Page 80 of Silence and Surrender

I managed a small smile. “Doctor’s orders?”

“My orders.” She kissed my cheek—the casual affection of family, a family I wished I could claim for my own. “The training will wait. Healing won’t.”

But some kinds of healing couldn’t wait, I thought as I made my way back to my room. Some changes were coming whether I was ready or not.

Colton was waiting, because of course he was. Always watching. Always protecting. Always trying to give me space while staying close enough to catch me if I fell.

“Better?” he asked as I curled into the window seat. The vineyard spread below us, peaceful in the afternoon sun.

“Getting there.” I let myself lean against him when he joined me, his solid warmth helping ground me in the present. “Sorry I worried you.”

“You’re allowed to worry me.” His arms came around me carefully, giving me time to pull away. When I didn’t, he relaxed slightly. “Just...let me help? Sometimes?”

I thought of Allegra’s words about support. About love. About facing things together.

“Soon,” I promised, both to him and myself. “Just...not yet.”

“Whenever you’re ready.” He pressed a kiss to my hair. “Whatever you need.”

What I needed was time. Time to be sure. Time to be stronger. Time to face the possibility growing inside me.

But time was running out. Soon I wouldn’t be able to hide the morning sickness. The fatigue. The changes in my body that were becoming harder to ignore.

Soon I’d have to tell him everything.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Colton

Something was wrong with Isabella.

I watched her train with Stryker, noting changes only someone who loved her would see. The slight tremor in her hands before morning sessions. The way she’d pause sometimes, swallowing hard before continuing. The pallor that hadn’t faded despite weeks of Italian sun and careful nutrition.

The morning light through the training room’s windows cast everything in harsh relief, making it impossible to miss how her collarbones stood out more sharply than they should, how her training clothes hung slightly loose despite her regained strength. She moved through each sequence with brutal determination, but I could see the cost in the fine sheen of sweat on her forehead, in the way her hands would clench between sets to hide their shaking.

“Her form is improving,” Stryker said, joining me at the window, moving with that contained energy I’d learned to recognize—always aware, always assessing. “But something’s off.”

“You see it too?”

He nodded, his military assessment matching my own concerns. “She pushes too hard in the mornings. Like she’s trying to prove something. Or hide something.”

The training room itself seemed to reflect her struggle—half the equipment was still in boxes, waiting to be properly set up. Like us, this space was in transition. Becoming something new. Something stronger. The morning sun caught dust particles in the air, making them dance like memories we couldn’t quite grasp.

I’d started coming here early, before she woke, working through my own training routines until my muscles burned and my mind quieted. Sometimes I’d find evidence she’d been there even earlier—a water bottle out of place, a training mat slightly askew. Both of us fighting our demons during the silence of the pre-dawn hours, neither quite ready to share that vulnerability.

The observation hit uncomfortably close to my own fears. I’d noticed her slipping away early each day, spending more and more time with Allegra, and less time with me. Pulling away from me.

“Could be trauma,” I said, more to convince myself than him. “PTSD. Recovery.”

“Could be.” But his tone suggested he doubted it. “Your girl’s tough, but she’s carrying something heavy. Something she’s not ready to share.”

I watched her complete another sequence, her movements precise despite obvious fatigue. Always so determined to be perfect. To be strong. To be unbroken.

“Give her time,” Stryker advised, reading my tension. “Some battles need fighting alone before you can accept help.”

“I should be able to help her.” The words carried more frustration than I intended. “After everything...”

“You are helping.” He clapped my shoulder. “By being there. By waiting. By letting her choose when to trust.”

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