Chapter Six #2
Marsh rolled his eyes at the thought and braced himself.
He gripped Eli’s arm a little harder without asking, and Eli wordlessly offered his support.
Together, they navigated the uneven, rocky shore.
Marsh’s balance shifted with each hop, and the riverbed made things trickier.
Eli looped his arm around Marsh’s waist, steady and sure, and they moved as one until the water reached Marsh’s hips, the coolness of it stealing his breath.
With practiced motion, Marsh released Eli and let himself glide forward, supported by the current.
Eli followed, watching carefully until Marsh gave a small nod—he had it. Then he slid in beside him, the water lapping at their skin, refreshing and brisk. They waded a bit further into the deeper part until they could float.
For a long time, they didn’t speak.
The water held them both in silence. Marsh floated on his back gently moving his arms to not go with the gentle movement of the river, the sun warm against his face, eyes half closed, listening to the soft splash of Eli’s arms as he swam slow laps in no particular pattern.
The air was crisp and quiet, the kind of peace that came with being miles away from the world.
Still, Marsh could feel the tension rolling off Eli. It wasn’t like the usual, quiet kind—the kind that clung to survivors like a second skin. This was more like a brewing storm.
He let it sit.
Let it settle.
Waited.
And eventually, Eli spoke.
“He was everything I thought I wanted.”
Marsh opened his eyes and turned his head, floating upright until his foot found the rocky bottom. Eli had stopped swimming, arms wrapped around his torso as he stood waist-deep in the water, looking out across the glimmering slow current.
“Dominant,” Eli said, voice barely above the lapping of water. “With just the right amount of possession and caring. We met when I was still doing contract work for the VA. He was ... charming. Confident. Commanding, but not in a bad way. At least, not at first.”
Marsh didn’t speak. Just listened.
“He was protective. Said all the right things. Made me feel like I was his world. But slowly, so slowly, things shifted. I didn’t notice at first. He didn’t like my friends. Said they distracted me. Didn’t like my schedule. Said it wasn’t healthy. I thought he cared. Thought it was love.”
Eli’s jaw tightened.
“But it was about control. Every step of the way. I didn’t even realize I was isolated from everyone I knew until I had no one left to call. Then ... one day, a year in, he hit me.”
The words fell like stones into the river.
Eli looked out across the river, voice hardening. “And I stayed. Because I was stupid. Because I thought maybe it was me. Because by then I believed that I deserved it. That I’d let it happen. That I was broken and should just be grateful someone wanted me.”
Marsh’s hands fisted at his sides under the water.
“It escalated. Fast. But he was smart. Covered his tracks. Bruises where clothes hid them. Words where no one could hear. And he had connections—medical files went missing, reports redacted. I went to the police once. I think they filed it in a drawer marked ‘crazy ex.’” He snorted bitterly.
“He knew how to twist things. How to make me question myself. I am a therapist, Marsh. I know the signs. And I still stayed.”
Marsh moved closer. Close enough that the water between them hummed with tension.
“It’s not your fault,” he said softly.
Eli shook his head. “I tell clients that all the time. But believing it for myself...?” His voice cracked. “I thought I’d moved on. But seeing him again? It all came flooding back. Like he was still inside my head, pulling the strings.”
“You’re not a puppet,” Marsh said.
Eli looked at him then, really looked. “Aren’t I?”
Marsh’s gaze darkened. “No. You’re a survivor. And survivors fight. You fought to get out. To get here. To help me. You’re not weak, Eli. You’re fucking titanium.”
That pulled a soft, broken laugh from Eli.
Marsh reached out and cupped the back of Eli’s neck, gently tugging him forward until their foreheads touched.
“What was his name?” Marsh asked again, quieter this time.
“White,” Eli whispered. “Colonel Adrian White. He’s twelve years older than me, but I didn’t care about the age gap. It didn’t matter to me.”
Marsh filed the name away like a locked target in his mind. He didn’t say anything else. Just let the water carry their silence as he pulled Eli close, holding him in the river like something sacred.
Later, when he was alone in the lab, Marsh would open his secured systems, dig deep into redacted files and hidden networks, and find everything he could on Colonel White.
But for now, he just held Eli. Letting the river wash over them, not to cleanse, but to anchor.
They weren’t drowning.
Not anymore.
Marsh kept his arm wrapped loosely around Eli’s waist, feeling the slow rise and fall of the man’s breath as he settled. The water cooled their overheated skin, but there was a warmth between them now that had nothing to do with sunlight.
“You’re stronger than you think,” Marsh said, his voice low and certain. “I don’t think you realize how much strength it takes to tell a story like yours. Hell, to live through it. To still be here.”
Eli looked away, but Marsh caught the flicker of acknowledgment in his expression.
“You helped me,” Marsh continued. “More than anyone else has. You got me out of that fucking chair and made me face my shit. You didn’t run when I was being a bastard, and you didn’t give up on me when I pushed you away. That matters.”
Eli gave him a small, tired smile, and Marsh held onto it like a tether.
Inwardly, Marsh made a vow. He’d up his therapy. He’d make the new prosthetic work. Not just function—but thrive. When White came back, because he would, and he ever tried to touch Eli again, Marsh would be ready. On his feet. With his team behind him. And he wouldn’t let the past define them.
He had a future to fight for now.
And it was right in front of him, waist-deep in a river, wearing soaked boxer briefs and the weight of a thousand ghosts.