Page 73 of Searching for Valor

A humorless laugh escaped him. “About as well as you’d expect. It was...intense. Brought up a lot of shit I thought I’d buried.”

He fell silent again, his hand stilling on Valor’s fur. The dog whined softly, nudging Rylan’s knee.

“Ry,” Izzy said gently, reaching out to touch his arm. “Talk to me. What happened?”

“I told them something I’ve never told anyone before. About that night. The mission that went sideways.”

Her heart clenched at the pain in his voice. She reached out, hesitating for a moment before laying her hand on his arm. “What was it?”

Rylan’s eyes met hers, filled with a mixture of guilt and anguish. “I hesitated,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “There was a tango with an RPG. I had a clean shot, but I... I froze. Just for a second. But it was long enough.”

Izzy’s heart clenched at the raw pain in his voice. She squeezed his arm gently, encouraging him to continue.

“By the time I fired, it was too late. The RPG hit Alejandro’s position. And then everything went to hell.” His prosthetic hand clenched into a fist. “If I’d just taken the shot right away, maybe?—“

“Hey,” Izzy interrupted softly. “You can’t torture yourself with ‘maybes.’ You were what, twenty-two? Twenty-three? It was your first combat mission. Of course you hesitated.”

Rylan shook his head, his jaw clenched so tightly that a muscle ticked near his temple. “I was trained not to hesitate. That’s what separates us from everyone else. We’re supposed to be able to pull the trigger when it counts. But I was a coward.“

“No. You’re human.” She took his left hand in hers. His fingers were ice cold. “Not only that, but you’re one of the most compassionate people I’ve ever met. You take on everyone’s pain like it’s your own. That’s what makes you so good at what you donow. That split-second of hesitation? That was your humanity showing through.”

His eyes met hers, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths. “My humanity got people killed, Iz.”

“No,” she said firmly. “The enemy got people killed. You were just a kid thrust into an impossible situation.”

He pulled his hand away, running it through his hair. “I wasn’t a kid. I was a Navy SEAL. I had a job to do, and I fucked it up.”

The stubborn man. Frustration welled up inside her, and she did the only thing she could think to do to pull him out of this spiral of self-loathing he seemed determined to stay trapped in. She pushed him back into the cushions and straddled his lap, silencing his protest with a hard kiss.

Rylan froze for a split second, then melted into the kiss with a low groan. His hand came up to cup the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as he deepened the kiss.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Rylan rested his forehead against hers. “Iz...” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

“Stop punishing yourself,” she whispered fiercely. “You’re a good man, Rylan Cross. The best I know. And I’ll keep telling you that until you believe it.”

A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips. “Might take a while.”

“I’ve got time,” she replied, brushing her thumb across his cheekbone.

He pulled back slightly to look at her, his eyes searching her face. Whatever he saw there must have convinced him, because the next thing she knew, he was kissing her again. This time it was hungry, almost desperate, like a drowning man gasping for air.

Izzy met his desperation with her own fierce need, letting the kiss consume her. Her hands slid beneath his shirt, fingers skimming over the hard planes of his stomach. Rylan hissed out a breath, his muscles contracting under her touch.

“Izzy,” he groaned against her mouth, her name almost like a prayer. “Are you sure about this?”

In answer, she tugged his shirt up and over his head, tossing it aside. Her hands roamed over his bare chest, tracing the lines of his scars, the intricate tattoo that covered his left shoulder down to his wrist. The base of the design was a stormy ocean, dark waves crashing and swirling in shades of deep blue and gray. Rising from the tumultuous waters on the side of his chest was a golden trident and a weathered anchor entwined with rope. Three sets of dog tags dangled from the prong of the trident—one set for each member of his team he lost. Further down his arm mountain peaks emerged against the ocean, their jagged silhouettes framed against a glowing horizon streaked with fiery oranges and reds, as if caught in the moment of a sunrise—or a sunset. A compass rose dominated the back of his biceps, its needled pointing north, and around it swirled flames, the colors so vibrant and alive, she was almost surprised they didn’t burn her fingers as she traced them.

The entire sleeve was a masterpiece, every element seamlessly woven together in a way that felt alive, vibrant. It wasn’t just a tattoo. It was a story, an intricate blend of chaos and beauty, a perfect reflection of the man who wore it.

She trailed her fingers from the tattoo to the scars on the other side of his chest. His prosthetic arm glinted in the low light, and she leaned over, pressing her lips to the spot where metal met flesh. He was beautiful, this broken man she’d fallen so hard for. She wanted to map every inch of him with her hands, her lips, her tongue. She wanted to make him forget, just for a little while, the ghosts that haunted him.

“I’m sure,” she whispered, holding his gaze. “If you won’t love yourself, let me do it for you.”

chapter

twenty-five

Something flared in his eyes,hot and bright. He surged up to capture her mouth again, his hands skimming down her back to cup her ass. In one fluid motion, he stood, lifting her with shocking ease. She gasped and wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her down the hallway to his bedroom.

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