowing look. “When was the last timeyoutook a break?”

Rylan’s jaw clenched. He knew what Ash was getting at. It had been non-stop for him lately— case after case, nightmare after nightmare. Always pushing himself, always trying to help one more person. To make up for those he couldn’t save before.

“I don’t need a break. I’m fine,” he gritted out.

Ash arched a brow. “Sure about that? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re white-knuckling it right now. When’s the last time you actually slept?”

Rylan stared at Ash for a long moment, struggling to come up with a response that didn’t make him sound as fucked up as he felt. But he had nothing.

Ash was right, damn him.

He was white-knuckling his grip on sanity with everything he had. He couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten a full night’s sleep without jerking awake in a cold sweat, haunted by visions of blood and sand and twisted metal. He scrubbed a hand over his face. His five o’clock shadow had grown past scruff a while ago and was now in full beard territory. When had he last shaved?

Finally, he looked away, gaze drifting to the darkened treeline. “I’ll sleep when this is over.”

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