Page 142 of One Secret

'You did what I always wish I had,' he says. 'You didn't just follow blindly. You made a different call. And it was the right one. Those people were innocent and you saved their lives.'

'And screwed myself and all of my team in the process.'

I know what he's saying is true. But simply being right doesn't erase the repercussions of my choice.

We'd been brought up on treason charges. Charges I couldn't even be mad at. Charges I still don't wholly disagree with.

Right or wrong, information or no information, the military—any military—does not function with insubordination. There has to be a pecking order. If every shot, every death is on the choice, and the conscience, of the one who pulls the trigger, no one would be able to sleep at night. I might have saved the lives of that family. But I had risked the sanctity of an institution that would not—could not—fall from grace.

It would, instead, hang me out to dry.

I couldn't blame them for that. But I also couldn't allow it.

So I'd run.

'That's why you were so intense about all of this,' Cyrus says. 'If you'd been deported, you'd have been imprisoned. And you thought I wouldn't be there for our baby—'

'Which I was wrong about—!'

'But it's what you thought,' he reminds me. He wraps his arms around my waist again. 'So you couldn't risk leaving her alone. You've done all this for her.'

Goddammit, I will not cry.

I fiddle with the front of Cyrus's shirt, the warmth of his chest seeping into the backs of my knuckles. I squeeze my eyes tight, draw back my lips against the urge to sob, and nod my head.

This time when Cyrus takes hold of me, it's nowhere near as coy. Taking my lead, he pulls me in closer. I feel every plane of muscle along his torso pressed up against mine, every line of strength in his arms caging me in. I snuggle deeper and try to absorb his presence, his scent. I feel him taking long and measured breaths against my neck. Together, we just stand.

I take it back... I think, recalling that night in the hotel. This is the most intimate embrace we've shared.

Which makes it the perfect moment to say:

'I love you.'

Cyrus freezes against me.

'I love you,' I repeat. 'And I'm sorry I'm so late saying it back to you. I knew it long before you told me.'

'You... I... wait, what?'

I grin against his chest. Cyrus sounds like he's rebooting. Like he can't compute the idea that someone might love him. When I pull back to look him in the eye, I see it written all over his face.

'But I...' he stammers.

But I'm not worthy of love.

But I'm a killer.

But I'm a criminal.

But I killed a child...

Whatever reason is digging its claws into Cyrus's heat, it's painted clear as day on his face that he doesn't think himself worthy of affection.

'Hey,' I say, squeezing my arms around his waist and bringing his attention back from wherever it had drifted to. 'Remember what you said a few days back? About how we all have different versions of ourselves?'

'Yeah...?' Cyrus makes an audible swallow. Those beautiful mismatched eyes of his bore into mine. The rest of the waiting room, the hospital, seems to melt away.

'Well, I agree with you,' I tell him as we stand in our own little universe. 'About how we can know only one element of a person but, if we know it well enough, we start to see the rest? Hints of things we didn't intend to show?'

---