Page 47 of Searching for Valor

“You done?” Shane asked, his voice low and deadly calm. “Or do you want to keep tearing down the people who’ve done nothing but try to save your sorry ass?”

Rylan turned to lash out at him next, but the words died on his tongue. He stared at the horrible burn scars twisting Shane’s once-handsome face and realized he couldn’t even remember what the guy used to look like.

“You’re not telling us anything we don’t already know,” Zak said, stepping closer. “We’re all broken. Every damn one of us. Including you. We just didn’t see your cracks in time.”

He finally yanked his gaze away from Shane, and his throat tightened. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” Veronica said quietly. “It’s love. I can leave the house now because ofyou, asshole. Because you talked me through it. Because you and them”—she motioned to the others—“and my husband loved me through it. So if you think we’re going to do anything less for you now, you’re a fucking idiot.”

The walls of the room felt like they were closing in. He couldn’t take it. Couldn’t take their anger, their disappointment, their goddamn loyalty. He groped for the call button tied to his bed rail.

A nurse appeared moments later, her expression neutral but curious. “What can I do for you, Mr. Cross?”

“I don’t want visitors.” His voice came out flat and emotionless. “Get them out of here.”

The nurse hesitated, glancing at Zak and the others.

“Get. Them. Out!”

Zak’s shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him. He nodded at the nurse. “It’s okay, we’ll go. But this isn’t over, Ry. You’re not getting rid of us that easily.”

He didn’t respond. He couldn’t past the lump that had taken up residence in his throat. He stared at the ceiling and listened to the sound of their footsteps retreating, the soft click of the door as it closed behind them. The silence that followed was deafening, but it was better than their pity. Or their love.

He didn’t deserve either.

He exhaled slowly, his eyes burning as he stared at the blank hospital ceiling. He didn’t want to think about what had led him here, didn’t want to admit to himself—or anyone else—how close he’d come to letting go entirely.

But even as he tried to bury the thoughts, one truth clawed its way to the surface.

They’d saved him. And he hated them for it.

chapter

seventeen

The doctor plannedto keep him for three more days.

To hell with that.

No way was he going to sit around in some sterile room for three more days while shrinks tried to get inside his head. He could say the wrong thing and end up committed. He knew how it worked, and he wanted to part of it, so he’d yanked out his IVs, put on his clothes, and checked himself out against medical advice.

Now he sat on his back porch, watching without much interest as the sun dipped low over the mountains, setting the sky ablaze with hues of orange and gold. The quiet was almost oppressive, and the air smelled of pine resin and distant woodsmoke, with the faintest hint of salt from the nearby coast.

He usually loved it here.

But, right now, he was boiling with too much rage to care.

He still couldn’t believe his team fucking ambushed him yesterday, turning their visit into an intervention. Like he was some kind of addict who needed to be fixed.

You are, a voice whispered at the back of his mind.

He told the voice to fuck off and took a drink of coffee that tasted more like regret than caffeine, probably because he’dcome home and dumped the rest of his bourbon into it. He hated this—this ache in his chest, the crushing weight of guilt that wouldn’t let him breathe—and yet he drank it anyway.

To have them all standing around his bed, watching him with pity in their eyes…

It was more than he could bear. Zak, Donovan, Shane— he knew they meant well, but they didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand. They were all heroes to their cores. They were brave. They were strong. They saved lives every day, and they did it without flinching. Without hesitating.

Not like him. He was the weak link, the one who couldn’t handle the pressure when it mattered most.

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