Page 62 of Desperate Actions

And I feel all that and more for Aella.

Am I a hard man?

That question has haunted me for years.

And every time I ask myself that, I think about Uncle Adrik, about my father.

The first time I killed a man, I lost that innocence, that childhood sweetness I once had.

I still remember coming home on leave and telling my father.

He cried. So did I. But there was nothing weird about it.

My father is an amazing man, and he held me for an hour as I wept in his arms. Owning my emotions is one of the first lessons he taught me, and I was a better man for it.

Still, we can only process as we experience things, right?

Well, my last deployment was the worst.

I’d been injured.

Heartsick by the death and darkness I saw.

When I came home, the first thing I did was see my father.

I confessed some of what I’d been doing in special ops, and it wasn’t pretty.

But what did I expect, joining the army?

I won’t shit talk my country. Not that. The world of war and politics was too fucked up and it had no place in my life now.

So what did I get for all my experience?

Well, I now had a special set of skills, but I wasn’t interested in being the government’s tool.

I would be my own man from now on.

What made it all easier? My father. My mother. Family.

And secret thoughts of her. My little Pixie.

Dad was always proud of me.

But he was happiest when I announced I was done.

Because war made me a hard man.

And sometimes? I hate that.

I wish I still had the innocence of my youth, back when Uncle Ad used to ask me that question.

But right now? As I watch my Pixie sleep in my arms?

I think—maybe I can be soft for her.

Or maybe—maybe she can be my softness.

Not that she’s a wilting violet.

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