Page 76 of Unmade

“Makes sense. They’re nicer than any DFAC staff I’ve ever encountered.”

I chuckled.

He side-eyed me as we walked back through the library. “So are you. I’m struggling to picture you the way you described yourself before. Lacking empathy and whatnot. I still see the guy who gave a stranger his phone number, just in case things got rough.”

Understandable, considering he’d only met that side of me.

“You’ll start seeing those traits further into your education when my expectations get higher,” I told him. “Once we begin counterinsurgency drills, field survival exercises, and resistance to interrogation training, Coach and I won’t be as lenient or as fun to be around. But even then, Leighton—the number I gave you is always good. You can always talk to us.”

He balanced his tray in one hand while he inserted the code to his room. “I’m not gonna lie. Picturing you as a pissed-off Drill is doing it for me.”

“Ha!” I grinned and shook my head. “Good to know.” Every now and then, he said something that was a little bolder, and I soaked it up. He revealed things about himself in those glimpses into his mind. In this instance, there was the chance Leighton Watts liked it rough.

As his superior, I was never going to make a move on him, and he’d already admitted to being the settler who didn’t ask for more. In short, this wasn’t happening. But now that the levees had broken and I could no longer deny I was ridiculously drawn to him, I fully intended to fantasize freely and frequently, and rough did it for me too.

Once in his room, I went over to his couch and sat down, and I moved the two books from the other half, a silent indication for him not to sit on his bed.

“Okay, pick my brain,” he said. “Let me know if I’m a psycho.”

I chuckled and cut into my pork chop. “I’ll leave that to Doc. I’m just curious, especially when it comes to how you think you’ll react around death and violence. When you shot Nassim, for instance. You didn’t have much of a reaction afterward.”

Leighton pulled up his legs on the couch and held his plate close. “I already walked Doc through every second of that night. Like, I felt the adrenaline starting to rush when I understood it was an intruder. And after that, I just… I don’t know, it’s hard to explain. I was hyperfocused, and the whole thing didn’t faze me much. Even after.” He shrugged and shoveled food into his mouth. “Doc’s main concern seems to be making sure those normal reactions don’t build up over a long time and fuck me up later in life.”

I nodded with a dip of my chin and chewed. Riggs was right; this was good.

“Yeah, that’s one of the biggest concerns,” I replied. “Just don’t let the norm scare you. Including my time in the Army, I’ve been in this game for almost twenty-five years, and I’ve yet to see a backlash. Not everyone gets affected by what we do, and that’s fine.”

He nodded slowly, mulling things over as he ate.

I let the silence take over and focused on eating, and it was time to set new boundaries for myself. Leighton hadn’t reacted well to my pulling back a while ago, and I didn’t wanna do that to him again. Nor did I wanna limit my interactions with him as long as shit stayed platonic and appropriate.

I was confident I could keep my personal attachment separate from our dynamic as mentor and recruit. So, bring it on. I wanted more of this. Just him and me talking, hanging out after hours… Coach and Doc would obviously not approve, but fuck it. If I couldn’t break the rules entirely, I was at least gonna allow myself to finger-fuck the gray area.

“What if I get a taste for it?”

I glanced back at him and found him staring at his food. But he wasn’t talking about his pasta, was he? It was the killing. The violence.

“Is that something you’re worried about?” I asked.

He seemed unsure. He picked at his food and shrugged with one shoulder. “I felt good after I shot Nassim. The adrenaline rush of it, I mean. Something happened to me.”

What was the saying, it was always the quiet ones?

Because I’ll be fucking damned.

How similar were we?

“Let me guess…” I pushed the tray away from me and pulled up a leg on the couch so I could face him better. “When the shots went off, you could suddenly breathe easier, and it was an addictive shock to the system.”

He snapped his gaze to mine, and he looked like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

I was spot-on. So he hadn’t told Doceverything.

“I can’t explain it, but I think I’ve had something building up inside me for as long as I can remember,” he said quietly. He struggled to make eye contact. “Before Mom died. I don’t know—it just feels…dark. Like there’s something wrong with me.”

I had a feeling I knew what he was talking about. I’d just gone through it earlier than he had. By the time I left the Army, I’d come to terms with that inner darkness. But unlike Leighton, I’d had my brother. Vince had been much the same.

“Different doesn’t mean wrong, pup,” I murmured. “We can’t all be textbook cases.”

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